Page 23 of Alien Attachment (You’ve Got Alien Mail #2)
Claimed and Claiming
Kaylee
The smile that transforms his face is radiant, setting his bioluminescence flaring brighter than I’ve ever seen it. “I have been yours since the moment our bond formed,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I merely waited for you to realize it.”
He pulls me down beside him on the strange, glowing bed, and I go willingly, settling into the curve of his arm. The material beneath us responds to our combined presence, warming, softening, conforming to our bodies as if designed specifically for this moment.
“Show me,” I say, my voice low and certain. “Show me what this bond really means. What you can really do.”
His pupils dilate further, his tendrils rippling with waves of brighter light. Through our bond comes a surge of desire so powerful it leaves me gasping—not just physical want, but a soul-deep longing for connection, for touch, for belonging.
“Are you certain?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint. “Once we cross this threshold, there will be no pretending it’s merely circumstance that binds us.”
I silence him with another kiss, this one fiercer, more demanding. “I’m done pretending,” I breathe against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”
Something breaks loose in him then—a dam of restraint crumbling beneath the force of our shared desire. His tendrils move with purpose now, wrapping gently around my arms, my waist, supporting me as he shifts to make room for me on the living bed.
“Then let me worship you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to something dark and promising. “Let me show you what devotion truly means.”
His exploration begins slowly, reverently.
One tendril traces the line of my jaw while another follows the curve of my neck, each touch accompanied by gentle bioelectric pulses that make my breath catch.
It’s like being caressed by living lightning, each contact point sending waves of sensation through my nervous system.
“The bond lets me feel everything you experience,” he explains, his voice rough with barely contained need. “Every spike of pleasure, every racing heartbeat, every shiver of desire. I know exactly how my touch affects you.”
To demonstrate, he sends a stronger pulse through the tendril at my throat, and I arch against him with a gasp that echoes through the cavern.
The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—not just the physical stimulation, but the knowledge that he feels my response, that my pleasure feeds back to him through our connection.
“More,” I whisper, and he complies eagerly.
Another tendril joins the exploration, this one slipping beneath the collar of my shirt to trace the hollow of my throat. The bioelectric pulse it sends through my skin makes me cry out, my hands fisting in his shirt as sensation cascades through me.
“Your pulse point,” he murmurs, fascinated. “So sensitive. And when I touch you here—” The tendril pulses again, stronger this time, and I nearly come apart in his arms. “—your heart rate spikes, your breathing changes, and through our bond I feel the heat building in your core.”
“Jhorn,” I gasp, but I’m not sure if it’s a plea or a warning.
“I want to map every sensitive spot on your body,” he continues, his voice dropping to a growl that I feel in my bones. “I want to learn exactly what touch makes you tremble, what pressure makes you beg, what rhythm drives you wild.”
His hands join his tendrils in their exploration, one cupping my breast through my shirt while another slides down to rest on my hip. Even through the fabric, his touch burns, and when he squeezes gently, I arch against him with abandon.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he observes, and there’s something almost predatory in his tone that makes heat pool low in my belly.
“Then do something about it,” I challenge, and his eyes flash with desire.
His tendrils make quick work of my clothing, their dexterity allowing them to unfasten buttons and zippers with remarkable efficiency.
But rather than simply stripping me bare, they take their time, each piece of clothing removed with deliberate care, each newly exposed patch of skin immediately claimed by his touch.
When my shirt falls away, his breath catches. “Beautiful,” he whispers, one tendril tracing the curve of my breast while another circles my waist. “So perfectly made for my touch.”
The bioelectric pulses he sends through each contact point are carefully modulated—some quick and sharp like lightning strikes, others slow and rolling like waves. The combination is maddening, building sensation upon sensation until I’m trembling against him.
“Please,” I whisper, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m asking for.
“Please what?” he asks, his mouth near my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. “Tell me what you need, Kaylee. Let me give it to you.”
“I need...” I struggle to form words through the haze of sensation. “I need you to touch me. Really touch me. Stop holding back.”
His control snaps like a breaking cable.
With a sound that’s part growl, part groan, he pulls me fully onto the bed, his larger frame covering mine as his tendrils map every inch of my exposed skin.
The bioelectric pulses grow stronger, more insistent, creating a symphony of sensation that has me writhing beneath him.
“Like this?” he asks, one tendril finding the sensitive peak of my breast while another traces the curve of my hip. “Or like this?” The pulses change rhythm, becoming faster, more intense, and I cry out at the sudden spike of pleasure.
“Both,” I gasp. “Everything. All of it.”
He laughs, the sound rich and dark with promise. “Greedy,” he murmurs approvingly. “I like that. I like knowing you want more than I can give you in one night.”
The admission that this is just the beginning, that there’s so much more to explore, sends another wave of heat through me. Through our bond, I feel his own arousal building, his need becoming as desperate as my own.
But even lost in passion, his focus remains on my pleasure.
His tendrils work in perfect coordination, each one finding a different sensitive spot—the curve of my neck, the hollow of my hip, the sensitive skin just beneath my breast. The bioelectric stimulation builds in layers, creating a crescendo of sensation that has me balanced on the knife’s edge of release.
“Not yet,” he whispers when he senses how close I am. “Let me savor this. Let me learn you completely.”
The tender dominance in his voice, the way he takes control while still prioritizing my pleasure, is almost as arousing as his touch. I’ve never experienced anything like this—this perfect balance of power and submission, of taking and giving.
His mouth finds my breast, and the sensation of his lips and tongue combined with the bioelectric stimulation of his tendrils is overwhelming. I arch against him with a cry that echoes through the cavern, my hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach.
“Perfect,” he murmurs against my skin. “You taste like starlight and sin.”
The poetic words, so at odds with the intense physicality of what we’re doing, somehow make it even more arousing. This is Jhorn—alien and familiar, gentle and fierce, reverent and demanding all at once.
When his hand slides down my body to cup the heat between my thighs, I nearly shatter apart completely. The pressure is perfect, his fingers finding exactly the right spot, the right rhythm, as if our bond has given him a roadmap to my pleasure.
“So ready for me,” he marvels, his voice thick with desire. One finger traces through my wetness, and I arch against his touch with a desperate sound. “I can feel how much you want this through our bond. Your need calls to mine.”
“Then stop teasing me,” I gasp, but he only smiles—that predatory expression that makes my pulse race.
“Teasing?” His finger circles slowly, deliberately avoiding where I need him most. “This isn’t teasing, Kaylee. This is worship.”
A second finger joins the first, and the dual sensation combined with a gentle bioelectric pulse makes me cry out. Through our bond, I feel his own arousal spike at my response, the feedback loop of shared pleasure making everything more intense.
“I want to learn every sound you make,” he murmurs, his mouth moving to my breast. When his lips close around the sensitive peak, the combination of heat and bioelectric stimulation sends lightning through my nervous system. “Every way your body responds to mine.”
His tendrils join the exploration, one wrapping around my thigh to hold me open for his touch, another tracing the curve of my hip with maddening slowness.
The smallest tendril of all finds its way to the bundle of nerves between my legs, the delicate touch combined with tiny electrical pulses making me writhe against him.
“Jhorn, please,” I beg, my hands clutching at his shoulders. “I need—”
“I know what you need,” he says, his voice dropping to that dark, possessive tone that makes heat pool in my core. “I feel it through our bond. But I’m going to give you so much more than that.”
His fingers press deeper, finding that perfect spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. The bioelectric pulse that accompanies the touch is stronger now, coordinated with the pressure and movement in a way that has me trembling on the edge of release.
“Not yet,” he whispers when he feels how close I am through our connection. “Let me savor this first time. Let me memorize every way you come apart for me.”
The tender dominance in his voice, the way he controls my pleasure while worshipping my body, is almost as arousing as his touch.
His mouth moves lower, pressing kisses to my ribs, my stomach, the sensitive hollow of my hip.
Each kiss is accompanied by a gentle bioelectric pulse that makes my skin sing.