"Good girl," he said quietly. "Now. I'm going to show you what you need. But I'm not going to give it to you. Not today."
"What—"
He leaned in.
Not touching me. Just close. His face near mine, his breath against my neck, his scent overwhelming every sense I had left. His heat hit my skin from three feet away. Could see both cocks right there, hard and pulsing, pre-come glistening at the tips of both.
He breathed out slowly against my throat.
The sensation shocked through my entire nervous system. I gasped and my hips bucked forward involuntarily, seeking friction that wasn't there, seeking contact he wasn't giving.
"That's one," he said. His voice had dropped lower, more resonant. "Let's see how many times I can make you almost come without even touching you."
His breath moved down. Across my collarbone. Between my breasts without making contact with either. He wasn't touching, just breathing against overheated skin, his exhale hot and deliberate and torture.
My whole body started shaking.
"Your nipples are so hard they look painful," he observed. Still not touching them, just breathing near them. "The tonic makes you hypersensitive. Every nerve ending screaming for contact. And I haven't even put my mouth on you yet."
"Please—"
"Please what?" His breath moved lower, across my belly. "Please touch you? Please make you come? Please breed you?" He paused with his face near my hip bone. "You have to ask properly first. Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want me to do."
I couldn't form words anymore. Could barely pull air into my lungs.
"Not ready yet," he decided. His breath ghosted across my inner thigh, so close to where I needed him that I started shaking harder. "But you're getting there."
His breath moved up my other thigh slowly. Across my belly. Back up between my breasts. The whole time he maintained that tiny distance, not one single touch despite being close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin. Just his presence, his scent, his breath against skin that was demanding I surrender.
I was right on the edge. Could feel the orgasm building from nothing but proximity and pheromones and three days of desperation. From breathing him in. From my body recognizing what it needed even if I was still fighting.
"Almost there," he murmured. His face was near mine now, so close our lips almost touched. "I can feel it. You're clenching. Pulse hammering in your throat. Right on the edge from nothing but breathing me in."
I was going to come from this. From him not even touching me. From the pheromones saturating the water and air, from his proximity, from three days of the tonic eating me alive.
He pulled back.
The loss of his presence was like a physical blow. I made a sound that was desperate and broken and reached for him without thinking.
He caught my wrists gently. Held them away from his body. "Not yet."
"I need?—"
He released my wrists and stood. Spread his wings. "But you haven't asked for it properly. Haven't said the words I need to hear."
"What words?"
"You know what words." His cocks were still hard, still visibly throbbing. "When you're ready to say them, when you're desperate enough to beg properly, come find me. Until then, this is what you get. Almost. Close enough to taste it. But not quite."
He launched from the basin edge and was gone before I could process what had just happened.
I sat there shaking on the stone. So close to orgasm I could still feel it hovering just out of reach. But without him there, without his scent and heat and breath, my body wouldn't tip over the edge no matter how desperately it wanted to.
I tried touching myself anyway. Rubbed my clit frantically, shoved fingers inside, pressed and circled and tried everything I could think of.
Nothing. Not even close. My body knew the difference now. Knew those were the wrong hands, wrong touch, wrong everything.
The tonic had restructured me to need him specifically and nothing else would work. Not my own touch, not the water, not anything except him.
