Haley
Holy fuck.
I didn’t know anything could feel this good. The hunter may not be a big talker but he gives the best orgasms.
When those vines crept around my wrists and ankles, binding me to the tree, making it impossible for me to escape, I had a moment of sheer panic, but then…
I’m dazed, and my limbs feel heavy. My butt is sore from his slaps but even that feels good somehow. Tingly. There’s a river between my thighs.
I sag, limply, not resisting when he scoops me up and carries me back down to the river’s edge. Cradling me to his enormous chest, he wades into the water and washes me gently. I cling to him like a child, breathing him in. Why does his deep rumbling purr make me feel so calm? It’s similar to his growl but has a completely different effect on me. The growl makes liquid heat rush to my groin, whereas the purr…
It makes me want to purr, myself. My eyelids feel heavy, and there’s a pulling sensation in my chest. Most of all, I need to touch him, to be near him. It’s a compulsion I can’t explain.
His fingertips are soft on my wet skin, and I marvel at the contrast between the savage way he spanked, edged and fucked me, and the way he’s handling me now, swishing away all the cum—both his and mine—that’s soaked my lower half.
A hot rush floods my cheeks as I think about what he did to me just now… the way he spanked me every time I tried to grind on him until I realized he didn’t want me to move, and the way he slid a thick finger up inside my butt with no warning, no apology.
The second he did that, my orgasm came out of nowhere, blinding me, snatching the breath from my lungs so I couldn’t even scream with the force of it.
I have questions—so many questions—but no energy to ask them.
I doubt he’d answer, anyway. I still don’t even know his freaking name.
Once he deems us both clean, Mr. Grunty carries me back to his hidden cave behind the waterfall and lays me down on the furs. I whimper when he moves away, mad at myself for craving him so bad but unable to stop myself.
He stokes the fire, pulling out a handful of dark, weirdly shimmering reeds he must have collected when we were by the river. I don’t know how he had time to do it while rocking my world, but I guess he did, and I didn’t notice.
He twists and turns each reed over the fire, as if tempering it. I’m too tired to sit up but fold my hands under my head so I can keep watching. He’s half turned towards the fire, half toward me, and the flickering light makes his markings writhe like snakes over his epic muscles. Or maybe I’m just half asleep.
He pokes a reed at his upper chest.
“Oh.” I cringe away. He’s threaded the reed under his green skin, somehow. He grunts, turning his head my way, but keeps threading the reed through until he’s made some sort of design on his left pectoral muscle. When he sets the reed down, the shape of the design remains, the dark color shimmering on his skin.
He’s tattooing himself. He continues until he’s marked his left pec with all the reeds, and tossed the remains of his makeshift needles into the fire. He returns to my side and, tired as I am, I lift a hand to touch his chest. I’m careful not to press the area he just marked. He’s tattooed a design of seven teardrop shapes in a circle. The ink shimmers darkly, like an oil slick. It looks a little like a flower.
“Lysia,” he tells me. I nod because I don’t have the energy for a conversation of grunts and one-word sentences. It’ll take too long to figure out what he means.
He takes my hand and presses my palm to the tattoo. I cringe for him—the skin must be tender—but he presses his hand over mine.
“Lysia,” he says again.
“Lysia,” I repeat, and he seems pleased. He lies down and tugs me against him.
With dream-like slowness, I stroke his face, tracing the scar bisecting his eyebrow. He has humanoid features, other than that brilliant green skin. His musk is the yummiest scent I've ever smelled. If I weren’t so tired, I’d rub myself against him. But I've already done enough of that.
I drop my hand and curl into his chest. He’s still purring. With his huge arms wrapped around me, his warm breath on my hair, and his earthy, masculine scent surrounding me, I can no longer fight off my exhaustion. I close my eyes and slide into oblivion.
* * *
Haley
When I wake up, there’s a moment of confusion. What the fuck is this? Why am I in a cave? I look around, and it all comes back to me in a rush.
Now I know for a fact I wasn’t dreaming… but the only other explanation is still too terrifying to contemplate, so I push it out of my mind and concentrate on the present.
Grunty McGreenface is still clutching me to his broad chest, and when I crane my neck, his eyes are open. Has he been watching me this entire time? How long was I asleep for?
“Omega,” he says.
