Page 66 of Stripped By the Alien

"If it is," he finishes, lowering himself over me, "then I intend to make sure neither of us forgets it."

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time, hungrier. One hand traces down my side, following the line of my ribs to my hip, then across to my inner thigh. His fingers are warm and surprisingly gentle for their size, and when they brush between my legs I gasp against his mouth.

"Already," he murmurs, and there's something almost reverent in the way he says it. His fingers slide through the slickness he finds there, parting me, exploring with the same patient attention he brings to everything. One thick finger presses inside me while his thumb finds the spot above that makes my hips jerk.

"Krix…" His name breaks apart in my mouth.

"I want to learn every sound you make," he says, working me slowly. "Every one. Before we walk into that Nest." A second finger joins the first, stretching me, curling forward. His thumb circles in a rhythm that's almost cruel in its precision. "Give them to me, Nora. All of them."

I do. The sounds come without permission. Broken moans, sharp gasps, his name repeated until it stops sounding like a word and becomes something closer to breathing. He watches my face the entire time, those alien eyes cataloguing every reaction as if committing it to permanent memory.

When I come around his fingers it's sudden and fierce, my back arching off the platform, thighs clamping around his wrist. He doesn't stop. He eases me through it, then keeps going, gentler now, drawing out aftershocks until I'm trembling and pulling at his arm.

"Enough," I pant. "I need you. Not your hands. You."

The shield at his midsection has long since parted. I can see his alien cock fully now, thick, ridged, deeply flushed, the heavy segments already glistening. The sight of him ready like this, for me, sends a fresh wave of heat through my spent body.

He settles between my thighs, and I feel the broad head of him press against me, hot and blunt. He pauses there, eyes locked on mine. "Tell me."

"Yes." I wrap my legs around the hard plates of his hips and pull. "Now. Don't be careful. Be you."

Something changes in his expression. The measured patience he usually holds himself to cracks, and what's underneath is raw and urgent. He drives forward in one long thrust that buries him to the hilt.

The sound I make isn't language. Every ridge, every textured inch of him drags across places that are already swollen and oversensitive from what his fingers did. The stretch is enormous and I want every fraction of it. My nails scrape uselessly against carapace as I try to pull him closer, deeper, though there's nowhere left to go.

"Again," I manage. "Harder."

He obeys. The first real thrust shoves me up the platform. I brace one hand against the living headboard and use the leverage to push back against him. The rhythm we find is nothing like the slow, reverent pace of other times. This is urgent, almost rough, driven by the knowledge that tomorrow is uncertain and tonight is ours.

His wings spread fully now, casting shadows across us both in the amber light. The sight of those vast translucent membranes trembling with each thrust is so alien, so impossibly beautiful, that something in my chest cracks open alongside the pleasure.

"Look at me," he growls, and I do. His face is close to mine, mandibles parted, antennae flat against his skull, every line of him stripped of composure. For the first time since I've known him, Krix'vorr looks completely undone.

20

- Nora -

"I see you," I tell him, and pull his face down to mine.

The kiss is messy and desperate and perfect. He swallows my next moan and gives me one of his own, a deep, shuddering sound I've never heard from him before, one that vibrates through his whole body and into mine. His thrusts shorten and deepen. The widest ridge catches at my entrance with every stroke, and the pressure of it against the most sensitive part of me builds and builds until my vision starts to blur at the edges.

"Don't stop," I beg against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop⁠—"

He doesn't. He drives into me with a focus that borders on ferocity, one hand gripping the platform's edge hard enough that the living material groans, the other cupping the back of my skull as though I'm something precious he's afraid of breaking even now, even in this.

The climax hits me like a shockwave. My whole body locks around him, legs, arms, every internal muscle clenching in waves so intense that a ragged scream tears out of me. In the same instant, blue-white lightning arcs between us, a single blinding crack that illuminates the chamber and is gone before the echo fades.

And then it's ripped from me, three words I've never said to his face, never let myself say out loud: "I love you!"

“I love you, my brave, unarmored alien female,” he growls as he follows me over the edge. I feel it happen. The flaring of the ridges, the deep throb of his release, the sudden, powerful heat of him filling me while a sound tears from his chest that's half roar, half something I don't have a human word for. His wings snap taut, quivering, then slowly fold around us both like a living shelter.

For a long time afterward, neither of us moves.

His forehead rests against mine, cool carapace against flushed skin. Our breathing tangles together in the warm air. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest in a rhythm that gradually slows to match my own.

"If the Queen takes this away from me," he says quietly, "I will rip her Nest apart."

I trace the edge of one antenna with my fingertip. "You don't mean that."