The huts had been scavenged by rodents, so it took an hour to clear them out for the convalescent. I grabbed a machete I’d left in one of them and met Roya outside. She was smearing something green over her shoulders and arms. I got closer and saw it was a broken-off stem from one of the island’s aloe plants. She handed me a few more to give to Altair for him and Thorn, and we headed north toward a stand of coconut trees.
“How many do we need?”
“How many can we fit in that cloak of yours?” I raised an eyebrow as she pretended to be insulted at the thought of using her cloak as a basket for the giant fruits. “I’ll toss them down and you tell me when it’s full.”
“You think you’re a better climber than me?”
I laughed. She made a rude noise, turned up her still-pink nose, and marched ahead.
I didn’t mind the view. Her cloak covered everything, but the sway of her hips was apparent. And her confidence was every bit as attractive as the rest of her.
By the time I reached the trees, she had pulled off her cloak and was setting her hands and feet to the trunk, a stiletto blade in between her teeth.
“Don’t cut that sweet mouth,” I called, and put my own short cape on the ground. Machete in my hands, I unfolded my wings and flew up in a few short wingbeats. I’d cut three coconuts and had them balanced in my arms to toss to her when I realized she hadn’t climbed at all.
In fact, she had fallen to the sand. I flew down. “Roya, are you all right?” Her eyes were huge, the pupils enlarged. Had a coconut fallen and hit her?
“W-wings.” Her lips trembled. “You have wings.”
“Oh.” I blushed. “Yes. Ah, I thought you saw them the first day.”
She blushed even more deeply. “I thought you had a hunched back, and didn’t want to be rude and ask about it. Sorry.”
I let loose a belly laugh. “You’re forgiven, little dove.” I had been slightly miffed at her lack of curiosity, but assumed she was too worried about Thorn to get excited about seeing a wyvern.
She was excited now, though. Her pink tongue crept out, wetting her lips. “I want to touch them. Can I… Can I please?” I stifled a groan and moved my hands to the front of my loose trousers.
“It’s…” I meant to tell her that was a very intimate act. That only mates were allowed that privilege, but I couldn’t form the words. Her pupils had gotten even bigger, and her breath was coming fast.
Not like she was surprised. Like she was aroused. The breeze blew a wisp of her scent to me—citrus and honey and fresh clover.
My cock went rock hard. My own scent began to mingle with hers: desert winds, musk, and woodsmoke. Her small nostrils flared as she scented the air.
“Please.” A small purr came out with the word.
I fucking melted into the sand. “Y-yes,” I said, feeling ridiculous as I moved to where she could reach.
I was long past fifty years old, and I’d never allowed a woman to touch my wings. Now, I kneeled on the sand, my back exposed and completely at her mercy. There were many reasons wyverns never did this outside the bedroom. Our wings were hardy, well-made, and suited for flight in all weather. But we could be injured severely from behind, with a blade leveled just the right way.
And she always carried a knife.
“But can you please…” I cleared my throat. “The knife, ah, makes me nervous.”
“Oh Goddess, of course,” she exclaimed, and moved to set it down on the sand by the coconut palm. Then she was back, but her expression was conflicted, as if she had suddenly thought of propriety, of the boundaries that kept virtual strangers from allowing this sort of intimacy. “I probably shouldn’t—”
“Touch me,” I demanded.
Her hands began to trace lines and shapes over my back and my wings. The soft slide of her skin on the smooth leather of the outer edge sent a rush of blood to my groin, and the knot at the base of my cock began to swell and pulse in time with her movements.
I gritted my teeth, fighting not to explode while kneeling on the sand. I had never felt so close to the edge of release with so little physical contact. Who was I kidding? Her scent alone was enough to unman me.
Inside, my wyvern wheeled and spun. Our mate was touching us, accepting us, exploring us. I babbled nonsense under my breath, begging, entreating, praising.
Behind me, Roya began making a sound I had never heard before, low and sweet, a vibration that rose from her core and wrapped around me, locking me in place. She was purring for me, and her purr shot straight to my groin, forcing even more blood to the area.
The sweet, endless torture continued as I prayed to the Goddess that I could hold out, that she would stop before I was overcome.
I also prayed that it would never end.
