There was a naked Hathorian quivering in the chilly breeze. The head of his modest cock purple with need, dripping and pulsing, and yet he did not move. Wide eyes fixated on herand nothing else. Ignoring the rising chorus demanding that he check her for wounds. That she could be infected…
Sickle kicked off the last of his clothing, only to stop and stand before her with luminous eyes. Waiting.
Her breath hitched, unaccustomed to being obeyed. To a male who did as she asked, then stood still. Ready for the next command.
It was a marvel.
One she would savor for the precious gift that it was.
Mouth watering, she circled. Each booming Anhur command echoed through her ribs, blending into the next. Serving no purpose, except to make her salivate for a Hathorian male. For the taboo rush that flooded her veins, she disobeyed Hadim for the first time in her life.
Far as she could see, Sickle hadn’t been damaged or used for his pleasure. There was no scent of stale cum on his skin and no bruises marking his hips where rough, careless fingers might have found purchase in abuse. Even his tail stump had been well cared for and had healed over much better than hers.
With each circling step around her prey, her thighs squished her pussy lips together. Mashing that little bean and sending slick to speckle the red rock underfoot.
There was a certain element of justice to give Sickle a taste in full view of Hadim, who could easily win any version of competition against the Hathorians. Something sweet to find satisfaction with her kind while the others were made to watch. Made to strain against their bonds and bark their impotent commands.
Grinning, she lapped at the back of Sickle’s neck—just above the top of a tattoo she knew marked his lineage, for hers looked the same. Thrilled by the way he flinched, but allowed her access to fill her lungs with his scent. Familiarizing herself.
Gaze trickling down, over the lithe bumps of his abs, she made eye contact with the slit of his cock. It wept for her attention, burping up pearls of glistening temptation too great to deny.
She dropped without thinking, knees striking the red stone. The brief flare of pain gobbled up by the hormones switching the wires in her brain. Crossing pleasure with pain until a drop of slick slipped free, reaching to connect her clasping, empty cunt with the sunbaked earth. A pearly strand shimmering in the sunlight.
“You first,” she mumbled.
Then swallowed him whole.
Chapter 15
She was on him before he could muster the dexterity to speak a single word. Engulfing his length all the way to the back of her throat, only to swallow when she got there. Tight ring of cartilage kneading at his engorged head.
Yelping, Sickle’s hips flexed, pumping a single rope of excitement down her throat. Painting the back of her tongue when he withdrew with a gasp.
“So warm,” he groaned, seizing a handful of silky black hair. Forcing her to look at him, even though all he wanted was for her to swallow his load before his brothers took their fill. “Please,” he said, voice slipping into the shivery dulcet tones the queens had loved so much. “I… I need to taste…”
Something flashed across her face. Either wonder or anguish, he couldn’t rightly say. Only that it was something of great depth before it was shuttered away on her next blink. The mysterious, dark-eyed beauty smiled then, but it was toothy and wild. Her blunted teeth creating a painful ache in his chest, a great surge of pity for the little female. Unwarranted, for she was savage enough to make him shiver with want, to make his balls clench where they were held tight and close to his body. Preparing to unload everything he had.
Grinning, the girl tugged him down. Guided him to lay on his back so she could crawl up and over. Pinning him between naked thighs, she hooked her legs about his shoulders and straddled his chest—the petals of a swollen, glistening pussy on lewd display.
Above them, the pack howled. Demanding to be set free so they might seed her first.
Take what he was being given.
Something… defiant came over Sickle then. Something that demanded he breed this little bitch in the old ways. In front of the pack, so they might see the sticky evidence of his claim.
Growling low in his throat, he wrapped both arms around her thighs, spreading her wider. Embracing this chance while it was his to do with as he pleased.
This was what he’d been trained for. All the years of abuse and denial were forthismoment. For her. To use lips, teeth, tongue, and fingers until she was quaking above him. Until she’d left him bruised and dripping in want.
He buried his face between her thighs, using the flat of his tongue to lap up as much slick as he could get, before diving deeper. Going inside to drink straight from the source.
Ecstasy singed his taste buds. Burning with every swallow, her taste left him ravaged. His throat parched and dry, flexing with the need to gulp her down and soothe his aches with nothing but the slick ambrosia pouring from a needy little cunt.
It was her turn to whine. Her turn to tremble and quake, for taking a position of dominance was as unnatural to a Hathorian female as submission was to an Anhur.
Sickle knew it all too well.
To need and not know how to ask. To give, knowing nothing would be returned.
