Page 128 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

128

Yum

W illow

There’s no more talking, no more thinking, for long minutes as he explores using different pressure, different angles, and then the pad of his finger. He hasn’t been working at building me toward an orgasm, just getting the lay of the land.

Did Zedd say multiple orgasms? He asks out of the blue.

Mmm-hmm.

Do you have to wait between them or do they come rapid-fire?

When performed correctly, women don’t need a lot of recovery time. Some more than others.

You, Willow, you. I want to play your body like a fine instrument. I can make you come again and again?

Go for it, big guy.

No more questing explorations. He’s going for the gold now. He starts with licks and flicks that are in precisely the perfect spots designed to make me press against the mattress and toss my head side to side.

More pressure, then loud, smacking, sucking that makes me lift my hips off the bed to garner more.

So responsive, he says, even though his mouth is far too busy playing my body to say the words out loud.

I scissor my legs wider, giving him all the room he needs to keep doing what he’s doing. Maybe it’s my change of position, but my awareness arrows to the impending orgasm coiling in my pelvis.

The delicious explorations were arousing, but what’s building now seems cataclysmic. The low, guttural moaning coming from deep in my throat is not made for TV. It’s relieving the pressure of the pleasure growing by leaps and bounds inside me. Doubling and doubling again, it’s like fire licking at the edges of my awareness.

Then it bursts forth, teasing me. I’m so close. Almost there.

Finger me, I command.

He does. One thick finger slides inside me.

So wet. So slick.

More!

A second finger joins the first with a hint of the welcome stretch I’ve been waiting for.

My neck and jaw muscles are straining as my upper body lifts off the bed. So close.

He flicks faster, then sucks on my clit at the same moment he slides that third finger inside me. It sets off a paroxysm of pleasure that doesn’t begin so much as it detonates deep inside me as I scream my release.

It must be loud, because he pauses for a second, but my enjoyment is too obvious, too clear for him to wonder if he’s hurting me. He redoubles his efforts, pounding into me as he tugs on my clit providing me one final convulsive spasm.

The fireworks still aren’t over. Perhaps it was the length of teasing arousal it took to set it off, but the aftershocks take a while to subside. Little mini-spasms and tiny orgasms roil through my body until I lie back, spent and exhausted.

It turns out my male is literal. He tries to start again.

I lied, big guy. I guess I’ll need a minute.

His soft chuckle is filled with pride.

That was amazing, I tell him as I twist my upper body so I can see his handsome face. You’re a quick study.

Geneslaves were built to take orders, unless we’re separated from our unit. Then we know how to take charge in a military strike.

You can perform a military strike on me whenever you want. I’m smiling like an idiot.

And… yes. Did I mention he takes things literally? I’ve had my little pause, so when he immediately launches his attack, I lie back and see if he can make me come again.

He gets right down to business. This time and the next and the next. By now, I’m boneless and ready for sleep. It was all so wonderful I’d almost forgotten the audience.

First, I look at him and see he’s still wearing his loincloth. Well, barely. It’s askew again. His gorgeous cock thrust out proudly, beaded with thick dots of pre-cum. His face is an interesting combination of affection mixed with lust, his lips covered and glistening with my cream.

We both glance at the screens. 998,000.

It’s almost time for the grand finale, I tell him. I’ll have to suck you another day. I think the audience wants to see you slide inside me.

That’s what I want, too.

There’s no humor on his face now. He’s waited all night for this. No. He’s waited forever for it.

Hold that thought, Valor, but we’re not starting until we have seven digits and a picture of a medic standing outside our tent.

He slides up to hug me, kissing me with lips that smell and taste like me. His fingers comb through my fine, blonde hair as we wait.

Zedd must get the message and, not wanting her audience to wait, she rolls the numbers to 1,000,000 exactly. At the bottom corner of the screens in our tent, we see a handsome alien male with ridges on his nose carrying a portable medbot, standing outside of what appears to be our tent.

“Showtime,” Zedd announces.