His skin tastes like salt and ozone and that unique alien flavor that I've become addicted to over twelve months of exploration. The cinnamon sugar adds sweetness to the mix, creating flavor combinations that no human has ever experienced. I catalog each response—the way his breath catches when I find a particularly sensitive spot, how his hands fist in my hair when I use teeth as well as tongue, the alien words that spill from his lips when I do something that overloads his enhanced nervous system.
"The cinnamon," he gasps, his voice already wrecked, "combined with your mouth—I can taste colors, Fiona. Actual colors."
"Enhanced alien senses," I murmur against his hipbone, then deliberately dust more cinnamon-sugar across his skin. "Let me show you what Christmas really tastes like."
I create a trail of sweetness that leads down his stomach, watching the way his alien anatomy responds. His circulatory patterns blaze brighter with each touch, the bioluminescent compounds in his bloodstream reacting to arousal and stimulation. His temperature spikes several degrees—I can feel the heat radiating from hisskin like a fever. That sub-harmonic rumble becomes a continuous vibration that I feel in my bones, a sound that bypasses conscious thought and speaks directly to some primitive part of my brain that recognizes it as approval, pleasure, need.
When I finally reach the place where the cinnamon trail disappears beneath the last of his clothing, he's shaking with barely contained hunger. Through the bond, I can feel his desperation, the way every nerve ending is firing at once, how the combination of sweetness and sensation has pushed his alien physiology to the edge of control.
"Please," he breathes, the word torn from somewhere deep in his chest.
I strip away the last barriers between us with careful precision, revealing the alien anatomy I've learned to worship over twelve months of bonding. He's different from human men in ways that still make my breath catch—longer, with ridges and textures designed for a completely different evolutionary path. The claiming patterns extend here too, pulsing with bioluminescent intensity that matches his heartbeat.
When I take him into my mouth, the combination of cinnamon sweetness and his unique alien flavor creates something that makes my own senses spin. He tastes like winter air and starlight and home, with an underlying sharpness that's purely alien. The sounds he makes—half alien language, half desperate prayer—echo through the galley like music.
His alien anatomy fits perfectly against my tongue, the subtle ridges and differences I've learned to navigate responding to every movement. The cinnamon coating my mouth transfers to his skin, creating a sweet burn that I can feel through the bond as both temperature and flavor. His hands shake where they're buried in my hair, careful not to grip too hard despite his desperation.
"Fiona," he manages, his breathing reduced to harsh pants that echo off the galley walls. "I can't—the sensations are—" His words dissolve into that alien language again, a stream of what sound like prayers mixed with curses mixed with my name repeated like a mantra.
Through our connection, I experience the echo of what he's feeling—the wet heat of my mouth, the gentle scrape of teeth, the way my tongue traces the ridges and differences that make him unmistakably alien. The feedback loop intensifies everything, making each touch exponentially more intense for both of us.
"The taste," he manages, his voice breaking on the words. "It's everywhere—in the air, on my skin, in my mind through the bond—"
I deliberately swirl my tongue around him, and his response is immediate and devastating. His alien physiology reacts differently than human would—the circulatory patterns on his skin blazing brilliant blue-white, his temperature spiking so high I can feel the heat radiating from his body like a forge. The sub-harmonic rumble becomes something closer to a roar, vibrating through the ship's hull.
When I do something particularly wicked with my tongue, combined with the lingering cinnamon effects, he nearly buckles. Only his grip on the counter keeps him upright as sensation overwhelms his nervous system. I can feel through the bond how close he is, how the combination of sweetness and stimulation has pushed him to the very edge of control.
When I hum around him, adding deliberate vibration to the cinnamon-sweet assault on his senses, the combination proves too much. He throws his head back with a sound that's part roar, part plea, his entire body going rigid as he fights against the overwhelming pleasure.
He comes with a roar that makes the ship's bio-panels flare brilliant white, his release coating my tongue with something that tasteslike winter air and starlight, now enhanced with the lingering sweetness of our Christmas game. Through the bond, I feel his climax as clearly as if it were my own, the overwhelming pleasure and love and awe washing through both of us in waves that leave me shaking.
"That," he manages when he can speak again, his voice completely destroyed, "was not in any of the human cultural databases."
"Some things," I say, kissing him so he can taste himself mixed with cinnamon on my lips, "you have to learn through experience."
He lifts me back onto the counter, his mouth finding mine with desperate gratitude. His hands roam my body with familiar reverence, and when he discovers I've deliberately dusted cinnamon-sugar across my own skin—along my collarbone, down my stomach, across my hipbones—his alien pupils dilate to pure black.
"Devious woman," he growls, but his tone is pure appreciation. "When did you—?"
"While you were in the shower after our landing," I admit. "I had this idea about what enhanced alien senses might do with a little... enhancement."
"You planned this." His voice carries a note of awe that makes heat pool in my belly. "You orchestrated this entire seduction."
"Guilty as charged." I trace one of the claiming patterns on his chest, feeling the way it pulses under my touch. "It's been a long week of routine supply runs and hyperspace calculations. I thought we could use something a little more... stimulating."
What follows is a thorough exploration that maps every sensitive spot with alien precision. His enhanced senses mean he can detect the slightest change in my heartbeat, the way my skin heats under his touch, the exact moment when pleasure becomes desperate need. Hestarts at my throat, his alien tongue tracing the cinnamon trail I've left there with methodical attention.
The texture of his tongue is different from human—slightly rougher, longer, designed to taste things I can't even imagine. When he finds the spot where I've dusted sugar along my collarbone, he makes a sound like a predator scenting prey, and the vibration of it against my skin makes me arch beneath him.
"Here," he growls against my skin. "You taste like Christmas morning and desire."
His mouth works along my collarbone with devastating attention, his fangs scraping gently against my pulse point. Each stroke of his tongue makes me writhe against the counter, my hands fisting in his silver hair as he maps every place the cinnamon has touched. The claiming patterns on his skin pulse brighter with each soft sound I make, his alien biochemistry responding to my arousal with bioluminescent intensity.
When he reaches my breasts, he pauses to worship them with an attention that makes my back arch off the counter. His alien tongue circles each nipple with devastating precision, alternating between gentle licks and the slight scrape of fangs until I'm gasping his name. The contrast between the warm sweetness of cinnamon and the cool air of the galley makes every nerve ending hypersensitive.
"Please," I breathe, but he's not done with his exploration.
He follows the sugar trail down my stomach, his hands holding my hips steady as I try to writhe beneath him. His enhanced senses mean he can track every molecule of cinnamon, following paths I painted on my skin hours ago while planning this seduction. When he reaches the place where the trail disappears beneath my remaining clothes, helooks up at me with those pale alien eyes gone completely black with want.
