night. But I won’t completely fold under his pressure either.
I turn and look up at him. He stares me down with white eyes, and I think if I make a move, I get to set the pace. If I do nothing, he’ll set the pace for the night. Even though I have no illusions he’s manipulating me into doing what he wants, I scoot closer and peck his lips, then lean back to see a bright color show up behind the white of his eyes. He leans in slowly as if not to scare me off and returns the kiss.
“My people,” he says at my lips, “kiss a lot. Or they used to when we had females.”
He props his palm on the floor and rises up over me, effectively caging me in while he keeps kissing my mouth, coaxing me to open mine. His purr is steady, soft, seductive, and I run a palm down his biceps. He feels like strength and power. No swimmer, no bodybuilder, no athlete is built quite this strong or has this array of different-sized muscles so clearly defined. Since his palm is on the floor, when he bends at the elbow, it reminds me of push-ups, except he doesn’t push up. Instead, he kisses me again, this time also tilting his head and swiping his tongue over my lips.
“Open,” he growls.
He holds his entire weight on one arm, and I move my hand over his biceps, feeling peaks and valleys of muscle. It awakens something…hungry inside me. The men I’ve seen walking in and out of our house, the suitors my brother chose, all wore suits, ties, or, at the very least, tailored jackets. They were clean-shaven, smelling of various colognes, and the only jewelry they wore were expensive bulky watches.
This male is raw and wears more jewelry in his hair than I do.
Slowly, I move my palm from his arm to his chest, where I feel the tendons and muscles that strain as he holds his position without dropping his weight on me.
“You are admiring my fitness,” he concludes with a sniff, wiggling his nose in that inhuman way.
He pushes up and spreads my legs.
I gasp and close them.
Snarling, he parts them again and kneels between them. “Resist your instincts to fuck me, and I will tie you up. Maybe I will tie you up anyway.”
I shake my head.
“No what? You won’t resist your instinct, or you don’t want to be tied up?”
I swallow. “Both.” Neither. I don’t know. My heart beats wildly.
Sitting back on his heels, eyes locked with mine, he does nothing further, and I can’t maintain eye contact, though I want to. His torso is unscarred, fuzzy with tiny hairs I barely see. There’s an eight-pack with corded muscle on the sides.
“Do you want to see the rest of my fitness?” He removes his belt and stretches out his hand, making a show of dropping it on the floor. His kilt, he unsnaps and lets fall down his hips, revealing his penis. He’s long, too long, too wide, too big, and there’s something at the tip. The penis twitches, and clear fluid spurts out of the tip to slide down the mushroom top and the length of him.
I lick my lips, then snap my eyes up, my face burning. It’s getting hot in here. He did say he’d keep me warm, and he’s pretty great at it.
He grabs my leash and winds it about his fist. I’d forgotten about that. It’s been my constant companion since I arrived here. He tugs, and I sit up. He pulls me closer so our faces are inches apart.
“I despise your fashions,” he says and presses his cheek to mine, rubbing like a cat might. He smells…masculine. Heavy. Spicy. Strong. My nipples perk and my breasts feel heaver as his warm front touches them when he leans in and reaches behind me. He grunts, and I hear a tear. A brush of cold air between my legs tells me he tore the jeans. There’s a hole between my legs.
“I’d have undressed,” I say.
“You’ll still undress,” he whispers at my ear, then moves my hair behind my ear and kisses under the ear where I’m most sensitive. Butterflies flutter in my belly, and I close my eyes, enjoying the way he moves his mouth over the side of my neck.
A claw rips right down the middle of the shirt, and he parts it, then touches my right breast. My breasts are small, and his big