I grab her with my right arm, the scales rubbing against the smooth fabric of her black suit, sending little jolts of pleasure up into my spine.
As I pull her into a standing position so I can feel more of her against me, I dig the claws of my left hand into the trunk of the tree and wrap my tail around the branch.
She's breathing rapidly and that musky scent that drives me wild is flooding the air all around us.
I lift her higher, wanting better access, wishing my hand was free so I could stroke it through her mane. She makes it possible by wrapping her legs tightly around me and pushing her back up against the trunk of the tree.
I'm momentarily distracted by how this pushes the heat of her core against my sheath. I keep myself from extruding by raw force of will.
I want to enjoy other parts of her first.
I snake my arm back out through the space left by her arched back. Down along her hip, up her stomach, between her breasts, and then grab onto her neck. I use my hand to tilt her head back and then pull my whiskers back and push my muzzle into the crook of her neck.
I take a long deep breath, the sensation of her silky hair against my whiskers almost too much to bear.
When I blow out a hot breath, she makes that same low, long moan that made me bound over to her. Her scent is overwhelming and I must know what she tastes like, so I take a long hard lick up her neck, the pounding feel of her pulse betraying her excitement.
She tastes salty and sweet and I think I've made a mistake because I won't ever get enough of it.
On the second hard lick, her moan turns into an inarticulate low keening and she tightens her legs in a rhythm that has me rocking against her.
So that's how she would like it.
I almost lose control thinking about her without a barrier between us, then my purr rattles between us and something about it must excite her because she writhes against me.
When I graze her lightly with my teeth she freezes, her body rigid before relaxing again as I bring my teeth away.
The natural reaction of a ruminate with a predator at its neck pulls me out of my venom-fueled frenzy.
28
Ree
"Did I scare you, sweet one?"
It takes a moment to clear my mind enough to respond. I've never been this aroused before and it short-circuited my brain.
"Oh, no. I liked it. I was just startled," I reply.
I probably should just leave it at that, but of course I also blurt out the rest of what's on my mind. "Your teeth look wicked sharp, Thivoll."
His whiskers droop, and the lilac coloring around his mouth darkens to a violet shade.
"You think me wicked?"
He moves back from me but is still supporting my weight. "I apologize. The venom euphoria overtook me, but that is no excuse for scaring you, my Ree."
I rush to reassure him. "No, no, no. That's a translation error. I just meant that they look incredibly sharp, and I just wasn't sure for a moment. But I do trust you."
I say the last in a rush of words.
He still looks unsure. "I would need to put pressure into my bite to cut you. But to my shame, I didn't ask and I hate that you were unsure, even for a moment."
I don't like the distance this is creating between us and figure it's best to address the issue straight on. "May I feel?"
I point toward his mouth with a question on my face.
He pulls his lips back and cracks open his mouth, something about his eyes letting me know he's trying to be extremely careful.
