His tongue—god, that incredible, otherworldly tongue—had ridges that caught against my flesh in the most mind-blowing way. When he focused on my clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, I nearly came off the moss bed entirely.
“Lor!” I cried out, fingers threading through his dark mane, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensation.
He responded by doubling his efforts, alternating between long, slow strokes and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that was rapidly driving me toward the edge. His tail, seeminglywith a mind of its own, wrapped around my ankle and slid higher, adding another point of contact that made me gasp.
“I can feel how close you are,” he murmured against my flesh. “Give it to me. Let me taste your pleasure.”
As if I had any choice in the matter. His tongue slipped inside me, those magical ridges dragging against my inner walls in a way no human tongue could ever accomplish. Combined with the pressure of his thumb against my clit, it was too much. I shattered with a keening cry, my entire body convulsing as pleasure crashed through me in waves.
He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. He lapped at me through the aftershocks, drawing out my orgasm until I was trembling and incoherent, begging him for mercy and more in the same breath.
When he finally lifted his head, his chin glistening with my arousal, the sight was so erotic I felt another pulse of desire despite my recent release.
“Not enough,” he declared, eyes dark with hunger. “I need more of you.”
In one fluid motion, he shed his minimal clothing and rolled onto his back, bringing me with him so I straddled his hips. His cock stood proud between us, thick and imposing, those same ridges that made his tongue so devastating running along the underside.
“Ride me,” he commanded, positioning me over him. “Take me inside you.”
I sank down slowly, gasping as he stretched me, filled me completely. The soreness from last night added a delicious edge to the pleasure, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d claimed me.
“So tight,” he groaned, his hands guiding my hips as I began to move. “So perfect around my cock.”
I established a rhythm, rising and falling on his length while his hands roamed my body, cupping my breasts, teasing mynipples, tracing the place where we were joined. His tail curled around to tease my clit as I rode him, adding pressure that made my movements stutter.
“The fruit,” he said suddenly, reaching for the clusters I’d dropped nearby when he’d first pounced. “Eat while you take me.”
It should have seemed strange, but something about the request made perfect sense in that moment. I took a piece from his hand and bit into it, juice trickling down my chin as I continued to rock on his cock.
His eyes blazed as he watched me, something possessive and primal in his gaze. “Yes,” he growled. “Feed while I fill you. Take everything I give you.”
He pressed another piece to my lips, and I took it, the sweet-tart flavor exploding on my tongue as he thrust up to meet my downward motion. The dual sensation—being filled physically while eating from his hand—created an intimacy I hadn’t expected.
“Look how wet you are,” he murmured, his fingers tracing where my body stretched around his cock. “So slick. Bathing me in your desire.”
I should have been embarrassed at the explicit observation, at the obscene sounds our joining made in the quiet jungle morning. Instead, I felt powerful, desired, worshipped.
“You make me this way,” I gasped, taking another piece of fruit from his fingers. “Only you.”
He growled his approval, his movements becoming more urgent. His tail tightened around my thigh as his thrusts grew more forceful, driving deeper into me.
“Come for me again,” he demanded, his thumb finding my clit. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock while you’re full of fruit and me.”
The combination of sensations—his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me, his thumb circling my clit, the sweet juice on my tongue—pushed me over the edge. I came with a broken cry, clenching around him as pleasure exploded through me for the second time.
He followed immediately, his release triggered by the pulsing of my inner walls. I felt him swell even larger inside me, felt the hot splash of his seed as he growled my name like a prayer.
I collapsed on his chest, utterly spent, juice still sticky on my chin and his release leaking from where we remained joined. His arms came around me, holding me close, his heart thundering beneath my ear.
“Breakfast of champions,” I mumbled against his skin, earning a rumbling laugh that I felt more than heard.
For a man who rarely showed emotion, that laugh felt like a victory bigger than any orgasm.
He left again shortly after,off to do his patrols or track the mystery fugitive or wrestle a tree, who knew. The air around me still smelled like sex and fruit, a combination that should have been bizarre but somehow fit perfectly with the lush, primal nature of this place. I watched his powerful form disappear into the foliage, that mesmerizing tail making one last flick before he vanished completely.
I stretched languidly, feeling pleasantly used and thoroughly satisfied. My stomach was full of fruit, my body humming with the afterglow of those intense orgasms, and my mind... well, my mind was buzzing with questions.
Because as nice as amazing alien sex was—and it was spectacular, five-star, would-definitely-recommend amazing—Iwasn’t just some love-struck traveler stumbling into her happy ending. I was a podcaster, dammit. And cryptids were kind of my thing.
