“Good girl.” Ant growls low in his throat.
My eyes shoot to his. Crap. I enjoyed that. Am I going to let myself enjoy that?
Ant is grinning, his hands flexing against the mattress like he can’t wait to touch me.
“Good girl. Show them to me.” His voice is so raspy and low that it’s difficult to hear. Yeah. I’m definitely going to let him call me that.
I giggle lightly and sit up straighter, rolling my shoulders back to give them all the advantages I can.
“Yes. My gorgeous, Piper.” He inches forward and stops himself. “Put your hair on your head.”
“What? Like this?” I pile my loose curls up.
“Both hands,” he insists.
I get another ‘good girl’ when I put both hands above my head. The last one finally uncovers a nervous laugh that’s been building in my chest. I don’t have the mental fortitude to sit up any longer. I collapse back onto the mattress.
“Touch them,” he insists. “For me.”
Staring at the ceiling, I swallow hard, sending my protests back into the back of my throat. I am ready to lose myself for a moment, let all of my thoughts disappear, and be told what to do.
So I close my eyes and slip my hands up the sides of my breasts until I reach my nipples, squeezing them gently. Fondling myself, for him, for myself. Who knows anymore.
”Yes,” he hisses, before a shadow falls over my closed eyes, as the weight on the mattress changes. “My beautiful flame.” He grumbles low, the purr in his chest returning. “May I touch them?”
The question is so easy, light. I nod, but don’t open my eyes as I lower my hands to let him take control of the situation. His hands replace mine and he purrs low in his throat before his long tongue snakes across my breasts until he reaches my nipple, there's carefully placed suction. I gasp, my back arches off the bed toward him. I need him other places; I need him everywhere.
“Ant,” I say desperately, not even sure if it’s really his name.
He’s already obliging me, like he can read my thoughts. One hand moves to grip my thigh with strong insistent fingers. I’m all too ready to spread my legs for him, until my knees get tangled in the fabric of my skirt. I hiss in irritation.
“Crap. Just take it off, please,” I insist, helping him find the zipper and wiggling to pull the skirt, and my underwear completely off. I am nearly breathless when I’m finally free. We aren’t touching anymore, he’s just staring at me with those predator-like eyes. He makes an animalistic noise in his throat that sends a shiver straight to my pussy.
I adjust my glasses to see him better. “Fair is fair.” I point to his legs. “Pants.”
He makes a noise of protest, but I stubbornly cross my arms over my chest. Finally, his fingers move to his waistband, and he lowers his sweats.
It’s obvious that he’s not human, still finally seeing him without any clothing on, it suddenly becomes very real. There’s no sign of the dick I clearly felt earlier. The area between his legshas a strange bumpy texture. It starts to move. I lean forward, intrigued, as two long hard-looking protrusions fold out from his body, gently flexing in the air. Each is as big as my forearm and shaped similarly. That's not what I felt between my thighs earlier.
“Ant— is that supposed to go—inside me?” There was a dick earlier. I definitely felt a dick.
“No.” He sighs, like the weight of explaining is too great. “These are my claspers. They will—hold you in place while we mate.”
I have to put a hand to my mouth to cover my smile at the word mate. “And your dick?”
He shakes his head with another short sigh. “Aedeagus—stays inside me, until it’s—needed.”
I sit up, eager to learn more. He hesitates, but I’m not going to stop unless he tells me to.
”Can I?” I hold a hand close to one of his claspers.
He gives a curt nod, and I stroke a finger along one. He shudders.
“Okay?” I ask.
He nods. The clasper is thick, boney, hard, and covered in something like peach fuzz. I wrap a hand around the sides. It flexes slightly in my hand, like the two pieces would hold onto something, onto me. That sends a little shiver of excitement through me. I run my hand up, across his flat stomach, the velvety fuzz that covers his abs, and then down, to the mound where a dick should be. He groans, thrusting slightly into my hand, as a vertical slit opens along his body, and something emerges.
I gasp, but don’t pull back as a thick dark tube appears and prods at my fingers, prehensile, almost like it has a mind of its own. It slips itself between my fingers and I wrap a loose grip around it. He’s wet, pre-lubricated.
