Slag: Book Four in the Galaxy Pirates Alien Abduction Romance Series (Shifter) by Alana Khan (i like reading books .TXT) 📗

kissed my lips a thousand times. The same lips that recited the most romantic words I’ve ever heard when we made love near the falls that first day on Kallion when he asked me to be his mate.

These lips have told me they love me a hundred times, but more important, this male has shown it in a thousand ways.

It’s as natural as breathing to press my mouth to the pec my head is leaning against, and make my way up his golden skin to the thick cords of his neck, over his square jaw, and kiss his soft cheek.

“You’re a good male, A’Zul.”

He tosses the flute on the other side of the bed and takes my mouth in a kiss that speaks as eloquently as his loving words. His tongue slips into my welcoming mouth.

“I watched you, Kai-Lee. I peeked out from the beginning. I wanted to meet you, welcome you into our life, relieve Slag of the burden he’s carried for a decade. I just couldn’t fight my way out to greet you until you said the magic word and freed me. And here you are, in my arms.”

The blue of his eyes burns brighter as he lifts me off his lap and lays me onto the bed.

“Are you ready to welcome me, Kai-Lee? If not, I can wait.”

He’s not lying. It’s true. The open, loving, patient smile on his face expresses his love and his longing and his willingness to delay until I’m ready.

“I’m ready, my love. I guess I just needed to hear the magic music from your flute.”

He’s still naked, so he has no clothes to remove. I watch his now-golden erection bob as he lies next to me, both of us on our sides. He gently slides two fingers from the pulsebeat of my throat down between my breasts.

I split my attention between the pleasure of his touch and my errant thoughts. My gaze can’t leave his face as I drink him in. I commit every plane and angle of his face to memory, noticing where the shadows hide in the hollows of his cheeks, and where the light shines brightest.

If I never see him again, I want to be able to paint him from memory, from the shape of his lips to the tiny bronze freckles sprinkled on his cheeks.

A burst of gratefulness swells in my chest as I realize that meeting him in his Slag form was the luckiest thing that has happened in my lifetime. If I had met him like this I would have been attracted to the superficial beauty and perhaps never would have met the strong, protective male who lived inside his skin. And now I’m rewarded with both.

He dips his head and laves my nipple. This angle reminds me that this A’Zul has hair. Long, golden hair pulled into a braid. I watch it snake along the golden skin of his back, riding in the valley along his spine.

My pleasure builds as his teeth nip one nipple and his hand plucks the other, teasing it, twisting it just enough to grab my attention. Capturing his hips between my hands, I urge him to climb between my thighs, releasing a pent-up breath when I feel his weight against my pubic bone.

“Right where you belong,” I tell him, my voice breathy.

“Yes, Love,” he says, only because he knows I need to hear that word from his lips. Then he returns to my nipples, licking and teasing and blowing and nipping until I press his shoulders down, urging him to taste me.

“So soon, Love?” he asks. “You don’t need more time to get to know me?” Oh, the piercing blue of his eyes. It’s almost too beautiful.

“Not soon enough,” I tease as I tip my head back and get ready to enjoy the ride.

He reveals his stubborn streak, not budging from where he is. Smart man. As he keeps tending to my breasts, I find that he can take me to many higher levels of arousal.

His skin feels different against mine. Neither better, nor worse, just different, smoother. It has its own appeal, just as his textured green skin always felt soft and sturdy against me.

I’m making little mewling sounds that signal both appreciation and impatience. Finally, he slides between my legs, all the way to the inside of my knee, and kisses his way north, licking and nipping and biting along the way.

I’m so sensitive there, and the closer he edges to my core, the more desperately I want him. I motion him up, but he just attacks my other inner thigh and begins the process again.

“Please, A’Zul,” I beg.

“Yes,” he says, as if he was just waiting for my breathy plea, or maybe it was just to hear me say his name. His real name.

Then his face is between my legs and the leisurely pace he had set is an ancient memory. He’s attacking me like a starving man diving into a sumptuous meal. His moans of pleasure are incendiary as he dips his tongue into my core. His noises and the fervent way he attacks his mission tell me he loves my taste.

Sliding his tongue up my folds, he finds my needy nub and circles it until I moan a sound that’s a cross between delight and desperation. He grunts his own pleasure as he brings me to the edge of satisfaction, then puts me in a holding pattern.

“A’Zul!” I scold, hoping he can read my mind.

Pressing harder with his mouth, he slides his finger into my waiting channel and I moan my appreciation. When a second finger joins the first, I press his head harder against me. I luxuriate in the feel of his hair beneath my palms even as I groan in pleasure from the bliss he’s bestowing with his mouth.

It’s perfection—everything about this moment