Isabelle screamed, a shrilling sound which echoed up to the forest’s canopy, frightening birds from their morning perches. Adrenaline surged through her, her pleasure finally reaching its peak as an explosion of white light dotted her vision.
The beast snarled in her face, sticky blood seeping from his maw, and she opened her mouth as her cunt clamped onto his great length. His bloodied tongue met hers in another kiss and she tasted herself, just as she’d tasted him when last they met back at her cottage.
Ecstasy raced through her between the violent release of her orgasm and the delicious taste of her own metallic blood, her desperate yearning so strong that she wished she could be absorbed into his being and become one with the monster.
She was so weak, her eyes fluttering shut as he fucked her, used her, took exactly what he needed from her numb body. Her arms dropped to her sides, her body limp in his powerful grasp, his claws tightening around her waist as he let out his own animalistic grunt. Heat filled her, overfilled her, her cunt dripping with seed though the thrusting didn’t cease.
Isabelle moaned–a long, low sound–as her head rolled back, unable to hold herself up any longer.
After what seemed like an eternity, her mind going in and out of conscious thought, the beast slowed, though he still remained sheathed inside her.
“Sleep well, little one. You will be home when you wake.”
CHAPTER 6
WARM. SHE WAS SO WARM.
Her eyelids were heavy, refusing to open, though the delicious heat coiling through her made her want to curl into a ball.
Isabelle sighed, tension building in her center, a rhythmic sensation that made her nerves tingle. Something wet was between her legs, but it was difficult to care when it felt so good, so right, the pressure building quickly like water boiling in a kettle. She rocked her hips up, meeting something firm, but when she tried to move her arms, she realized she couldn’t.
With great effort, she fluttered her eyes open, trying to push through the sleepy daze as her vision started to clear.
A man.
There was a man between her legs, with strange gray blue skin and white blonde hair, two sharp horns poking out from his head. His pink tongue was slidingthrough her slickness, stroking over her interior and coiling tension in her core. Red eyes flared as he noticed her movement, his broad nose pressed to her pelvis so he could deepen his thrusting.
Not Jean-Phillipe, at least she didn’t think so, but who knew how many forms he had?
“Who are you?” she gasped, trying to wriggle from his grasp, though his arms tightened around her thighs, holding her in place.
A blue rope whipped from behind him, spiraling around one of her legs, though after a moment she realized it was a tail. A tail with a triangular tip which caressed her inner thigh, his skin hot to the touch.
“I’m Rul,” he said, after pulling his forked tongue out and pressing his middle fingers into her entrance, petting them over her sensitive spot in just the right way to make stars dot her vision.
Isabelle moaned, her head swimming, his answer explaining exactly nothing. The last thing she remembered was the forest. She was with the beast, Jean-Phillipe, her cunt still warming his massive cock as he’d forced her to sleep. She’d been wearing her white dress from the temple, stained and torn as it was, but now she was nude–save for her cilice–her arms chained to the posts of the bed she lay in.
Dark, undulating lines inked the man’s right side like swirling wisps of smoke, bizarre patterns which matched the marks on her stomach.
Marked. Goddess, she’d been marked more than once, the pain of the beast’s bite still stinging, dried blood coating her shoulder and chest.
She jolted as Rul hit the right spot, bringing the tips of his tongues to her clit and circling hard.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, arching into the touch despite herself, the sensation too good and her body too needy.
Needy. So fucking needy. So needy she’d begged a beast to fuck her in the forest.
Would the moon mother ever forgive her?
“You taste as good as Bellinor said,” he replied with a grin, pausing his tongue’s ministrations, but continuing with his fingers.
“Bellinor?”
“Jean-Phillipe,” he said like he was mocking her, a chuckle reverberating from his chest.
He pulled his fingers out, coated with her sticky arousal, and pressed them into his mouth, humming with apparent pleasure at her taste.
Where in the Goddess’ name was she?
