The itch under my skin was a living thing. It crawled up my spine, prickled along my scalp, hollowed out my ribs until it hurt to breathe. I wanted to shift. I wanted to explode. I wanted to fuck, but there was no Tash in the world except the one living in my head, so I'd take what I could get.
I stood at the edge of the gravel, air cold and bracing. The mountain cracked open around me, the sky gone navy blue and shot through with stars.
I considered grabbing a beer, maybe pounding a sandwich, but the old hunger snapped its teeth. I wanted claws and scales and wind. I wanted to fly.
The shift came on fast. Maeve's spell had been worth every awkward favor she'd collected for the work. My clothes stayed glued to my body, woven into the warp of scales. I was still Chance, still me under it all, but ten times bigger and built for hunger. My dragon liked that. Caden always liked being free.
I stretched my wings once, twice, brushing the porch rail with the edge of my left. The wood splintered. I grinned to myself, the old satisfaction curling in my chest. Then I launched.
The air hit like a cold slap. I climbed hard and fast, sucking wind deep into my lungs. Below me, the house shrank to a toy, the garden nothing but a dark patch in the brittle grass. I banked north, muscles creaking along my spine, heart slamming in my chest. The world looked better from here. Less complicated, more honest. Just trees and ridgelines and the distant glimmer of Laurel Gap's main street.
I circled my property twice, then shot out toward the old quarry and back, trailing cinders in my wake. The dark didn't bother me. I could see forever up here, every ripple in the creek, every twitch of a deer in the shadows.
But none of it worked. I wasn't flying. I was running away from the need twisting inside.
After a few minutes, I dropped hard, straight toward the back stoop. Dirt exploded under my claws when I hit the ground. My chest heaved. Steam curled from my nostrils. I flexed my claws one last time, then let the shape go. Human again. The cool air burned on my sweaty skin.
Still hard. Still aching. Still Tash, everywhere I looked, even now. Damn it.
I shoved through the back door, already palming at the front of my jeans. The house was empty, thank Christ. I didn't bother with lights or food or even heading upstairs. I needed it now. I needed her, and if all I was getting tonight was the memory, then I'd make it last.
My jeans were already halfway down my thighs before I reached the bedroom. I slammed the door behind me, not that it mattered. This whole house was built for secrets. The ache in my cock was hard enough to hurt. I liked that. I wanted it rough.
I didn't strip all the way, just shoved pants and boxers low enough to free myself. My hand was still flour-dusted. I wrapped it around my cock anyway.
Fuck.
Even just that first stroke almost took my knees out. I grabbed the dresser with my free hand and stared at the mess in the mirror. Sweat-streaked, flushed, flour in my hairline. I grinned at my reflection, teeth bared. That looked about right.
My mind conjured her up in full color. Long dark hair, those brown eyes that had watched me like I was a puzzle she was seconds from solving. In my head, she never looked away. She challenged me even here.
I pictured her mouth. Not that polite smile from the bakery, but hungry. Wild. Lips red and wet, biting down. I bet she hadn't changed. I bet she'd still take exactly what she craved.
My hand tightened on my cock. I stroked slowly at first, dragging it out, letting every nerve ending smart. There was a perfect friction, rougher than it ought to be, but I was past giving a damn. I wanted it to sting.
I braced my thighs against the dresser and rocked into my own fist.
God, I wanted her so bad it hurt. I wanted to shove my tongue into her mouth, pin her wrists behind her head, and rip her panties with my teeth. I wanted her begging, cursing my name, clawing her nails down my back. I wanted her to bend for me, open for me, come so hard she screamed it.
I sped up. My breath got ragged. I squeezed the head, twisting my wrist just how I liked it. Pre-cum slicked my palm. I slid my thumb across the slit and groaned, hips jerking. The sound filled the room, loud and hungry, the way it would be if she were really here. If she was on her knees for me, sucking me until I saw stars, eyes locked on mine the whole time.
Fuck, I bet she tasted sweet. I bet her pussy would soak my tongue, sugar and salt and the heat of her,dripping down my chin while I ate her out. She'd tremble, curse, ride my face until she came, and then I'd flip her over, drag my cock along her slit until I was so slick I could slide right in. No teasing, no mercy, just balls-deep, filling her up until my name was the only thing she could say.
I wanted that. I wanted to ruin her for anyone else, mark her with scent and sweat and cum. I wanted her to be mine in every way that counted.
My fist worked faster. Sloppy. Rough. I drove into my hand again and again, using the dresser for leverage. I didn't care about the noise. I wanted to make the walls shake.
Every part of me burned.
I imagined her straddling me, tits bouncing, sweat glistening along her collarbone. She'd know exactly how to grind down and make me lose it, and I wouldn't last a minute once she started. I'd slap her ass, pull her hair, and make her come with my cock buried to the hilt. Make her beg for more, then give it to her until we both broke.
That last image unraveled me. My balls drew tight. I stroked myself brutally. Twist, squeeze, up and down, over and over, like I was trying to milk every drop out.
The orgasm ripped through me. I nearly blackedout. Hot cum striped my hand, the dresser, the floor. I let it, not stopping until I was empty, wrung out and shaking.
Fuck. I wanted it to be her.
Tash
