Page 32

Chapter Nineteen

Wren had hoped she’d find herself on her back, but not this soon.

Not that she was complaining. Lying there so exposed reminded her of her alien smut and her longing for a male with a forked tongue.

Oh, the way Cylo swirled his…was next level.

Every sweep had her on the cusp of orgasming, then he’d change, almost driving her to demand he hurry up.

His smirk when he met her gaze told her he knew what he was doing to her.

Just touches. She hummed. Oh, yes, they could be teenagers without doing the act. Still, the way her body twanged, she wanted him thrusting into her, filling the hollow ache inside her.

“Hungry?” he asked, his breath huffing across her sensitive nub.

“Starving,” she said, lifting her hips without an ounce of shame.

“Good.” He chuckled, sending a vibration through her sex just as he sucked on her…hard.

Joy exploded through her, shuddering her limbs and stealing her moans. Her knees tingled, goose bumps shot across her body, and heat pooled in her core amid spasms. They crashed over her in consistent ripples with no end in sight. She widened her eyes and cried out again, trembling against him.

He shifted onto his haunches, his lips glossy, and his gaze admiring. “Ensa, I could do this forever.”

“Cylo,” she whispered, tears at the back of her eyes. She wanted to cry at the profound emotions he invoked in her.

He frowned, concern floating toward her. “Did I hurt you?”

“Oh, no, never,” she said, scrambling to sit up. “It was amazing.”

His smile was gorgeous as it formed. “I am pleased.” His focus shifted between her face and her exposed sex. He yearned to fuck her; that much she could pick up.

“Your turn,” she said, rising to push him back with a hand splayed across his chest.

“It is not—”

“Hush,” she said. “You agreed.”

“I did not,” he said and caught her hand with his and trapped it in place. The heated muscle of his pec warmed her palm.

“You did.” She licked her lips, eager to explore that impressive bulge in his jeans.

He opened his mouth to argue with her when she stroked his cock. A shudder shook his body, and the sweetest moan escaped him.

“Let me attend to your chore,” she said, prepared to beg if needed.

When he hesitated, she hurried to undo the button of his jeans. The sheer size of him peeled the zip open. She inched it farther down, her focus on the head peeking out.

Flicking aside his shirt, she worked his jeans out of the way until his erection stood center-stage.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. Tiny nodules ran along the sides, and a ridge near the head called to her to rub its silkiness.

When she obeyed the instinct, he groaned, his flat stomach flinching.

Smirking at him as he’d done at her, she asked him to spread his legs with the nudge of her knees on his inner thighs. He obeyed, his breathing ragged.

“Do you need a safe word?” she asked, trailing a finger over the head of his cock, then across the ridge.

“Safe?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“If you want me to stop.”

When he blinked at her, she shrugged and ran her tongue over his length.

He growled, his body taut. Since he didn’t pull away, she saw it as approval.

Sucking him into her mouth became addictive in an instant.

The hot, hard, smooth feel of him competed with the smoky sweetness of his pre-cum.

Lust compelled her to shuffle closer. She cupped the base to take him deeper, lost in how he tasted, how he reacted with muted moans, how he tried to control his hip thrusts.

“Ensa,” he rasped.

Loving that endearment and his deeper voice, she moaned while bringing her hands in to play. She glided them up and down the length of him, then paused to rub circles at the base or on the ridge.

“I cannot control—” His breath hitched when she swiped her tongue across the head of his cock.

A series of grunts accompanied jets of honey sliding down her throat. She snuck a peek at him while maintaining a steady rhythm of suck and stroke. He’d arched his body, his braid pooling under him. Wow. Her eyes burned, reminding her to blink.

She broke away when he opened his eyes, no doubt to ask her to let go. Falling onto her ass, she folded her legs beneath her and smiled at him. He said nothing, just stared at her. A wealth of his emotions washed over her: affection, desire, contentment, and sadness.

They resonated with her since she, too, wished they could explore what this was between them. “Shall we eat?” she asked, glancing away.

Expecting him to bring the basket closer, she didn’t anticipate an Etterian man sprawling her onto her back, his arm looped around her waist. She gasped and met his gaze inches from hers.

“Thank you for insisting.” His eyes swirled that dark-to-neon blue, and a potent emotion she’d liken to love tickled the edge of her senses.

Her heart twanged with yearning, that he could love her, that he would choose her despite her purpleness.

He stole a sweet, slow kiss then pulled back to set the basket between them.

As he unpacked, she wondered why he didn’t cover his still-erect cock.

It painted the term ‘eye-candy’ in a new light.

“How do you open this?” he asked, his voice filled with frustration.

She dragged her gaze from his pelvis and took the champagne bottle from him. Unwinding the agraffe, she worked the cork up until it popped out. She handed the bottle to him so she could dig in her cleavage where she’d hidden his gift. While he poured, she held out the bracelet.

“I made this for you.” The heat from her skin had warmed the gold, but in her hand, all she saw were her mistakes: tool marks, not enough burnishing, where she hadn’t hammered the metal thin enough.

He froze, split his focus between her face and the bracelet, then after a minute, he set the bottle aside. “For me?”

With her hand extended, the ambience was becoming awkward until he slipped it off her fingers.

“What is it?”

“Here.” She unlatched the clasp then wrapped it around his wrist. Against his bronze skin, the gold shimmered. “It’s a bracelet. I don’t know if you can wear it with your uniform, but I made it for you anyway.”

He stroked it, his touch reverent. “It is magnificent. Your skill is breathtaking.”

She swallowed a scoff and let his compliment bathe her with joy. To him, she was a jeweler. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

He studied her, his gaze caressing her face. Again, ‘beautiful’ reached her across the narrow space between them. He offered her a flute of champagne then shook his wrist, the bracelet catching the light.

She sipped and smacked her lips at what tasted like expensive champagne. “How did you know what food to pack?”

“O.D.I.” He grinned. “This does smell intriguing.” He waved a sandwich before handing it to her. “I trust I have chosen well?”

“You have.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could’ve picked anything as a meal. There wasn’t just one way to prepare a picnic.

He bit into the sandwich and hummed. “This is good.”

She gathered two strawberries, one in her palm, the other between her fingers.

The rehydrator was amazing, capturing the texture, the tiny seeds, the tart aroma.

She held it to her nose then took a bite.

A groan slipped free. The last time she’d had a real, honest-to-goodness, Ganymede-grown strawberry was the night of her debutante party.

So long ago when she was a different and naive Wren.

“Better than a fulfillment?” he asked, his focus on her mouth, his breathing harsh.

“Fulfillment? Do you mean orgasm?” She held the other strawberry for him to taste.

His lips brushed her fingers when he obeyed her. While he chewed, his attention remained fixed on her.

“Well?” She arched a brow.

“It is not better than your mouth on my malehood.”

Heat exploded across her cheeks at his unexpected words. “Yes…I suppose you’re right.”

He took her flute, sipped from it, then set it aside. Then he crawled to her, forcing her to sprawl beneath him. “Maker, Wren, I do adore your mouth.” His gaze flicked to her eyes. “I adore everything about you.”

She swallowed hard. “Same,” she managed as he swooped in for a kiss.

He plucked at her lips with his, then conquered her with his tongue. Despite the residual orgasmic tremors still thrumming her sex, she ached for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and met him in battle. If he could feel a bit of what he invoked in her, she’d be happy.

Just kisses. And touches. Cylo willed his thoughts to focus on the now and not on what he dreamed of doing.

It would take no effort on his part to peel off these pants, to tear off her garment, and thrust into her—the scent of her fulfillment snagged his attention over and over until he couldn’t recall the taste of the tickling beverage or the pink fruit.

He pinned her to the blankets, intent on kissing her until he could no more or until sleep swept them away.

Tomorrow, she would no longer be his alone.

Her lips were as soft as hahyt petals, the tiny creases around her mouth mesmerizing.

He traced one with his fingertip. Maker, what was this he was experiencing, this overwhelming warmth, need to protect her, and to cherish everything about her?

She smiled, and his heart skipped its beat. He tried not to frown at his irrational reaction to her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I do not want to lose you,” he said, the inevitable hitting him like a battle-bond’s punch to the gut.

“Well, we’re friends, right?” Her cheeks brightened. “More than that.”

“Indeed.” He shifted to ease his painful arousal.

“When we get to Issneen, you’re not leaving me there, are you?” Her eyes widened.

“No,” he said, conviction tightening his throat. “I shall remain at your side until your Eth claims you.”

“Or you find your Dar Eth,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.

“Oh, ensa, when you meet him, you will not want me around.”