Page 203 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

203

Feed Me

M aya

Schizophrenic. Isn’t that the word for feeling crazy? That definitely describes this moment. My world, my emotions, are spinning at a thousand miles an hour.

I want to be back in my normal life. I don’t know what time it is, but I think I’d still be at my job as an admin assistant in an insurance office in Bountiful, Utah. It was boring and mundane, but what I wouldn’t give for a little bit of that right now.

Instead, here I am in this two-thousand-year-old spaceship with a guy from a scary movie. No. That’s not right. He hasn’t looked like that for hours. He’s alien, but his features are growing on me. The way he’s looking at me right now, like he would worship at my feet if we had more time, well, it covers a multitude of sins.

He’s been so kind. And I can’t deny how sexy he is.

He’s a few steps away, just waiting. I don’t understand machta , but it’s a powerful force to be reckoned with. It’s been too many minutes since I smelled him.

Stepping to him, I let him fold me into his arms then I inhale deeply, as if my life depends on it.

So many things are freaking me out, not the least of which are all these changes to my body. I hear his blood in his veins, and I want it. No. I need it.

He hits my coverall’s autozip, and skims the fabric off my shoulders, letting the garment slide to the floor. After pulling my t-shirt over my head, he stands still, baffled by my bra. I release the clasp and toss it on the chair.

Something changes, like a switch was flipped. One moment he was patient, waiting, almost passive. Now every muscle in his body tightens as he moves into action.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, then glides his palms along my rib cage and holds the weight of my breasts in his hands.

When he plucks my pebbled nipples, I arch into him. I’m already so aroused, so sensitized, I reward him with little mewls of pleasure. The beads on his alien dreads clack together when he bends his head to lick first one nipple, then the other.

Even though he’s one big slab of muscle, my arms surround him and try to press him down so I can ride his chamois-covered erection. I hadn’t even noticed when he removed his metallic loincloth, but I need to feel the press of his big body—and his big cock—against me.

He gets the hint, bends his knees, and grinds against my clit, all the while suckling my nipples.

Foreplay. That’s what I used to call this—the rubbing, the nipple play. That’s why I’m surprised when an orgasm blasts through me with no warning. It’s so overwhelming, I’m barely aware of the gibberish flying out of my mouth, or the way my nails pierce the skin on his back.

“A’Dar!” is the only real word I manage to articulate as he lifts me, splitting my legs wide enough to surround his hips, then grips the globes of my ass and rides me hard enough to wring another release from me before the shudders of the first one even stopped.

“If we had time, I could spend all day listening to you scream your pleasure,” he breathes into the shell of my ear.

This male’s body is a playground. Granite-hard muscles are showcased beneath dappled green skin. He’s not bragging. His strong arms could hold me up all day as he lets me ride him.

After my third screaming orgasm, a mantra begins playing in my head, unbidden . Essence, essence, essence. To be honest, I love giving head, but have never been the biggest fan of swallowing. I want it now. No. I’m desperate for it.

Wordlessly, I wiggle, indicating I want to slide out of his grip. I wind up on my knees between his odd, clawed toes. They’re masculine and bestial and I no longer find them off-putting. They’re sexy.

It’s not his toes I’m interested in, though.

“Take this off.” I lightly tug at his loincloth. “Feed me.”

Perhaps it’s a combination of my words and my position, like a supplicant at his feet, that causes the beast inside his loincloth to pulse against its bindings.

He pulls it off and tosses it on the floor so fast I barely have to wait. His magnificent cock, dotted with bumps that will feel so good inside me, is already seeping pre-cum.

Not waiting for an invitation, I lean forward and swipe it with my tongue, unable to contain the long moan that rises, unbidden, from my throat.

Hours ago, when he slowly pumped his shaft, producing thick beads of liquid to bestow to my tongue via his finger, it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I don’t have time for that now, though. I can’t wait. I open my mouth and dive onto his length, swallowing down as far as I can go.

His deep, masculine grunt of pleasure is the best sound I’ve ever heard. When he moans, “Fahk,” indicating his pleasure is so intense he’s shocked by it, I realize my clit is pulsing in need despite the orgasms I just had.

If things were different, I’d take my time, tease him, and make him even more sex-crazed. But this machta thing, or his pheromones, or whatever insanity this is, forces me to tighten my lips on him and race to the finish. I don’t just want to give him pleasure. I need his cum as much as I need air.