His hands slid lower, cupping the full curve of her ass.
"So much of you," he murmured, the words barely audible over the storm's distant roar.
He lifted her slightly, his strength effortless despite her size. Her thighs parted wider over his hips, the weight of her settling deeper, her folds parting around the base of his cock.
She reached down between them, wrapping her hand around his length. He was thick, the ridges firm and pronounced, swelling under her touch. A growl escaped him, vibrating through her palm, and she stroked once, feeling him throb.
His hands tightened on her ass, and Verity rocked against him, her hand still wrapped around the base where she could reach, stroking in time with the motion. The ridges pulsed under her palm, hot and insistent, each one textured like corded muscle designed to ruin her. She slid along him, her wetness coating his shaft, the friction building as her body took over, hips grinding down with a need that surprised her.
This wasn't the careful exploration of their nights in Northwatch. The storm had stripped away pretense; the cold had burned away hesitation. She needed him inside her now, the ache of it overriding the careful logic that had governed their previous nights.
She rose on her knees, positioned him at her entrance, and sank down.
The stretch was familiar now but no less overwhelming.
She sank lower, taking him inch by inch. The first ridge breached her fully, pressing outward. It was too much, always too much, and yet exactly what she craved.
Her body yielded to him, slick and ready from the friction of moments before, but the stretch burned, pulling a whimper fromher throat as she seated herself fully. He was buried to the hilt, those ridges pulsing faintly inside her, locked against sensitive spots she hadn't known existed until him.
Targesh's hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, spanning the width of her with ease.
Verity rocked experimentally, lifting just enough to feel the ridges pull free, then sinking back down. The sensation ripped through her, a bright, insistent pleasure that built with each motion. She was wetter now, her arousal coating him, easing the way, but the friction remained, designed for this.
For her.
Surprise flickered through her: this boldness, this need to take what she wanted, here in a storm-lashed cave with the world howling outside.
Verity braced her hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the scarred green skin, and began to ride him in earnest. Up and down, grinding her clit against the base of him on each descent, the ridges catching inside her like hooks of pleasure. Her thighs burned with the effort, her size making the movement powerful, each drop of her weight forcing him deeper, her belly pressing against his hard abdomen, her breasts bouncing with the rhythm.
He worshipped it all, one hand sliding up to cup the heavy swell of her breast, thumb rolling her nipple until it ached. The other stayed at her hip, guiding without controlling, letting her set the pace even as his growls grew deeper and more feral.
His hips began to move beneath her, meeting her rhythm with thrusts that drove him deeper still. The angle shifted, and she cried out as the ridges dragged across something inside her that made her vision white at the edges.
"There," she gasped, though she hadn't meant to speak. "There, there—"
His grip tightened on her hip, holding her at exactly that angle, and he thrust up into her with a precision that should have been impossible for something so primal. Each stroke hit the same spot, the ridges swelling and catching, and she felt the pressure building low in her belly, coiling tighter with every motion.
The fire crackled. The storm raged. She rode him like the world outside had ceased to exist, like this cave was the only real place left, like his body beneath hers was the only solid ground.
The orgasm hit her like the storm had hit the mountain—sudden and overwhelming, stripping away everything but sensation. She clenched around him, her body seizing, her nails scoring lines down his shoulders as wave after wave rolled through her.
He followed her over. She felt his cock swell inside her, the ridges locking tight, and then the hot pulse of his release filling her. His roar echoed off the cave walls, drowning out the wind, and his hands pulled her down hard against him, holding her there while his hips jerked through the aftershocks.
They stayed locked together, breathing ragged, sweat cooling on skin that had finally, finally stopped shaking from cold.
Verity collapsed against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, one hand stroking slowly down her spine. The fire had burned low while they were otherwise occupied, but she couldn't bring herself to care. His body was furnace enough.
His heartbeat was a drum beneath her ear, slowing by degrees. She counted the beats without meaning to, the way she counted everything, catalogued everything, filed everything away in the endless archive of her mind.
Outside, the storm still raged. She could hear it now that the blood had stopped pounding in her ears—the wind's howl, the crack of ice against stone, the occasional groan of the mountain itself settling under the weight of weather. But the sounds had become distant. Abstract. Problems for later.
Eventually, his arms tightened around her, and she felt him shift, reaching for something without dislodging her. A moment later, a blanket settled over them both, rough wool against her bare back.
"Sleep," he said. "The storm will pass by morning."
"And then?"
"And then we reach the pass."
