Page 94 of Merging Wright

Only, I get away with kissing her, with all of Trophy’s patrons as witnesses.

Yeah, I’m making a statement. This alien woman is mine, and if the stars align, I’m keeping her.

43

Playlist: “Lose It” – Kane Brown

[Jane]

Like some interstellar, cataclysmic shift, something about this night changes Mach and me.

When we return to Camilla’s home, both of us are tipsy enough that we feel good, and every sensation is heightened, but we aren’t drunk. Mach confirmed our condition several times as we made our way up the hill, often pausing to kiss and press against one another.

“If it weren’t so cold tonight, I’d lay you underneath the stars and have my way with you,” he’d said.

The evening is cool as the month is only a day away from November, but our bedroom is toasty. Once inside, Mach strips me of my costume, teasing me with the slow drag of the zipper. He takes his time to kiss my back, suck on my shoulders and eventually nip me in that pressure point that weakens my knees. As I stand before him, he lowers to his knees, kissing my backside and spinning me to breathe in the scent of my sex.

“Lay on the bed for me.” His voice is low, rough, and needy as he presses a kiss to the mound at the top of my legs before standing upright.

Naked, I do as he asks. I’m apprehensive, a little anxious, or maybe this fluttering feeling inside me is anticipation. Because the way Mach looks at me as he shrugs off his Peter Quill jacket and removes the remainder of his costume, he’s hungry . . . for me.

He turns toward the closet, giving me a Mach-jestic view of his backside. The firm globes of his ass. The tight muscles of his back. The thickness of his thighs. He’s something otherworldly.

When he faces me with something white wrapped around his hand, he pulls at a loose end of the material with his other. “Remember that binding ceremony during our wedding?”

His mother wrapped our hands in the Scottish tradition and spoke words over our joined palms, blessing us. I’m not certain the ritual was anything more than a ceremonial act during the brief wedding, but the moment did feel rather spiritual and a bit unsettling at the time. Mach would never be bound to me.

But he tugs at the material in his hand and steps toward the bed, scattering my thoughts. “I want to tie you up.”

My breath hitches. I’ve never been restrained, and I don’t know how I feel about the idea. Giving up control would be difficult. Not being able to touch Mach might be torture, but I’d read this type of bondage can heighten arousal. And I trust Mach.

When he rubs his linen-wrapped hand over my ankle and up my shin, I nearly come out of my skin. He slowly unfurls the long strip of fabric, dragging the loose length over my flesh, tickling me, teasing me. Like a ribbon caressing oversensitive skin, he draws closer to my center. Once there, he purposefully swipes, continuing to taunt me with the soft fabric.

“I’m going to tie you to the frame,” he explains as he climbs over me. Then he takes one arm and lifts it over my head. Without resistance, I lift my other arm to meet the first. Leaning forward, Mach kisses me, long and soft, promising me with his lips that nothing will happen to me that I won’t enjoy. When he pulls back, he reaches for my wrists, tying them to the wrought-iron headboard like a knot expert. A portion of the material remains loose, and Mach pulls it forward, dragging it over my breasts. My nipples, which were already peaked, pebble to hard points. The ache is sweet. Mach draws over me, holding the linen lightly like a string before a kitten. My hips buck underneath him, my clit seeking friction.

He chuckles lightly. “Somebody’s eager.”

With him straddling me, I can’t spread my legs and his balls kiss the top of my thighs. The heavy length of his deliciousness rests on my lower belly. Mach doesn’t press his full weight on me, but I want him to blanket me in all his Mach-ness.

Humming, I arch my back, as he draws out the torment by caressing my breasts with the linen. Hunching forward, he leans in for one achy globe, sucking at the swell. His tongue swirls around the ripe nipple before he moves to the other breast.

“Mach,” I moan. Not being able to touch him is torture.

He moves to press kisses between my breasts. “One of my favorite places on you.” He speaks to the valley, widened as my unbound breasts fall to the sides. Mach drops the linen and massages me. Each hand takes an achy swell, pressing the aroused globes together. Images of him placing his hard cock between them comes to mind as he’s done that on occasion.

Tonight, he scoots his lower body downward while stretching an arm forward. His hand slides up my arm and tugs at the wrists tied to the frame.

“Okay?” He leans forward and kisses my neck.

I turn, hoping to capture his mouth. He chuckles, leaning away while his fingers lock with mine on one hand. He uses his other hand to guide the tip of his heavy cock to line up with my entrance, dragging it through my folds.

“So ready for me,” he hums. He hasn’t touched me. He hasn’t tasted me. There is no foreplay, but the buildup is exquisite. “Tell me you want me inside you.”

Breathlessly, I answer him. “I want you inside me.”

Mach takes his time to slide into me. Slow. Purposeful. Tender. Once fully seated, he leans forward and kisses me again, his tongue dancing with mine. He pulls back sharply from my mouth, but his dick takes its time to leave my body. When he completely exits me, his fingertips play.

“Oh God.” My body vibrates. The tips of my nipples scrape his chest, and his fingers are delicate over sensitive folds. My fingers clutch on his hand holding mine.