I can’t stop.
Fuck, this was supposed to be about measuring him. About trying to get the information I need for the sex toy. I should pull my hand away.
My movements falter slightly, but Cielo lets out a frustrated moan that burrows deep beneath my skin, making my cock twitch.
I’msoturned on.
I want to crawl up on top of him, slot our cocks together, and stroke.
I could measure his that way. I could—Ishould—fuck it.
I let go of him, and his tail grabs onto me tighter, pulling me close, his eyes almost wild. They’re almost purely black, his lips raw from biting them. A bit of blood sits where his fang pierced his lip
“I know, baby. I know,” I say as I crawl up onto him and pull my pants down slightly. Cielo watches me do it, his nostrils flaring. “I’m going to do this, okay? I’m going to make it so good for you. Is that okay?”
He nods and then whines when I reach down and pull both of our cocks together.
Words tumble from him, spoken in his singing language. It’s beautiful, foreign, otherworldly.
I stare down at him, his cock pulsing in my hand. He’s twice my size, and from stroking him, I know his girth.
“You’re so big,” I say. “I bet you’d feel so good inside of me.”
He arches his hips up, wanting friction. Those ridges that wrap around his dick are almost vibrating with need.
“I have the information I need. I can…well, I can get off of you, or I can get us off? Together?”
“Yes. Pleaaassseee.Dahhhnteee.”
Fuck yes, I think as I clasp two hands around our hard lengths and work us toward the edge. It goes quicker than I thought. The sight of us together does me in almost immediately.
It’s so different, and yet he’s such a perfect fit. Cielo must think so too because he doesn’t tear his eyes away from where our bodies meet, his breathing quick and almost raspy.
And then suddenly I feel his cock vibrate, and he lets out a cry, cum bursting from his tip. There’s so much of it, spilling down his length, flowing with a force I know humans don’t possess. There’s so much it coats my own cock, and the sound from my hands moving up and down our dicks becomes even more obscene.
“Fuck, so hot,” I moan, squeezing us tighter, milking him even more. How much does he have in there? How much can he give me?
The thought of tying him up and making him come over and over has my head arching back and my own release spilling with his.
It’s much less, but just as potent.
Cielo is still coming by the time I’ve come down from my orgasm, and I work him through it, stroking him until he’s dry.
It’s only then that he lets out a relieved breath and closes his eyes.
I take stock of the mess we made. Of the odd color of his cum mixed with my own white-opaque spill on his stomach, the way his cock slowly retreats back into him, the way his slit glistens.
My torn sheets—and probably destroyed mattress underneath—sit beneath us, and fuck, it’s so worth it.
His tail loosens around me, and I hear the soft purr he makes when he sleeps. My lips twitch, and I find myself smiling down at him. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. He’s resting in a way I haven’t seen him do.
With any luck, I think as I get up to grab a wet cloth, he won’t have nightmares tonight. With any luck, the zitha will continue to work on me, and together, we can have peace. I wipe him up with a few passes of a damp cloth, and when I slide against the sheets, he rolls over and takes me into his arms, an absent, possessive gesture.
Resting my ear against the beating of his hearts, I let the rhythm lull me toward sleep. My limbs are heavy, and there’s a weight lifted off my shoulders. This could be something. Something important. Something that belongs to us that neither of us has had with anyone else.
I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to hope for that.
We’ll sleep, though. We’ll reset, and with any luck, we’ll wake up and both be ready to do that again.
