Page 9 of Topping Off the Alien

I pull back to speak. “For someone who claims to prefer women, you’re awfully eager to kiss me, Weston.”

Color rises in his face and he ducks his head. “I can’t help it. It feels too good. I don’t—” He stops and huffs out a breath. “There’s something about you.”

I know what he means, because I feel it, too, the same helpless gravity toward him that I can’t account for with anything in my training. But I don’t answer him.

Instead, I bury my face in the curve of his neck and breathe in the scent of water and skin. I press my nose harder and drag it slowly along his throat, and Weston’s hands tighten on my shoulders.

I lick a long stripe from the base of his throat up to the soft skin behind his ear, and he moans, the sound cracking in the middle. His fingers dig into me. I do it again, slower, and his pulse jumps under my tongue. I kiss my way down. His collarbone, the flat plane of muscle over his sternum. Every place I touch with my mouth sends another pulse of energy through me, replacing the cold that has lived under my ribs for months. I reach his chest and close my mouth over one nipple, drawing it between my teeth, and Weston’s hand flies to my hair.

He grips it hard, not to pull me away but to hold me there, and pushes up into my mouth like he can’t help himself. I switch to the other side and give it the same attention, sucking, biting, flicking with my tongue. His whole body buckles against me, his spine curving, a broken sound leaving him.

I ease back to see his face. “Is this going too far?”

“Technically,” he manages, “this still counts as kissing.”

I don’t argue with the logic and just dive back in, giving my full attention to his nipples, reddened and swollen where I’ve worked them.

Every time I close my mouth over one, he starts talking, words tumbling out of him. Yeah. Just like that. Shit, that feels… Do that again…

The power runs between us the whole time, no longer a hum but a current, climbing up through my chest until I can feel my marks pulsing warm. Every gasp he gives me and every roll of his hips pours into me. I’m stronger with each second that passes, more myself than I have been in a long time, and it frightens me more than the hunger ever did.

5

Weston

I don’t know who moves first, but one second I’m plastered against Solverian, and the next we’re rising out of the tub, water sheeting off our bodies. He’s holding me up against him like I weigh nothing.

He’s stronger now, I notice. An hour ago, he couldn’t stand, and now he lifts me out of the water by both arms and sets me on the stone with ease.

“You should get out of those,” he says, looking at my soaked boxer briefs.

“Right.” I peel them off while he turns away and pulls a drawer open, coming back with towels and dark gray underwear that he steps into without ceremony. I wrap a towel around my hips and tuck it at the waist and try not to think about the fact that I’m standing naked under a scrap of terry cloth in an alien prince’s bathroom.

Solverian takes my hand and leads me back into the main room, toward the raised bed. I climb onto it and lie back on the dark covers, letting him follow me down. He hovers over me on his forearms, and for a moment, we just look at each other. His hair is damp and falling loose around his face. There’s a drop of water clinging to his jaw that I want to lick off, which is a thought I refuse to examine.

Then he lowers his head and mouths my throat, moving down the way he did in the tub. This time is slower, like he’s mapping instead of hunting. When he kisses down my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, my abs clench and a shudder goes through me.

I told him I was straight, and I meant it, but now all I can think is more. More of his mouth, his tongue, his hands, more of that current running under my skin wherever he touches me.

Solverian’s mouth reaches the edge of the towel, where my cock is tenting the fabric, and he looks up the length of my body. There’s a question on his face, plain as anything he’s said all night.

I could say no, this is going too far. But I can’t, because my brain is soup and my whole body is aching with need, and his mouth is three inches from where I need it.

I nod once.

There’s a whisper in the back of my skull that says you just gave a guy permission to suck your cock, and I answer it with the best defense I have: a mouth is a mouth. It doesn’t matter whose.

The whisper comes back meaner. You know that’s not true. You know you don’t just want a mouth. You want his mouth.

I close my eyes and brush it away.

Solverian loosens the towel, working the tuck free, and draws the fabric out from under me. Cool air hits my cock, and the contrast against my overheated skin makes me groan before he’s even touched me.

Then his tongue runs from the base of me to the tip in one long stripe, and my eyes fly open.

He’s watching me, his face level with my cock, his tongue swirling over the flushed crown in slow circles. The composed look on his face is gone, replaced by hunger, and I barely recognize him behind it.

He wants this, I realize, not only for the energy. He wants me in his mouth.