Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,24
its head.
Even if it contained no bones, it could still be broken.
I’m amazed it’s still attached after the treatment I’ve had to give it.
The droplet fell from his nose, hitting the floor with a dull splat. Zevris released another heavy breath and sent a mental command through his neural transceiver, deactivating the grav generator. The extra weight vanished suddenly enough that his balance nearly faltered; he’d not realized how hard he’d been pushing against it.
He reached back and plucked the tiny grav generator off his back before standing up. He dropped the generator into the pocket of his sweatpants, snatched the towel off the workbench, and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. As he combed his fingers through his hair, pulling the loose strands out of his face, he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. The air was redolent of wood, varnish, and paint, of machine oil and the metallic tang of tools and hardware, mixed with a hint of his sweat that had settled atop the mixture.
All those smells were familiar to Zevris, and they were oddly comforting. This garage—his workshop—had become a sanctuary for him. While he was in here practicing his adopted craft, the universe’s problems were far away. The pressure of having to save his entire species did not follow him into this space. All those years of training, dangerous operations, and combat fell away, leaving nothing but a lone male trying to shape wood into something new.
He’d spent his whole day yesterday—from just before sunrise to well after sunset—in here trying to work, drifting from project to project with no sense of direction. That was not normal for him. It also wasn’t normal that he’d stopped so many times between those projects to take his cock in hand and pump himself to climax, or that he’d spent the night before yesterday unable to remove his hand from his shaft.
Though that unknown floral scent from Tabitha’s house had faded from his nostrils not long after he’d first smelled it, its effects had proven devastatingly tenacious. He’d only begun to regain control of himself last night—a good twenty-four hours after it had first hit him. Whether that smell had acted as some sort of aphrodisiac or his body had confused it for a potent pheromone, it had haunted him.
Tabitha had haunted him.
His tail curled, its tuft briefly trailing over the floor. Tilting his head back, Zevris clenched his hair in his fist and dropped his other hand, which still held the towel, to his groin. He pressed down on his dully throbbing cock.
In the hours following his disastrous cactus delivery, Zevris had stroked himself to climax at least half a dozen times. Each peak had been less fulfilling than the last. Only exhaustion had eventually broken the cycle.
That cycle had commenced the second he’d awoken yesterday. By the time he’d fallen asleep last night, he’d been far, far past being able to count the number of times he’d stroked himself. Even now, he still felt the echoes of those impulses. And over the last day and a half, he swore he’d detected random, phantom traces of that maddening floral scent, even over the odors of hot metal and sawdust.
He swore he’d smelled her.
Zevris’s fingers curled reflexively. He refused to let them close around his shaft. He’d resisted today, had made it all the way to this afternoon without giving in to the insistent ache in his balls. He’d by no means been free of temptation, but it was a vast improvement in self-control over the day prior.
The fragrance that had filled him with consuming lust and arousal had only magnified what he’d already felt. Zevris wanted Tabitha. He wanted to do all the things he’d imagined doing with her while he’d been in that druglike daze. He wanted to put everything he’d learned from the instructional videos to use, wanted to bring her great pleasure, wanted to show her that he was worthy, virile mate.
He groaned, huffed through his nostrils, and forced himself to move.
At least he’d maintained just enough control to recognize that throwing himself atop her wouldn’t have been the right choice. It didn’t matter how much lust he thought he’d seen in her eyes…he could not do any of those things without her say.
Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he opened the interior door and entered the laundry room. The garage door slammed shut behind him; it always did unless he kept hold of it and closed it with deliberate gentleness.