When She Dances

The big guy grunts. "I don't find it erotic. They are too…too…"

"Clinical?"

"Perfect." His voice takes on a harsh note. "I don't like watching two flawless beings pleasuring one another. It seems…fake."

Oh. My heart aches for him. I get it. He doesn't want to watch porn because it reminds him of things he thinks he can't have. Well, since you're lacking imagination," I begin with a tease, even though my heart is hammering at being so daring. "Let me be the one to educate you. I can take you in my mouth and pleasure you, if you like. If you don't mind violating a sanitation law or two, that is."

The groan he makes is utterly pained, and his hands work my ass harder, one rubbing my cheek even as his other hand strokes through my folds. "You'd…do that?" His voice is so raspy with need. "For me?"

Gently, I turn in his arms, pushing away from his hands. While they feel good, I think he's right and I'm too sensitive. My clit's throbbing and I'm reminded of how enthusiastic his touches were last night until I pointed out that a slow touch felt better. He practically rubbed the damn thing off—not that I'm complaining. In my book, he's wonderful because he wanted to make me come. He wanted me to enjoy his touch.

So yeah, I'd be more than happy to forget my own pleasure for a bit and blow him.

The intense look is back in his gaze, and his cock is so hard it's practically stabbing at my belly. As I glance down, a bead of pre-cum leaks down the already-wet head, traveling in a slow, enticing trail down the crown. "You want to do it in here in the kitchen, or somewhere else?" I ask him, brushing a finger over the head of his cock and running my fingertip through the wetness. "You're so tall I'll probably do better with a stool—"

I can't even finish the sentence before he grabs me and hauls me into his arms, hefting me like a sack of flour and slinging me over his shoulder. I yip in surprise, my hands fluttering over his back. There's so much metal on him that I'm afraid to touch him. Turned upside down like this, I see a mess of scars running along the length of his spine, and I think of his name. Zakoar of the Broken Back.

He's tall and strong now, so I guess it's no longer broken. There's a story there, though, and I want to hear it.

Right now, however, I'm pretty sure Zakoar has a different focus. He takes a few steps and pauses, as if suddenly stymied. "Where?" he asks, biting the word out in a single, tense syllable.

"Couch?" I offer.

Immediately, he hauls me toward the pit in the living room. I half-expect to be flung down amongst the pillows, but to my surprise, he sets me gently on my feet, as if I'm the most precious of creatures, and brushes a finger over my cheek.

For that small touch, he's getting a deliciously enthusiastic blow job.11TESSAI put a hand to his chest and give it the smallest shove. "On your back for me."

Zakoar immediately goes backward, thumping down onto the nearest rounded sofa. His legs hang over the edge and his cock juts up obscenely, but the look in his eyes is sheer fascination and makes me excited to start.

"Has anyone ever done this for you?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, watching me like a hawk.

"Are you comfortable with me—"

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here on the couch, would I?" he growls, sounding surly and impatient.

"Tsk," I chide him, wanting to kiss that angry-looking metal jaw of his. "Don't worry. I'll make this good for you." I crawl onto the couch beside him, my hair falling over my shoulder. "But if I do anything you don't like—"

"Female—"

I stop short, just before reaching for his cock, and arch an eyebrow at him.

The look he gives me is downright mulish. "Tessa."

"You remember!" I'm delighted. "Why do you not use it? Do you have a problem with my name?"

He scowls at me for a moment, and then speaks. "Names are for those that matter. It is…a habit of mine to avoid using names. A lot of my customers don't want to give them. They are on the run, or they are wanted by the law. I do not ask for names, and they do not give them."

I'm a little stung. Names are for those that matter? I glare at him, fighting the urge to reach over and smack that enormous, jutting cock just to piss him off. "Is that why you don't use my name? Because I don't matter?"

"That is not what I meant." For a moment, he looks chagrined. "I am unused to using them. But…I remember yours now. And I will remember it from now on, I vow."