Page 22 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“Stay,” I tell her.
She does.
I worship her.
There’s no other word for it. My mouth, my hands, my presence—all of it focused on her reactions. I guide her through every sensation, every breath. I watch her face the way a priest watches a miracle unfold—awed, devoted, unshakably certain.
She gasps again when my tongue finds the inside of her thigh. Not a cry. A plea. Her head tips back against the couch and her fingers twist into the cushions like she’s afraid she might fly apart.
“Grau…”
My name in her mouth is a broken prayer.
I growl, low and rough, letting the vibration run through her skin as I drag my mouth upward, tasting the heat of her—salty, electric, intoxicating. Her pussy is already wet, glistening withanticipation, scenting the room in a way that tears at every last thread of control I had left. My breath fans over her slick folds and she trembles like a live wire.
“You smell like fucking heaven,” I rasp, voice guttural. “You want my mouth here, baby?”
“Yes,” she whimpers.
“That’s not how we ask.”
“Please, Grau.”
That word.Please. The way she says it—soft and aching—makes my cock throb with the threat of release. I press my tongue to her, slow and deliberate, lapping from bottom to top with a reverence that borders on worship. Her thighs close around my shoulders instinctively and I chuckle against her.
She bucks when I suck her clit between my lips, her gasp turning into a moan that echoes off the walls. I tease her with my tongue, then press it deeper, exploring her wet, needy pussy like a man learning scripture by heart.
She writhes, panting, caught between pleasure and the need for more.
Her thighs tremble. Her hands fly to my hair, clawing for something to anchor her as I tongue-fuck her with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Grau—fuck, I can’t—I’m?—”
“Come for me.”
She shatters.
It’s not delicate. It’s not polite. It’s raw and desperate, her body convulsing as her orgasm hits like a tidal wave. She cries out my name, her hips arching as I keep licking, riding her through every pulse, every quake, every shudder.
When she collapses against the cushions, boneless and dazed, I rise.
She blinks up at me, dazed, lips parted, skin flushed.
I unfasten my trousers and let my cock free.
She stares.
Her breath catches.
It’s bigger than she expected—long, thick, black like the rest of me, veined with faint silver ridges that pulse faintly with heat. The head glistens, already slick.
“You still want to know what happens,” I murmur, stroking it once, slow and deliberate, “when you invite a Reaper into your home?”
She nods. Swallows hard.
“I want to hear it.”
“I want your cock,” she whispers. “I want you inside me.”
