When She Dances

He watches me, expression inscrutable. The blue parts of his face are flushed, his mouth still slick with my release, and god, I want to kiss him so badly. "You don't want that," he tells me.

"Yes, I do," I insist. I spread my thighs and try to wriggle under him even as he's determined to roll me onto my belly. "Zakoar, please. Why do you think I wouldn't want to look at you when you come?"

The big alien scowls at me so deeply that for a wrenching moment, I worry I've destroyed all of our camaraderie. That I've pushed him too hard, too far, and now he's angry at me. But he stops wrestling to turn me over and gets quiet. After a long, tense moment, he simply says, "I don't have a good face."

"What's wrong with your face?"

He glares at me.

"I'm serious." I cup his face in my hands, shaking my head. "Do you think I object to how you look? That I have a problem with metal jaws or bald heads and no horns?"

"Horns are a mark of pride," he says stiffly.

"Well then it must really suck to be human, because none of us have horns."

For a moment, Zakoar looks completely dumbstruck.

"Also, spoiler—we don't have tails," I mock-whisper, stroking his cheeks. "I'm sure that makes us freakish looking, but people seem to like how we look." I give him a tender smile. "I like how you look. I like your metal jaw and your no-horn-having self. I think you're incredibly sexy. I always have. Why do you think I stared at you so much?"

His gaze searches mine. "Because you wanted to escape?"

"Because I dreamed of escaping with a man that would take me away, sure, but since I was dreaming, I went for the sexiest guy I could think of, and it was you." I hook my legs tight around his hips, locking my ankles. My calves brush against hardware and metal, and for a moment I panic that I'm hurting him, but Zakoar is anything but fragile. I can't fuck up anything simply by touching him, and I shouldn't be alarmed by touching his metal parts.

So I wrap my arms around him from underneath and trail my fingers along his metal-studded spine, with the tubes and the brackets and a terrifying amount of modifications. I dig my nails into the skin between the studs and give him a heated stare. "Now, are you going to fuck me or am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?"

"Pushy female," he mutters, but his hips settle in against mine. His cock presses against my folds and I suck in a breath as he shifts his weight and then he's pressing into me, one glorious inch at a time.

I whimper, because he's started entering me incredibly slow every time we have sex. I think he knows that it makes me absolutely back-clawing crazy when he goes so damn slow. I can feel every ridge as he feeds it into me, and it just adds to my pleasure. I'm already slick from my orgasm, and he pushes into me easily. By the time he's completely seated in my body, I realize there's another benefit to us making love like this.

His spur isn't in my ass this time—it drags right up against my clit and parks there as if it belongs there.

Zakoar holds himself over me, remaining utterly still, and I squirm underneath him. "Your…spur…" I pant. "Dear god." I dig into his skin, doing my best to rub up against it like a shameless wanton. "You feel so good like this."

"Better than the other way?" He studies me, his face analytical, as if he's trying to determine the best way to have sex. Zakoar pulls back, then slowly pushes into me again, and all my nerve endings light up with pleasure.

There's no “better.” There's just different, and while both ways are good, I love the rub of his spur against my clit. More than that, I love being able to watch him move over me. "I'll take you any way I can," I confess, reaching up to touch his cheek. "But I like this. I like looking at you."

He watches me as he begins to move, his body surging over mine. At first I feel as if I'm under intense scrutiny, he's regarding me so intently, but I soon forget that with just how good being with him feels. The way his cock fills me completely, the way his spur glides against my clit, intensifying the pleasure, the way we fit together. I tighten my legs around him as the pleasure spikes, and our mating takes on a more frantic note. My breasts bounce as he drives into me, and our bodies slap together with the force of our mating. Every time I open my eyes—because they seem to close automatically—Zakoar is watching me, that focused look on his face. It only makes me squirm harder, and by the time my climax starts to crest again, I'm mindless with need, little hungry noises escaping my throat with Zakoar's every thrust.