Her scent hits me fully now that the fight is over. Arousal mixing with blood and adrenaline. Seven days of need temporarily overridden by survival instinct now flooding back. My cocks emerge fully, unable to prevent the response to her proximity, her scent, her violence.
She sees them. Her pussy clenches visibly, wetness already gathering despite the pain she must be in. The empty ache returning with vengeance now that immediate threat has passed. Her body recognizing mine, demanding what it's been denied.
We move toward each other simultaneously. Not running. Not walking. Stalking. Predators approaching across blood-soaked ground. Each step careful, avoiding the worst of the debris. Glass crunches under my feet. Spilled grain turns to paste in the blood. But we don't look away from each other.
Meeting in the center of our destroyed den.
My upper right hand reaches for her deepest wound, checking the depth. Not gentle—my control is shredded. She gasps as my claws trace the edge, but doesn't pull away. Her hand finds my chest wounds, fingers sliding through blood to assess damage.
“Alive?” My voice doesn't sound like mine. Too rough. Too primal.
“Yes.” Her fingers trace lower, finding where my cocks strain. “You?”
“Alive.”
The word comes out as a growl. My lower hands grip her waist, pull her against me. Blood makes us both slippery, hard to hold, but I manage. My tail wraps around her thigh, anchoring her. Her breath catches as my cocks press against her stomach, leaving smears of pre-fluid on her blood-slicked skin.
“Fought well,” I manage, though words are difficult when she's this close, smelling like this.
“You too.” Her hands slide up my chest, carefully avoiding the deepest gashes. Find my shoulders. Pull herself higher against me.
The motion puts her face level with mine. Her eyes still wild with adrenaline. Pupils so dilated the irises are just rings. I see myself reflected in them—purple-black scales splattered with red blood, amber eyes that probably look as feral as hers.
“Zkari.” My name on her lips breaks something.
My upper hands tangle in her hair, matted with blood but still soft. Her legs come up, wrapping around my waist for stability. The position puts her pussy directly against my breeding cock. So wet already that I can feel it through the blood. So swollen that she's partially open, ready.
The contact makes us both shudder.
“Need—” she starts.
“I know.” My lower hands support her weight while my upper hands cup her face. Claws gentle against skin that's been through violence. “Need you too.”
Seven days of hunting. Seven days of waiting. Seven days of watching her suffer with need I could have ended but didn't. And she just fought beside me. Killed beside me. Bled beside me.
The kiss starts slow. Just lips touching. Tasting blood—mine, hers, theirs. Then her tongue touches my lower lip, and controlshatters. The kiss becomes consumption. Desperate. Violent. All teeth and tongue and need.
She bites my lip hard enough to draw new blood. I growl into her mouth, pulling her tighter against me. My breeding cock throbs between us, ridges flaring, seeking. My secondary cock wraps around her waist, leaving trails of luminescent fluid on her skin.
Her pussy grinds against my breeding cock, and we both moan into the kiss. After so long, just this contact nearly undoes us. Her nails dig into my shoulders, finding wounds, making them bleed fresh. The pain sharpens everything. Makes the kiss desperate.
My tail tightens on her thigh, pulling her more open. She gasps, and I swallow the sound, tongue exploring her mouth with the same thoroughness I plan to explore the rest of her. She sucks on my tongue, and my cocks pulse so hard I nearly spill just from that.
The kiss deepens. Becomes everything. The fight transformed into this without pause. Violence into need. Blood and arousal mixing until I can't distinguish between them. Her teeth find my tongue, biting gently, then harder. I retaliate, nipping at her lower lip, making her whimper.
We're both shaking. From exhaustion, blood loss, adrenaline, need—impossible to separate. But we can't stop kissing. Can't stop pressing together. Can't stop the inevitable progression toward what has to happen.
Her hands move to my skull ridges, gripping, using them to pull me deeper into the kiss. My upper hands slide down to her breasts, thumb claws circling her nipples without touching. So close she can feel the heat. She arches, trying to make contact, and the motion grinds her pussy against my cock again.
“Please,” she gasps into my mouth.
“Yes,” I growl back, then claim her mouth again.
The kiss becomes frantic. Desperate. Seven days of denial pouring into this contact. Her tongue tangles with mine, and I can taste her need, her demand, her surrender. My breeding cock positions at her entrance, just the tip touching her wetness.
She breaks the kiss just enough to breathe. “Need you. Now. Here.”
“Here,” I agree, looking at our destroyed den, the blood, the corpses. “Now.”
