Page 25 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

I can't take all of this battering ram of a cock, but I circle his head and press my tongue into the depression where a bundle of nerves would be on a human male. His hips shudder, scales glowing neon.

I start to suck and his little gasps and shudders give me motivation to tease more from him.

“I’m close, I’m going to… ahhh!” His fingers fist in my hair.

I hum, and there it is, an explosion of hot cum. It blows the rubber off but I manage to grab it in my back teeth before it goes straight down my throat. Shit, he goes on and on, filling my mouth with a sweet caramel aftertaste. Mm, I could eat this all day.

I lap up every drop, then look him in the eye as I swallow, because this is hot as fuck and I have zero impulse control.

“Good girl,” he says, astounded, as if he’s just remembered his lines from a play and says them with the wrong intonation.

Sitting up, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grin at him. “You’re welcome.”

Gara bands his arms around me, not seeming to mind the paint.

I lay back on the canvas and he comes with, fingers tracing my sides.

He eases my legs open wide and settles onto his belly between them, big shoulders pinning my thighs in place.

He’s studying my nether regions like there’ll be a test later, his eyebrows dipped onto his serious face.

I ease my hand down there. “These are my labia. This is the vagina, and this little thingy here…” I tap it, sending a shock jolting up my spine. “This is my clit.”

“The clitoris,” he gasps, breathy like I’m showing him the holy grail. “I've read all about this.”

“You're adorable.” I give a happy wriggle.

His eyes flick up to meet mine. “You’re beautiful.”

That sounds like pure Gara. Serious and straightforward.

“Thanks. You’re sexy as fuck. Now, if you want to try a kiss down there, feel fre—oh!”

He latches on and goes to town.

I can’t get off with clit stimulation, needing a heavy hand rocking back and forth, but this is definitely doing something for me.

His lips wrap around my folds bathing me in warmth, and his tongue eases inside me.

He shifts to slide his fingers in to join, the increased pressure filling me and pushing out against my walls, waves of pleasure sliding up my body.

But it’s not enough.

“That’s good. More,” I urge.

He needs no second invitation, tongue switching to circle my clit and more of his fingers making their way inside me. He’s stretching me in all the right places, filling me up.

But I’m greedy. “More. More!”

He presses deeper and again I’m straining, stretched, but I’m ready now.

“I need your knotting cock,” I pant, a whine building in the back of my throat. “Put a ribbed rubber on it.”

He doesn’t hesitate, ripping the packet and jamming the condom on the peak of his pyramid cock. Shit, this isn't going to work, but I don't want to stop.

He glares at the condom like he's daring it to move, then gathers my hips and lifts me like a doll. I’m loose and try to stay relaxed as he angles me up with his monster throbbing lower cock.

The tip flares underneath the rubber like a spear head, but it’s soft skin that presses against my entrance as he eases me lower.

It's like what I imagine being fisted feels like: a big, stretching sensation filling me to overflowing.

His upper cock is back up for more, and I grab hold of it one-handed, like I would the pommel of a saddle, the other around his shoulders to give me leverage.

“Gently, gently,” I whisper against his neck.

He eases me down, controlling my slow descent onto his huge thick cock. It fills me more, and more, and more, widening me, stretching me, and making my jaw drop.

“Is it acceptable?” Gara asks. He watches me closely, gaze roving across my face. “Is it too much?”

“More,” I whisper, and his eyes light.

He thrusts a little and he fills me so much I feel I might burst. I look down between us, his other cock bobbing between our stomachs, and then I’m coming apart, I’m unraveling.

The edge was so close and I never saw it.

But it rushes toward me now and I’m screaming and laughing and coming, coming so hard I can’t breathe.

He holds me through it, and his cock seems to expand, pushing outward so much my hips ache a little. Is he going to split me? The idea is terrifying and sexy at the same time, because Gara would never hurt me.

I come again and again, wave after wave of orgasms I never tumble down from, just from Gara filling me and bucking his hips every now and again.

I’m jabbering, “Oh fuck,” and “Yes more,” and “Oh god,” in Welsh and in English, and I don’t care.

When I feel like I can’t take anymore, I come to a rest against his chest and he wraps me safe in his arms. My world shakes and rumbles with aftershocks from the pleasure, brain stretching out in one large silence, like all the shows shut off at once.

Peace.

Eventually, I can speak again. “Wow. That was amazing.”

“Yes,” he says, voice rough.

I look up in time to see him blink away tears, and my heart swells. I nuzzle against his chest, which is covered with sweat. The alien hasn’t noticed yet, or he doesn’t seem to care.

It’s nice to sit here together, him still inside me, instead of us jumping up to rush off and get cleaned. I love messy sexy times but guys never want to cuddle in a puddle of come, strangely. The full feeling hasn’t left, giving me a pleasant glow inside.

I try to move back just to give him a bit of personal space, but something inside tugs. His hips jerk, locked to mine, and he winces.

“Sorry. Can you… deknot or deflate or something?”

His eyes lock to mine. “No. We’re knotted together.”

“Uh… what?”

“We’re knotted together. It has to go down on its own.”

“So, we’re stuck together like this?”

“Yes.” His arms go stiff around me, like he’s afraid I’ll fly away.

Well, I can’t, so he shouldn’t be worried.

I nod in a measured way. I’m oddly completely calm about this. At least he definitely sticks around for post-sex cuddles. “For how long?”

“I don’t know.” He glances away. “You can try to pull free. I’ll help as much as I can.”

I wriggle a little, but I don’t feel him move inside me. We’re locked together pretty firmly. “Would that hurt?”

“No, it won’t hurt you. It might be uncomfortable at first, but I can lubricate the area to minimize that.”

“Will it hurt you?” I stroke his jaw to make him look at me.

His eyes are haunted. “Yes, but I can cope.”

He really is so innocent not knowing his own body, and caring, prioritizing me over his own comfort.

I snuggle into his chest. “I guess we’re just going to have to get cozy with each other.”

He hesitates only for a second before his arms wrap around me, shutting out the world. “I guess we will. Are you feeling well?”

I'm feeling seen, safe and sated. “Great, actually. Kinda wish we had snacks, though.”

I eye the paintbrushes and the canvas we debauched, tantalizingly within reach. “So, I guess your afternoon plans are pretty fixed inside me. Would you mind sitting for another portrait? Or… laying down, I guess.”

He agrees, and with a bit of careful reaching so I don’t tug his dick off I set up a canvas next to him. We pull the bedsheets underneath him and he lays back, one arm raised over his head, while I sit astride his hips.

He looks tousled and grimy in the best way, like a rockstar post-sex. I want to paint him so badly my fingers shake. I begin sweeping a light green to delineate his arms and chest, lying replete underneath me, over the nice dark green imprint of my back on the canvas.

He takes my hand. “Why are you trembling?”

“I’m fine, just excited. It’s been a while since the muse for art has visited me, but she really, really likes you.”

“Muse? Who’s that?”

“It’s a word we use for the creative impulse. Sometimes I can create all day, other times it’s like the well is empty and I need to wait for it to refill. It’s not like a muscle, I can’t exercise it and make it stronger. It’s either there or it’s not.”

He absorbs this information quietly as I paint his chest in broad strokes. His scales have gone pale peach with green edges. “Sounds unreliable.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. But that’s also me, so.” I fill in blocks of color as a base. “I guess if you don’t relax, you don’t have hobbies.”

“I study in my free time,” he says.

“Ah, yes.” I grin at him. “Read any good books lately?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you know what I’ve been reading up on?”

I laugh. “No judgment here, dude. The Planet of the Pirate Prince is my favorite series.”

His lips part into a wide smile. “I may have learned a thing or two from those tomes.”

“Mm.” I’ll let him get comfortable with who he is sexually and use this as a framework to explore. “Who’s your favorite character?”

His cheeks flush pink. “I like the captives.”

“Ooh, the nameless ladies? They aren’t really described, so I think they are self-insert characters.”

“Yes. I like that I can put whoever I like into their position.” His warm hands cover my thighs. His forward cock, lying along his stomach, begins to fill out.

“Round two after I’ve painted this masterpiece,” I warn him with a wink.

“Very well,” he says, his smile so delicious my resolve wavers.

I try to focus on the painting. “So, now that we’re fuck buddies, tell me more about yourself.”

His smile flickers. “What do you want to know?”

“Usual stuff. Where you live, who your parents are, what you want to do with your life… stuff like that.”

He swallows hard. “The difficult questions, I see.”

I open my mouth to say he doesn't have to when he exhales slowly.

“I live, or should say lived, in a Selthiastock compound. Once we graduated, we were meant to work in Selthia's Oasis, assigned to teams to live out our lives as surgeons serving females and True Born males. Those who failed the exams were executed. I was reassigned to Ilia’s team after he made an inspection of the Oasis, and something made him choose me.”

I go still listening to him, paintbrush suspended in the air.

“My parent, singular, is known as the All-Mother. She donated all her eggs to create the clones. I’m a Selthiastock type, with the coolness under pressure and intelligence required to be fine medics.

There are other clone types: Ilia is a Gerverstock clone, built to lead and adventure; the mind-synched trio are Parthiastock, and they're law keepers; and Arture is a Pranastock, they make excellent pilots.”

That's a lot. All I can think so to say is, “Wow.”

Yeah. Definitely doesn't cut it.

Running his calloused hand over my thigh, he goes on.

“There are a limited number of females and low volumes of males born, known as True Born. Hence the need for the clones. True Born males are also subservient to females but they are a caste above clones. They call clones ‘Tubers’ as a derogatory term.”

His scales dim to be nearly as pale as my own skin color.

“Because you were grown in tubes? I’m so sorry, people the universe over can be assholes.”

He looks away. “It… does affect me. A lot. But I wasn't called a Tuber much. Not until…”

He slips into silence again, and I'm content to let him until my brain clamors for more info.

“Why is that?” I blurt, but then the doorbell rings out shrilly.