Yeah. Not fiction. Not with him.
“Oh God—oh-oh-oh!” I scream as the volcano inside me erupts.
I clutch his horns and ride his face, my body convulsing, my toes curling to the ceiling as orgasm tears through me.
He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m a broken, wet, trembling mess on the table.
Only then does he rise, swipe his forearm over his slick jaw, and declare with brutal finality:
“Good meal. Now we fuck.”
TWELVE
BEAST
Things are going wellwith my consort’s training.
She shudders beneath me the way a female should, thighs trembling, eyes dazed with need. Her scent sings for me to claim her and spill my seed inside her.
She stares at the ceiling, still lost in the haze of pleasure I gave her. Good. I want her dazed, pliant, soaked in bliss until she forgets to fear me. Until she only knowsme.
And yet…
An idea takes root, one I once rejected with fury. But after holding her warm rump against me all through the night, my mind would not let it go.
Offspring.
My cock throbs at the thought. Her belly, round with my kit. The thought startled me and kept me awake..
Look what blossomed after I freed her from the collar—how sweetly she gushed for me.
Still… if I plant my seed in her and she carries my young, would it soften her heart toward the things in the basement? Or would she hate them more?
The thought snarls through me and perhaps makes me less gentle than I should be as I press the thick head of my cock against her slick entrance.
She startles, surprise flashing across her face as her head lifts.
“Put me inside you,” I growl. It takes every shred of control not to ram forward and bury myself in one brutal stroke.
Her face pales, and it only makes me harder. I love watching her war with herself—fear, desire, disbelief. Her little cunt clenches at my crown, pulsing, begging me in even as she protests with her eyes.
“Consort,” I warn, lowering my brow. “Take me. With your hands. Feed me into your body where I belong.”
“I get it,” she gasps, breathless.
She sits up, trembling, reaching for me. Her hands are so small they cannot even close around my girth, yet when her tiny fingers tremble against me, it nearly undoes me. Years of lonely rutting into my own hand could never have prepared me for this.
I nearly spill before I’m even inside.
But she obeys and guides me, inch by inch, into the tight clutch of her opening. Her eyes fly wide, fear flashing again.
“You will fit,” I murmur, more to myself than her. “You were made for me.”
She’s wet but still stiff beneath me. She needs more. She always needs more.
So I bend, mouth to her breast and thumb to her clit, wings spreading wide to steady me as I suckle her hard nipple. Her gasp splits the air, her back arching, and I know I have her again.
Her nipples fascinate me, the way they pebble instantly under my tongue, and she pushes away from me one moment to escape, then begs for more the next.
