I reach the pinnacle and anticipate the crash.
But I’m not prepared for what it does to me.
The orgasm strikes through me and with it comes a wrenching pain, a rush of sensation up through my back.
My eyes fly wide as my wings threaten to extend.
“Up!” I gasp. “Pick me up!”
His arms scoop around me just in time, lifting me off the bed and up into his arms.
My wings release from my back, as black as shadows and as heavy as iron.
I sense the strength in his arms, stomach, and back as he swings me toward the empty wall behind him and pushes me up against it.
My feathers gouge the wall on either side of me before my wings fold neatly at my sides, settling into constrained folds for what might be the first time ever.
All of this, I register, even as pure pleasure rides my body.
Somehow, we’ve stayed connected, and I fight not to extend my claws as my back arches, my breasts grazing his chest.
I’m not done and neither is he. The hardness of his cock inside me tells me that.
I bite my lip as the corners of his mouth rise.
He’s holding me in place, and gravity has driven me further onto him.
“I need more,” I gasp in case he had any doubt.
His mouth claims mine and he groans against my lips, answering me with a thrust that’s far more savage than before, but I gasp with relief.
Pleasure reignites within my core, intensifying beyond anything I’ve ever experienced as he keeps me against the wall, every hard thrust, a claim on my body.
Heat and need send my body into overdrive. Pleasure thrums through me. I grip his shoulders and meet his furious movements, my breathing heavy, my mouth hungry against his.
I give as much as I’m taking, kissing him as he’s kissing me, rocking against him.
Nothing else matters but this.
The crash tears through me with a ferocity that fills my mind with oblivion, a dark, night sky, the crash of lightning over a churning sea, the scream of tearing feathers and metal on metal.
Energy crashes through me, streams of it whirling within my mind and body until I can’t place myself in space and time, can’t orient myself.
We hit the bed, and I don’t know how we got there.
I don’t fucking care.
I’m shivering with pleasure, holding on to every remnant second of being connected to his body. Somehow, I’ve ended up on top of him, straddling him, my wings still tucked neatly in at my sides, but they’re so long that they’re cutting through the mattress.
My chest is heaving. So is his.
I’m covered in sweat, and so is he.
He strokes every part of me he can reach, his hands finding my back, my stomach, my breasts, my arms, and my neck before gliding down to my clit again.
There’s a question in his eyes and a surprising insistence in his callused thumb.
I gasp at the delicious fire his touch brings.
