His hand tentatively moves between my breasts to find more of his moisture and rub it onto my upper chest. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll chalk it up to first-time jitters.
Just when I’m debating whether to take things into my own hands, he makes the tentative journey downward, pauses between my breasts, then explores one of them.
He cups the fullness, then probes until he discovers the peak. I suck in an aroused breath and press my ass against his now-hard length.
His tentative movements are banished. He realizes he has a willing bed partner and moves into hyperdrive.
Flipping onto his back, he pulls me on top of him, facing him in a sitting position, and cups both my breasts in his palms. He rubs my hardened nubs between thumbs and forefingers and doesn’t miss my appreciative response as I throw my head back in a hiss.
Leaning up, he eagerly sucks one nipple into his mouth as he plucks the other. Fast learner, Slag.
As one hand is plying my tight peak with pleasure and his mouth is learning just how hard I like the tip scraped, his other hand rearranges me so my dripping core is perched on that monster cock of his.
I should have reviewed the ground rules. How do I tell him that what he probably wants more than anything in the galaxy is off-limits?
Maybe later. I’m too busy riding him. I’m so wet it takes only two trips up and back, my lower lips sliding on his length, for both of us to be drenched in my juices.
His hand abandons its post on my breast and grips my ass cheek in the same position as its mate. He’s moving me now, I need do nothing other than hang onto his shoulders as he drags me up and down that lovely shaft.
“Oh yes,” is all I have to say, and he presses me against him harder.
“A girl could come like this,” I pant.
I lean closer to him so my nipples drag against his pebbled pecs. The perfect angle to pour accelerant on my libido.
“Slag! I’m going to come!”
My orgasm whips through me like a hurricane, hurtling from a tropical depression to a category five in a nanosecond. The spasms hit me from deep inside, rippling out until my toes curl and my fingers bite into his shoulders where I’m hanging on for dear life.
Instead of slumping on top of him, I sit up, lean back, and continue to rub myself on him until I find release a second time. This one is a smaller echo of the first. Not exactly a Hall-of-Famer like the first one was, but satisfying nonetheless.
Panting, sweating, and no longer able to move, I let my muscles go, fall next to him and tuck myself against his side. Pulling me close, he gives the top of my head a dozen close-lipped kisses and uses that deep, rumbly wordless murmur to tell me things that don’t translate.
His cock is pulsing at my belly, but he’s too much of a gentlemale to ask for a second round.
That steel cage I locked all my worry-thoughts into? It springs open like Pandora’s box. I realize I just played with fire—a male who could kill me in a minute with one hand still playing his flute.
But it’s Slag. Who’s been nothing but a kind protector since I met him.
“We’ve got to get you a new name, big guy. Is that what your parents named you? You deserve better.”
I find his wrist in the darkness and press his hand onto his cock. “Go ahead, finish.”
He only hesitates for a moment, then works himself hard and fast until he releases on my chest. After, he rubs his come on me while murmuring unintelligible sounds that I’m certain are high praise.
As I fall asleep, I acknowledge that this is the oddest thing I’ve ever experienced. Yes, odder than flying in a spaceship or having a conversation with a psychopathic snake.
Sharing pleasure with a giant green alien in the dark depths of a poisonous mine is definitely strange. What’s weirder though, is that I feel singularly connected to him. And even more odd? I have no regrets.
The ground rumbles beneath us. This is bigger than the one I experienced in Ryone’s living room. Slag holds me tighter and kisses my temple, trying to reassure me.
A minute later there’s another tremor, and a minute later another. Finally, the ground heaves and the quaking goes on for long seconds.
Slag straddles me, his knees at my hips as he leans over me, his body protecting me as fragments of rock break loose and fall around us. I feel him bounce against me as huge pieces of stone must be pelting his back. He grunts in pain more than once.
There are several after-tremors, then silence except for a few straggling rocks falling to the floor.
Though my brain is foggy, I attempt to think, but try as I might I don’t know what to do.
Slag waits a few more minutes, still hunched over me in an effort to keep falling rocks from landing on me. Finally, he stands, lifts me into his arms, and walks to the tunnel we entered from.
Although it’s hard to believe, our little slice of heaven is equipped with an emergency illumination system. Dim lights flicker to life in the tunnel making the sight we’re greeted with even more depressing.
After travelling no more than fifty feet toward the entrance, we’re met by a wall of fallen rock. This isn’t a large pile we can navigate over, it’s not even a blockage we might be able to pick our way out of. This appears thick and solid and impenetrable.
Slag sets me down on a small pile of rock, points sternly—a clear warning I’m not to
