She reaches for me.
I flinch, pulling my body away from her outstretched hand as if her small digits could burn through my skin. I do not trust myself to be touched by her right now. Not when the evidence of what my body does to hers is mapped across her skin in dark purple.
She does not pull back.
Her hand follows me, stretching further, and her warm palm presses flat against the hard ridge of my jaw. Her thumb tracesthe edge of my mouth, carefully riding the ridge of a fang beneath the skin.
The mindspace is wide open between us. I brace for her pain, her fear, her revulsion.
There is none. Just warmth.
Her scent changes. The soft, sleepy warmth flooding through the mindspace shifts into something thicker. The same dark, thick musk that poured off her skin last dark, right before I lost my mind.
There is no fear. She is not afraid of me.
And her hand on my jaw is pulling me closer.
She pulls me down by the jaw, her mouth finding mine. I hold still. I let her lead. My claws stay flat on the furs, because if I touch her right now I do not know if I can control how hard I grip.
But then she makes a whimper in her throat and an image of my thick shaft spreading her blooms in the space between us. Dust. I open my mouth wider, licking into her, chasing the taste. A low, wrecked sound spills out of her throat directly onto my tongue, and my entire body shudders.
I force myself to pull back.
“You are injured,” I project. The growl in my mental voice is so thick it barely forms words. “I need to let you heal.”
She stares up at me.
“No,” she says aloud.
Then she shifts closer, pressing the full length of her bare body against mine. I stiffen. She rolls her thigh slowly over the ridged length of my primary shaft, pressing down until every single ridge drags against her soft skin.
My claws dig into the furs.
“Eh-ree-kah,” I project. I take a deep breath to steady myself but it is a mistake. I breathe in the musk of her instead. “If you do that again, I will not be able to stop.”
She does it again.
Her back arches and her thighs clamp around my hip. She is panting, and she has not even been touched yet.
She can feel what I feel. She can feel exactly how tight, how agonizingly swollen, how desperately close to breaking I am. And she ispushing.
I set her onto her back, my frame blocking out the yellow light of the alcove, casting her in my shadow. Her ribs rise and fall rapidly under her flushed skin as her thighs fall open around my hips without hesitation, her heels hooking behind my knees, pulling me closer.
I brace my weight on one arm. With the other, I grip her hip and look down between us.
Both shafts are fully engorged, straining against the soft skin of her inner thigh. The primary is flushed dark amber, the ridges swollen and glistening. The secondary presses tight, twitching with every beat of my dra-kir.
“Both,” she projects. I go still. “I want both.”
And then I see the rest of it.
Her mind is not just open. It ispouring. Images flood into my skull in a chaotic, scalding rush. Things I have never seen. Things I did not know bodiescoulddo.
Her. On her knees. Taking me into hermouth.
I blink.
Her mouth? The small, soft, fragile opening she uses to eat dried meat and complain about the heat? She wants to putthataround my...
