Ar'Tok - Alana Khan Page 0,21

exploring me. But a moment later I realize it’s not his fingers, but his cirr—dozens of them. They slide along my cheekbones, trace the bracket of my ears, comb through my hair. I want to shake my head in a delicious shiver as they flutter along my eyelashes.

“Ar’Tok.” It’s all I can force my lips to say. I hope it expresses my pleasure. His cirr move to the back of my head, gripping me more forcefully as he stands taller and sears me with a gaze so intense, so blazingly hot, I feel the urge to look away. But I don’t.

We’re still standing. Fully clothed. But I have never felt this aroused, never experienced this level of heat in my life. Desire swirls in my pelvis. I feel my heartbeat not in my chest, but between my legs. The tips of my breasts ache to be touched.

He gives me the slightest smile. On another male it might be a smirk. One side of his mouth quirks in an almost imperceptible movement. But there’s nothing derisive or dismissive about his expression. It’s as articulate as when I just spoke his name. It tells me how much he wants me right now.

And then he speaks eloquently with his actions as his head dips, his lips finally brushing mine.

This is exactly how I imagined my first kiss would be. So gentle. So full of passion. I want to keep my eyes open. I want to see his beautiful face, to watch the passion in his eyes, but my lids shutter closed of their own volition.

Deleting my sight enhances my other senses. My arousal is even more urgent. His cirr hold me tight as he tilts his head, getting a better angle to explore me. And then his slick tongue slides along the seam of my lips. It tickles and arouses and is delightful even as it makes me want more.

I open myself to him and hear him groan with pleasure. He accepts my invitation by piercing into me, his tongue mad with need. It’s as if something unleashed within him.

Now that he’s standing, my hands slide and entangle in his cirr. They grip me, entwining with my fingers. They’re so expressive, so eager to feel my touch and return it.

His tongue is pressing into me, exploring my mouth, savoring me, as I’m savoring him. All my senses overwhelm me. His taste reminds me of the expensive vanilla my mom used to hide in the back of the cupboard for special occasions. He smells like an exotic combination of sweet and spicy. I take an extra breath in through my nose to memorize it, then tuck it into the back of my mind to play back another day.

His huge hands slide along the nape of my neck so gently, as if his cirr weren’t doing a good enough job of holding me tight.

Now I know why species don’t die out unless they’re hunted to extinction—the biological imperative to breed.

For the first time in my life, I feel need. A pressing, pounding need to couple, to connect, to be filled by him. It isn’t that interesting tickle I feel when I lie in bed with one of my books. It’s insistent and driving and compelling.

I want more than his delicious tongue dancing with mine. I want his manhood inside me, to invade me.

I try to disentangle my hand from his cirr, but they hold tight, not wanting to let go. I tug harder so my palms can slide down the hard muscles of his back. What an interesting combination of soft skin pulled tight over sculpted granite.

The taut drawstring at the top of his pants is no match for my determined fingers as they slip beneath the fabric. The globes of his ass are magnificent—strong and hard. I press him closer, aware that he’s kept his hips away from me.

Now’s the first moment I feel the hard rod of his cock against my belly. I gasp, shocked at the feel of his male warmth straining against me. I stretch on my tiptoes to feel him right there. His length now pressing against my clit.

Needing even more of him, I sling my leg around him, dig my heel against the back of his thigh, and urge him even closer as I ride him.

His cirr sneak between our bodies, slide down my neckline, and grip my nipples. My eyes flare open. I need to hold onto Ar’Tok’s gaze as a tether as the waves of an orgasm