“Let them try.”
His coils tighten slightly. Possessive. “No.”
“Worried about your breeding female?”
“Worried about angry female who throws rocks at shadows. Would miss the entertainment.”
I want to be offended, but I'm too comfortable. Too warm. Too satisfied from the breeding to fight.
“I still hate you,” I murmur against his scales.
“Known fact,” he replies. “Sleep now.”
And I do. Wrapped in the coils of my enemy, my captor, my protector. The thing I need and hate in equal measure.
KASS
Iwake before dawn, still wrapped in his coils. This time I don't rage immediately. Just lie there, feeling his breathing, the way he shifts to keep me positioned comfortably. His scales are warmer along his belly, cooler along his back. I'm pressed against the warm parts.
The toxins from yesterday’s breeding have fully entered my bloodstream, and the resulting need is a palpable thing, my clit pulsing visibly with it.
When I try to move, the coils tighten slightly.
“Skirlings,” he says quietly. “Can hear them.”
I listen. He's right. Soft chittering in the distance. Multiple voices. Pack communication.
“They're getting bolder,” I observe.
“Female's scent draws them. Mixed with mine now, but still foreign. Still prey to them.”
“I'm nobody's prey.”
“Tell that to skirlings when they circle you.”
We stay coiled until full dawn, when the pack sounds fade. He unwinds slowly, letting me adjust to the cold air. There's food waiting—when did he gather it? Does he even sleep?
“Tonight female stays in coils,” he says.
“Tonight female does what she wants.”
“Which is stay in coils. Observed fact.”
I throw a fruit at his head. He catches it, takes a bite, maintains eye contact. Bastard.
The withdrawal is worse today. Every nerve ending screams for him. My pussy won't stop clenching in the pattern his secondary makes. The wetness has soaked completely through my pants, dripping down to my knees.
I find evidence of skirlings near my shelter. Claw marks on trees. Scat deliberately placed where I'd see it. They're testing. Seeing how much protection I actually have.
The smart thing would be to stay near Vhaz. Let his presence deter them.
Instead, I piss on their marks. Mark over them like the territorial animal I'm becoming. This is my space. Mine.
When evening comes, I don't crawl to the pool. I walk. Unsteady but upright. Refusing to let biology win completely.
The water is heated again. Steam rises from the surface, carrying his pheromones directly to my nose. My pussy gushes in response, adding to the wetness already running down my thighs.
This time when I approach, he doesn't wait for me to attack. His tail wraps my waist, lifts me, positions me over his primary. I can see it clearly—the head swollen purple-dark, ridges standing out like rings, pre-cum beading at the tip.
