Page 73 of Moist!
chapter seven
SWEET & SOUR
“Oh!”
The yelp escapes me more like an exhale as he hoists up my hips and lets the tip of his long tongue find my clit, the tip of his nose pressed against my entrance.
I never thought a little nose fucking would feel as good as it does, but hell, I never thought I’d be fucking an alien on a live tv broadcast either.
His face pulls away for just long enough to tell me, “The tangy essence of your wet cunt is better than anything I’ve ever tasted. I want to savor it to the last drop.”
He dives right back in as I muse that between my “tang” and his honeyed sticky cum has us as quite the sweet and sour pair.
Luckily my corny ass is quickly distracted by Ulthrui’s alien mouth. He licks me like he wants to be drenched in my juices–-mouth open, tongue wide, his motions deliberate and unhindered.
And fuck if it wasn’t doing the job.
I push my hips back, the throbbing tension building inside me once again.
“If you keep this up I’m gonna come again,” I pant, my hands fisting the sheets beneath me, my shoulders pressing against the mattress hard. The only thing keeping my ass in the air is the support of his hands—the massage leaving me nothing more than putty in his hands.
“Challenge accepted,” he grunts against me, picking up his pace.
The throbbing of my already sensitive clit is almost too much, and even though I really want to come, I find myself attempting to scramble away.
Even though his fingertips glide against my skin, his grip is solid. I’m not going anywhere until he’s done.
My core pulses against nothing, the fluttering a precursor to what I know will be an earth-shattering grand finale.
I keep pulling forward, scrambling like a cat away from the sensation of his tongue. It’s a delicious torture I can’t say I’ve ever experienced before.
Earth men aren’t shit.
“Fuck, Ulthrui, it’s too much?—”
In a haze, I’m flipped around. Devoid of any sense but the brink of pleasure, It takes me a few seconds to register that I’m on my back. An alien on a mission spreads my knees and descends again to feast on my sex.
His tongue thrums my vital cord, just as two of his three slippery fingers pump inside me. On the third pump, I succumb to the wave of ecstasy that’s been threatening to crest this whole time.
I arch up, my release all the sweeter the second time around.
My eyes roll back in my head and I float off into nothingness.
The tingles that flit over every nerve of my body are from someplace deeper than before.
It’s not the frantic pulsing need of the first orgasm he gave me, but something more deliberate and heady.
“You know,” he says, his voice low, “even though Earth seems terrible and dry, you make me want to plan an extended vacation to that desert rock.”
And then—because apparently I’ve done something in a past life to deserve this—he licks my nectar off his lips. Casual. Like he’s not detonating my entire nervous system with one swipe of his alien tongue.
I don’t think. I just yank him down to me. I kiss him like he’s got the antidote, like I’ve forgotten we’re on live TV, like I’ve never heard of shame. He tastes like a mix of us—sweet and sour, like candy left in the sun too long and somehow better for it.
“You’d love Florida in August,” I manage between breaths, voice just this side of wrecked. “I’ll snag the beach house if you bring those hands… and that mouth.”
His grin stretches wider, then, sloooowly, he leans in and sucks my earlobe into his mouth. His fangs graze the soft skin there, just enough pressure to make me short-circuit in real time. My hips twitch against his, and he doesn’t stop there. Of course he doesn’t.
“As long as you let me do my best,” he murmurs into my ear, voice pure, undiluted sin, “to keep you moist.”
I whimper. Whimper. And honestly? Fair. I’ve completely abandoned dignity at this point.
“Deal,” I moan, because that’s the only word I still remember. Everything else has melted out of my brain and into these sheets.