“Your own?—”
“No.” It’s less a word and more of a growl. This is why there is the warning that the rut is all-consuming.
“I want to be a little less…”
He stares at me with his head tilted, and while there is nothing threatening about his gaze, there is a heat in it that makes me feel as though I am his next meal.
I want to be eaten. “You pull the netting off and bundle it up, while I check the cargo.” And also take ten seconds to clean up in the toilet and find my spare underwear.
I do not want to be worrying about our captives while Hrad is feasting. I can’t believe I’m about to let him do that in the ship, but I’d much rather him be focused on the situation than hungry for his next fix. The rut is like a temporary addiction and a chemical-driven puberty all rolled into one.
In the ship I check on the prisoners, then lock the cargo doors. I rummage through my pack for clean underwear and socks and pull off my boots before darting for the head so I can pee and have a bit of a wash. It’s not the same as a shower, and I know he said he didn’t care, but I do.
When I step out, he’s placed the folded net, along with his bag, on the floor of the cabin, and shut the door.
Fuck, that was fast. I’m impressed.
“Cockpit.” I jerk my head toward the door.
Hrad picks up my boots and carries them to the cockpit, while I check the doors are locked, so no one surprises us. I bring my bag and lock us in. I half expect him to be in the pilot’s seat, but he’s sitting in the other one, as if he is aware that only the pilot gets to sit in the main seat.
He beckons me forward, and my breath hitches.
I stow my bag as if this is normal, then shuck my pants—which I hadn’t bothered to do up. My dirty underwear is balled up in my pocket. “What do you need?”
He glances up. “A taste. I’ve never felt anything like this.” He growls. “I do not like the desperation, but I cannot resist.”
I have never seen a man so hungry to lick my pussy. Feeling bolder, I hook my thumbs into my clean underwear—I don’t know why I put them on—and drag them down. Hrad doesn’t even blink.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to want a man so much, but fuck, if all men acted like barely restrained starving predators at the thought of eating pussy, I’d have found the energy three times a day.
“Why don’t I sit.” I drop onto the edge of my seat and spread my legs.
He drops to his knees in front of me before I finish talking. His hands rest on my thighs, and he nudges them further apart before licking up my inner thigh and inhaling like my sweatypussy is the best thing he’s ever smelled. That he is so intent is the only reason I don’t die of embarrassment.
Despite the wild heat in his eyes, the first sweep of his tongue is cautious as if he isn’t sure about his own body’s cravings. There is nothing I can say to change what is happening to him. It is his body, but my plan.
I hope it works. That I didn’t ask this of him for no reason. That we make it home with the rest of the team and spend months working out how to make this work, so we are both happy.
His thumbs sweep over my curls then part my folds. I’m torn between watching and closing my eyes. But I want to remember what it’s like to be the center of someone’s world. His tongue flicks over my skin before dipping in.
He groans as if he is enjoying this.
Is it easing his need?
Was he in pain?
His tongue flicks over my clit, and I gasp. He pauses. “Is that your bump?”
“Yes.”
“It does not look like a bump.”
I laugh. “Not like yours, but trust me, it works.”
He licks it again as if experimenting with what makes me squirm and gasp the most.
My fingers thread through his hair, and my thighs tense as his tongue sweeps over my clit just right. “Yes, like that.”
