Page 34 of January Bell

His hands are heavy on my shoulders, the tips of his talons pricking my skin as he groans, practically whimpering my name. He tells me I’m his female, that I’m a good little human, that he wants to fill me up. That he can’t wait to pin me down and take me.

And as he talks himself through his own orgasm, I feel one of mine building in return.

It doesn’t take long before he jerks, filling my mouth with his salty release. I do my best to drink it down, because I know, for some reason, men like that. And Zan, as different as he is—a completely different species—doesn’t seem any different than human men in that regard.

In fact, the hot look of satisfaction on his face as I wipe the cum from my lips then clean the rest off his cock while he continues to shudder is enough to make me want to do it again as soon as possible.

Without thinking, I put my hand between my legs, aching, needing release, especially after that.

“You’re better than ever after taking care of me, aren’t you, my little Lily?” he says. “Poor little Lily, so needy for my cock.”

“I am,” I tell him, whimpering, unable to help myself.

With a bare, elegant movement, he pulls me up so that I’m straddling his chest, my wetness dripping all over his purple scales. I move slightly, needing friction as I moan, and he takes my nipples in both hands, working them.

“I want you to kiss me,” he says. “Do it again.”

I do as he asks without even thinking, wanting it too, and our mouths meet as he leans up to capture mine with his.

I like that he doesn’t care that I still have his spend on my mouth. I like that he seems to want to kiss me because of it, like he’s marking me, and maybe it’s some strange, primitive part of me that takes satisfaction.

But I’m satisfied nonetheless.

“Do you need me still, Lily?” he asks against my mouth, his tongue flickering out, licking my lips like he’s taking his turn to clean me of the proof that I made him shatter just as easily as he made me.

“You’ll have to beg again, Lily, if that’s the little game you want.”

“I’m not begging,” I tell him. “I’m taking.”

“That’s not how this works, my sweet,” he says, flicking my nipple with one finger.

The pain makes the pleasure of his mouth closing over it even better, and I groan, my fingernails scrambling against his scaled shoulders as he sucks my breast deep into his mouth. The sharpness of his fang scrapes against my breast, and I’m sure that it’ll leave a mark.

And for some reason, the idea absolutely delights me.

“I’m not begging.”

“Have it your way,” he says. “You don’t beg, and I don’t give.”

“Fine,” I tell him. “Also, I have no idea what I’m going to wear today.”

My voice is unsteady, my legs are even more so as I make my way out of the bed, pretending like I don’t give a shit that I’m about ten seconds away from losing my mind if I don’t have another orgasm.

But I’ll be damned if I let him get the best of me again.

I have the last word with that blowjob, and that’s that.