Ar'Tok - Alana Khan Page 0,45

her cheeks and urge her up with a gentle press of my fingers under her jaw.

“There are other ways two people who care about each other can be close, Star. I’ve given you pleasure several times before. I’ll teach you how to please me. I’ll never hurt you. Never.”

She pulls back. At first, my eyes flare wide in worry as I wonder if she’s going to throw her clothes on and bolt from the room. Instead, she sits back, her bottom on her heels, and surrounds my ankles with her grip.

“I’m going to explore,” she announces. Her fear has vanished, and she has an air of confidence. She slowly works her palms up over my calves, past my knees to the meat of my thighs. Her thumbs dig in as she glides upward, getting a sense of which parts of my body give no resistance, and which respond with a sensitive flinch.

Leaning forward now, her silky black hair tumbles onto my thighs as she inspects me more closely. Sniffing in as her lids shutter closed, a small, close-lipped smile graces her beautiful face. Her nostrils flare as if she’s trying to breathe in every molecule of my essence.

“You smell better than anything the Epicure cooked, Ar’Tok,” she says. After opening her eyes, she seems mesmerized by the hard cock straining at my hips, not taking her eyes from it for a modicum.

Dipping her head, she nips the sensitive spot on my inner knee, then progresses up. When her little pink tongue slips out to trace upward, I grunt in appreciation.

Her eager hand slides up my other leg, bypasses my cock, and presses against my stomach until I’m lying back.

“Better,” she says. “I don’t need an audience.”

One slim finger traces around the lip under the head of my cock. I groan and can’t contain my hips from thrusting into the air at just this slightest touch. A purr rumbles from my chest. Not only is it an announcement of my excitement, but the vibration takes my arousal up a notch.

I grind my teeth together as her deft touch explores my length. When I bring myself pleasure I touch myself hard, with disdain. I was always alone in a cell, knowing the cameras caught every movement. I suspected the guards watched my quiet fumbling for their amusement. At times, they mocked me about it.

Star’s gentle touch is an awakening. She’s not touching me like I touch myself, in a hurry to take care of business and then move on. Her touch is . . . appreciative, almost reverent.

“Looking at you makes me wet, Ar’Tok.”

I’d always assumed if a female got this close to me I would repulse, not arouse her.

Her palm surrounds me, as much as she can reach around my girth. I feel her skin slide over each of the three thick ridges that surround me just under the head, then move farther down to caress the lines of bumps that trail up my shaft.

“There are things I want to do. Do I need to ask permission?” her voice is soft and nervous and virginal, even while her hand clutches me more tightly.

“Whatever you want,” I scratch out through tight lips.

And then her tongue, the very tip of her tongue by the feel of it, barely grazes my skin as she swipes a drop of my essence.

“Mmm, I never imagined you would taste like this. So good, Ar’Tok.”

This seems to unleash something inside her. Her tentative touches, her whispered questions, disappear. The soft silk of her hair slides along my sensitized skin as she tilts her head, then slides the flat of her tongue along one of the lines of bumps on my cock, from base to tip and back again.

For a moment, my hands move to lodge in her hair, to press her mouth against me harder. Instead, I grip the bedding, give up any need for control, and lie back to enjoy what this beautiful female is offering so freely.

Her soft touches transform into harder ones as she gets to know the feel of me. The pads of her fingers seem fascinated by the three ridges that ring the top of my shaft. Then they explore the pronounced bumps that march in lines up and down the rod.

Without warning, her mouth surrounds my head, then presses lower as she groans. The groan isn’t one of disgust or distaste or pain. Her noise is more of a moan, born of pleasure—arousal.

“Star,” I say on a soft, satisfied bark.

Her hands work