I lean into his touch, my hands finding his chest, feeling the powerful muscles beneath his vest, traveling further down to that sash that hides the transition between torso and tail.
He groans against my mouth, his grip on my hips tightening, pulling me firmly against him. His tail coils around my legs, anchoring me in place. And God help me, but I like it. I like the feel of his thick, heavy muscles wrapping around me. I like the weight of him holding me steady. I’ve never had someone grab me like this. Hold me like they’ll die before they let me go.
“Aubrey,” he whispers, trailing hot, wet kisses down my neck. “Let me worship you the way you deserve. Let me treat you properly, the way a goddess should be treated.”
My mind reels, unable to process his words, unable to do anything but nod and press against him. Because he makes me feel wanted in a way that scares the hell out of me. Makes me wonder why I’ve wasted so many years letting people make me feel small and useless.
“Please,” I manage to whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for, just knowing that I need more of this, of him. Now. Before reality sinks in and reminds me of all the reasons this can’t work.
He hisses sharply, a sound of pure satisfaction. Then he’s lifting me and laying me down on the table. Papers scatter, falling to the floor. The divination stones roll everywhere, probably saying all sorts of terrible things, but I don’t care. Not when his hands are moving over my shirt, tugging at the hem, exposing my stomach and chest to the cool air of the shop. Not when his tongue is teasing the sensitive skin of my breasts, his fangs tracing paths between them, then lower, and lower still.
I arch against him, writhing as his hood flares, his pupils wide as he takes me in. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, before his fingers find their way to the hem of my pants, drawing them down my thighs, along with my panties. My legs tremble, my breath catching as his tail slides between my knees, spreading them wider, exposing me completely to his ravenous gaze.
“Sundar, please,” I whisper, needing him to act on his hunger, in whatever form it takes.
“As you desire,” he says, his tail flexing, opening me further. “My goddess. My treasure. Mine to worship.”
Then his mouth descends, his forked tongue sliding over my pussy, his fangs pressing into my thighs. I cry out, gripping the edge of the table, my hips bucking. But his tail tightens around me, holding me in place, keeping me open and vulnerable to his ravenous attention.
He licks me slowly, reverently, his tongue swirling in patterns that send lightning up my body, that make me shudder and moan in ways that prove what a false display our professional facade has been. Each stroke is deliberate, purposeful, seeking out the places that draw the loudest responses, and he succeeds vigorously.
He then teases at my entrance, probes gently, before slipping deeper, his tongue twisting and thrusting into me. All the while, his eyes remain possessively fixed on mine, his hood spread wide, his tail flexing and squeezing in time with his movements.
“God,” I gasp, my head tilting back, my eyes squeezing shut. “Oh God, oh God, oh God…”
“Not a god,” he corrects, his voice rumbling through me. “Just a humble devotee at the altar of a goddess. A supplicant. An acolyte. One who wishes to dedicate himself to your pleasure and well-being.”
His tongue pushes deeper, and my hips jerk. I can feel the tension building, rising, the pressure threatening to explode. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, yes, please, yes…”
“Give in,” he urges, his voice coaxing, commanding, compelling. “Let go and surrender. I will catch you. I’ll always catch you. Always protect you. Always cherish you. Always…”
The word trails off into a guttural growl. And it’s that sound—the sheer animalistic lust of it—that pushes me over the edge. I come around his tongue, my body shaking, my legs thrashing against the unyielding muscles of his tail. He holds me fast, his tongue never slowing as he devours me, prolonging the pleasure until I’m limp and trembling beneath him.
When he finally withdraws, his eyes are wild, his fangs bared. I’m sprawled across the table, naked from the waist down, my shirt and bra pushed up, my hair disheveled.
Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings. The table under me, the papers scattered on the floor, the divination stones gleaming innocently from their various hiding spots. The shop feels too bright, too public, yet my body still hums with the echoes of that incredible, desperate release. It’s hard to focus on anything beyond the lingering sensation of his touch, his tongue, his…
“Aubrey,” he whispers, his voice rough as his eyes soften. “Sorry. If I went too far, if I…”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. Carefully, I sit up, pulling my top back down. But I’m still exposed to him, stillopen and vulnerable in a way that makes my heart pound. “You didn’t,” I manage, finally finding the words. “That was… It was perfect. Better than perfect. I just…”
Before either of us can say more, the bell above the front door chimes. Sundar’s head jerks toward the sound, and I see a brief flash of irritation cross his features.
I’m almost mortified to remember this is a place of business, and anyone could have walked in while—
“A customer,” he mutters, his expression settling into its usual neutral mask. He quickly adjusts his clothes and regains control of himself. Only his tail remains coiled around me, anchoring me to him. The same tail that he’s admitted has a mind of its own. The tail that he’s admitted is drawn to me.
Still, he gathers himself with a deep breath. “Take the rest of the day, Aubrey,” he finally says, his tone professional once more. But there’s an undercurrent of something hungrier. Something he’s struggling to control. “We’ll… discuss this later. For now, go home. Rest. And if you come to decide that I abused my station—”
“No,” I say quickly, before he can finish that thought. “It’s fine. More than fine. But… Yeah. We should talk. Later.” I feel the heat in my cheeks, the blush creeping up the back of my neck. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to gather myself.
He looks into my eyes for a moment longer, then, abruptly, he releases me. The sudden absence of his tail around my legs feelslike a physical loss. But the sound of the customer browsing the shelves draws him toward the showroom, and I know our moment is gone. For now, at least.
Sundar pulls the office curtain aside and moves through, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. As the fabric settles behind him, I’m left staring at the pile of papers on the floor, the overturned box of divination stones, the tangled mess of my own clothing. Proof that what happened between us was real. Tangible. Not some fever dream of my deepest fantasies, but proof that everything I’ve been feeling toward him has been reciprocated.
Welp, it’s going to be impossible to hide this from Maggie. But Lord knows I’ll try with every fiber of my being.
I dress hastily, pulling my panties and pants back on, then running a hand through my tousled hair. On the shelf nearby, the prophetic toaster has popped up another slice of bread, a message seared clearly on the crust. I reach out, hesitantly touching the warm surface, reading the two words etched there: ‘MORE LATER.’
