My toes curl, and I cry out. He makes another growling sound and redoubles his efforts, until I’m writhing and squirming on the blankets. The pattern of his mouth is impossible to figure out, and just when I think he’s about to speed up and push me over the edge, he changes tactics and begins soft, slow licks that make me even crazier. Frantic to come, I try to push his mouth aside so I can touch my clit myself, but he growls and pushes it aside again. God, that should not be nearly as hot as it is. He’s so…possessive of my pussy.
He licks me with renewed enthusiasm, and then it’s just too much. I’ve gone too long without release, and it’s all built up in my system. The moment he pushes a big fingertip against my core, my entire body jerks, and I come. I come so fast and so hard that I cry out, startling Pacy awake.
Pashov doesn’t even lift his head, just keeps licking and tonguing me, lapping up every last drop of juice between my thighs. And I keep coming like a freight train, my entire body trembling.
Pacy hiccups in his basket, then is silent, and I bite down on one of the leather blankets, trying to muffle my orgasm as another fierce ripple of pleasure rips through me. Oh my god, he won’t stop licking. He just keeps going on and on. My eyesroll back in my head, and he just grips my hips tighter, going in for another round. I’m going to be unable to stand in the morning if he keeps this up. I tap his shoulder, and when that doesn’t get his attention, I yank on his good horn.
He lifts his head, bright blue eyes glowing in the darkness. “Mine,” he says thickly.
I shiver at how ferocious he is. “Want you,” I pant. “Inside me.”
Pashov moves over me, his big body settling over mine, and I eagerly wrap my legs around his hips. His tail lashes against my leg like a mad thing, and it just makes me even more riled up. He braces his hands next to my shoulders and looks up at Pacy’s basket. “The kit?—”
I shake my head, pressing a finger to his lips. “Back to sleep,” I whisper. No second crying after the first initial noise means he’s fine.
He nods and touches my face. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he bends his head and shifts his hips. The head of his cock pushes against my entrance, and I cant my hips to welcome him. It’s been far too long since I’ve been filled. Pashov thrusts into me, so hard that my body jolts across the blankets, but it feels incredible. I can feel every inch of him seated deep inside me, his spur rubbing in that maddening way against my clit.
I wrap my arms tightly around him and nod, encouraging him to go on. He thrusts again, and then is pumping into me, fast and furious and so good that I’m biting down on my lip because I know I’m going to start crying out again. Another orgasm is about to blast its way through me, thanks to his spur, and I decide not to fight it. I just let go and totally give in, losing myself to the moment. One endless orgasm crashes into another, and I’m barely aware of Pashov straining over me.
He comes in the next moment, and I’m surprised by how quickly he gets his release. It’s all right, though. Right now it’s all about connecting again. And I’ve come so many times, so fast and so hard, that I don’t mind that he got his in a flash.
Pashov collapses on top of me, all sweaty, velvety skin, and I cling to him with arms and legs, desperate to keep every inch of our skin touching. I need this. I need my mate’s touch. I’m worn out, exhausted, but this is the best I’ve felt in weeks. And a happy, sated little smile curves my mouth when he rolls onto his side and pulls me along with him, letting my smaller body sprawl over his chest.
Now, it’ll come, I think drowsily. He’ll remember that he always grabs my ass right about now. No tail, he’ll say, and spend the next half hour petting and stroking my butt like it’s something special.
But he doesn’t.
He touches my hair, panting, and seems content to let me lie on top of him.
And as one moment ticks into the next, my skin prickles with just how…different this is. This isn’t our normal MO. At all. Pashov and I, we have a ritual. We’re not the most inventive or imaginative, and I like it that way. I like it that my mate kisses me for what feels like hours before he moves on to my breasts, and then licks my pussy before penetration. It’s like he’s going down a menu, and I enjoy that.
Except tonight…he didn’t kiss me. At all.
And he’s still not grabbing my butt. His hand rests at my waist.
My heart hurts all over again.
I can’t help it. I start to cry. At first it’s just a sniffle, but as one moment passes, and another, I feel more alone.
I feel…like I cheated on my mate.
Which is so stupid, but this wasn’t my Pashov. This wasn’t my kiss-hungry, loving, silly-and-grabby-handed mate. This was a stranger wearing his face, and I slept with him because I miss my mate so fucking much.
“Stay-see?” His hand moves against my waist, and I can hear the question in his voice. “Are you…well?”
Am I well? I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle my sobs because I don’t want to wake Pacy up. I want to push off of him and retreat to the far side of the tent. I want to bury my face in his chest and let him stroke my hair and tell me everything’s going to be all right. “I wish you could remember,” I choke out. “Something. Anything. About how it used to be with us.”
I feel him suck in a breath. “Me as well. I would give anything to remember.”
And that somehow makes it worse.
PASHOV
The greatest moment of my life is followed by my lowest.
Being inside my mate? Sharing pleasure with her and feeling the sated release that comes with mating? The low thrum of my khui in my chest? The feel of Stay-see’s small human form resting on top of me? I feel like the strongest male in the world.
It means nothing when she begins to cry.
