Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster

moment she shifted, he took full advantage, burying his leg between hers, wedging himself against her heat, his hard thigh easily taking her weight as he pushed up, forcing her to her toes, her hands reaching out to him for balance. The tiny feminine sound she made nearly drove him mad, his control slipping another notch. His shaft, already long and hard, lengthened even more, the head getting wider, filling with blood.
Shivering with heightened awareness of the strong muscles nestled between her legs, Isabella tried to remain still within his ever-tightening circle of control, her thin boy shorts and T-shirt affording her very little protection. His leg pushed her up farther. Rubbing. Seeking. Moaning, she ground her mound against him, her engorged nub begging for attention.
She knew what he was doing. Knew she should protest. And yet every cell in her body was screaming for more. Her heart pounded in anticipation. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her lips. Her nipples were hard, tight peaks against the threadbare shirt, every breath causing the fabric to brush against the tips in sensual torment. Wet heat moistened the boy shorts she’d hastily donned before going to bed, core pounding in time to her thundering heart.
Digging her fingers into his hard bicep, she let out a token protest, her voice far too wispy to carry any real weight. “I’m still mad at you. We should talk.”
Falden lifted one hand from the wall and slowly brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her shoulder as he leaned down to brush his lips lightly against the vulnerable, silky skin of her neck. His finger traced from her wrist, up and over her shoulder, along her collarbone and then paused at the junction between her breasts. At her shiver, his lips quirked knowingly before gently outlining one tight areola, his voice deepening. “You lit my markings. Had your hands all over me. Your nipples are hard, begging for more,” he rasped, easing his leg down enough to provide an opening for his hand so that he could slide his fingers below the waistband of her shorts just a little, ready to plunge into her wet heat, waiting for her to acknowledge his intention, giving her time to say no.
Isabella’s hand relaxed on his bicep and then slid down to cover his hand where it rested halfway inside her shorts, torn between wanting him to bury himself deep inside her and knowing that they really needed to talk. He’d taken a bullet for her. She didn’t know who he was or why he’d been at the bar, but he was no John Doe. No black market dealer. No traitor. Every instinct she had told her that he was one of the good guys. Still, that didn’t give her much to go on. She should stop him. Ask questions. Find answers. Her traitorous body won out, and she spread her legs, silently giving him permission to continue. Her hand stayed glued to his, following his lead, encouraging his invasion.
Falden knew what she wanted, what she needed. Her body wept for his. “Spread your legs wider,” he commanded. When she complied without hesitation, submitting to his authority, he pushed deeper into her shorts, searching for her wet heat. Sliding one long, thick finger deep into her tight, waiting channel, he growled, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers, taste you with my mouth, and then, when you’re hoarse from screaming my name, I’m going to spread you wide and take you with my cock. I will claim every inch of you. Fill you with my seed. Do you understand?”
Her nipples tightened painfully at his commanding tone, the tight peaks contracting even harder. Her core throbbed with need. Lifting her knee, she placed the flat of her bare foot on the wall behind her, easing her bent knee outward, giving him better access. Not for a single moment did she forget about the finger buried deep inside her, unmoving, waiting for her answer. Her sheath clenched around him, her awareness of being filled in this manner only intensifying the longer he withheld movement, as if he was making sure she knew who was in charge of her body. In charge of her pleasure. Her every release. He’d invaded her, taken control. All she had to do was give in. “Yes. I understand. Please. Yes,” she said, breathless.
No sooner had she agreed than he pulled his finger most of the way out, added another, then drilled deep. Hard. Fast. She cried out. His fingers filled her. Stretched her. Worked her body into a frenzy. His other hand left the wall and tugged at her nipple through her shirt. He pulled and played, flicked his thumb back and forth over the tip in opposing motion to the fingers inside her. He wasn’t human. Even his hands, his fingers were bigger. Stronger. Faster. Back and forth, in and out. Her breath came in short pants. Higher and higher he pushed her, until her inner walls spasmed, the rhythmic squeeze and release unrelenting. She cried out. Her leg buckled, forcing him to withdraw his fingers as she slid down.
Falden swooped her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, carrying her weight with ease. His hands, large and sure, held her in place, anchoring her hips against his as he walked with her back to the bed. He was far from done with her. “Put your hands in my hair and hang on until I give you permission to let go,” he ordered.
Unable to resist his commanding tone, she obeyed, running her hands up his broad, muscular shoulders, then stroking through his dark hair. Her fingers, her whole body was tingling. As she studied his markings, still brightly lit, her desire rose again, swift and fierce.
Lowering her to the bed, he wasted no time removing her shirt, instead tearing the flimsy cotton from hem to hem. He kissed her, his mouth mastering hers, demanding her total submission. She gave him everything.
His mouth