ask Jaxxo why I feel so turned on whenever I’m around him, but just the thought of asking that makes me feel stupid and desperate. It’s like I’m drowning in horniness, and I’m screaming for this hunky Martian to throw me a lifeline. But he doesn’t.
He stands from the couch and announces he is going to take me home. I’m torn. I want him. But I also want to get the hell away from him. If he isn’t going to touch me, to stroke the swollen heat between my legs…
I bite my lip and stand, following him out of the living room, through the gleaming kitchen, and out the back door to the landing pad. He helps me into his vehicle, and we fly away from his beach house, back through the city, and down into the suburbs where the bridal house is surrounded by smaller estates.
As we are descending toward the landing pad, he clears his throat and looks over at me.
“I wanted to ask you something. If you aren’t ready, there is no rush.”
“Yes?”
I’m praying he’ll ask me if he can suck my pussy, but I know that isn’t it. I grit my teeth at my own inner dialogue. When did I turn into such a slut? Then I admonish myself for shaming my own sexual appetite. I just can’t believe I’m so out of control.
“I want you to come live with me. At my home.”
My heart bursts, slamming against my ribs. Going to live with him is one step closer to sliding over his massive, hard body and enfolding him in the dampness of my sex. I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting the slight tang of blood. I don’t even recognize myself. Am I the same mousy girl whose loser boyfriend cheated on her on an Internet dating app?
Noticing my hesitation, he says, “You don’t have to if you aren’t emotionally prepared…”
“No. I was just thinking about something else. I’d love to live with you at your beach house. The view is so beautiful. But I will miss my friends.”
“You can visit them or have them visit you any time. All of you have been tested for contagious diseases, so it won’t be a problem.”
We land, and he slides from the driver’s seat before coming around to help me out of the oval-shaped craft. I step out onto the landing pad, his hand in mine. The warmth of his fingers sends a hot wave of desire through me. My core pulses. My heart thwacks and echoes in my ears.
I smile up at him, trying to stay cool. He’s got a face like a Greek god and a movie star rolled into one. He stands at least a foot taller than my five-foot-seven-inch frame. He’s massive, but his proportions are perfection.
We walk hand in hand back to the bridal house. I don’t want to let him go. I almost ask him if I can go back to his house now. I want to be naked with this man at the soonest possible opportunity. But he makes zero moves to be with me. I have to wonder if he is attracted to me at all.
But then I remind myself that we just met, and Martians haven’t had women around for decades. He’s probably a virgin. He has no idea how to make the first move. Does that mean I’m going to have to do it? I’ve never made the first move with a man in my life.
Then there is the alternative explanation, which is that he is disappointed in his match with me and is just doing this out of duty. Logically, I know it’s the first explanation. But my terrible self-talk is trying to convince me it’s the latter.
We stand at the front door of the bridal house, still holding hands. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, gazing into my eyes. This is the first time he’s touched me like that. It sends a shock wave of awareness through my being. Slowly, with a grace that belies his probable virgin status, he leans down to claim my lips.
I’m so shocked at this turn of events that I am caught off guard and almost don’t enjoy the brief touch of his lips against mine. It is nothing but a peck. The kind of kiss a twelve-year-old boy might give you on the playground.
He pulls away before I can even begin to enjoy it. But that brief instant that our lips pressed together fills