And said cock is now close. Very close. I can’t help but stare. In awe. In curiosity. Inneed.
I should win a freaking award for the restraint I exercise not to reach out and caress its velvety length, just to see if it feels the same as the rest of his skin. I lick my lips as I imagine what the texture would feel like gliding across them and over my tongue. Or over my body, between my legs, and into my aching core.
He begins to harden under my intense stare, the already impressive member rising up through the air towards me as the thick, prominent veins on the shaft begin to pulse, and I realize how rude I am being.
I make a strangled noise in the back of my throat and snap my head up, but heknows. He definitely knows, because a smirk flickers across his sharp features, something far too human for my peace of mind. Cheeks flaming, I look away, searching for something, anything else, to look at.
“Um, thanks again,” I squeak, looking up as if I am suddenly fascinated by the shimmering stalactites above us.
He reaches for the front of my coat, fingers brushing the zipper, and I slap his hand away. “Excuse me! Just because I had a little looky-loo doesn’t mean you can start undressing me.”
He blinks at me. Then—he rolls his eyes. Actually rolls them in a very human expression as he points out the obvious and says, “You’re soaked.”
I glance down at myself. My coat is dripping with water, and my clothes lie heavy against my skin, weighing me down in the warmth of the pool. I shiver, and his frown deepens.
“You’ll catch a chill,” he says, as if I am the unreasonable one here. “Give me your things, and I’ll dry them by the fire.”
Now that he mentions it, I realize he’s right. I’m freezing. The heat of the spring is helping, but my clothes are still clinging to me, leeching the heat from my body.
“Oh. Oh! Right,” I say sheepishly, fumbling with the zipper and passing the sodden mass off to him.
As I struggle to clumsily peel off the layers, he gestures with his chin toward a ledge built into the side of the pool. I trudge toward it, kicking up glowing swirls of color in my wake, and plop down.
I attempt to wrestle off my boots, but the wet laces are a hopeless disaster. After a minute of struggling, the Migoi strides over and hands me my coat.
Confused, I take it—just in time to see him extend a claw and slice through the tangled knots with ease, then retract the claw again to no more than a mere fingernail.
My mouth falls open and I mutter, “Built in multi-tool.”
He smirks again as if proud of my reaction to his abilities and pulls off my boots, then holds his hand out for my coat. I pass it back over and begin peeling off layers, hyper-aware of his gaze following my every movement.
The glowing water flickers between us, casting strange shadows over his sharp features. His eyes track each article of clothing I remove, his expression unreadable. That is until I wrestle my bra out from under my tank top. It’s not much but I leave it on, wanting some layer of protection between us.
His eyes sharpen as my peaked nipples peer out from the thin soaked material of my white undershirt, the darkness of my areolas visible even in this dim light. With nothing on but this and my wet, translucent panties, I am mortified. I pile my clothes into his waiting arms, the thick wool socks on top of my pants, and my bra on top like a damn trophy.
Removing my wet clothes was like wrestling a pissed off octopus, leaving me huffing and dashing strands of wayward hair out of my face. I meet his eyes again to find them crinkled at the corners as a small smile plays about his face.
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” I mutter under my breath.
He wisely takes the clothes without comment, easily vaultingout of the pool and moving toward what I can now see is an adjacent cave where firelight flickers against the stone walls.
I sink deeper into the water with a muffled groan, tension slipping from my body. For the first time in hours, I stop fighting—against the cold, against the fear, against the relentless weight of survival.
The heat seeps into my bones, melting through every ache. My limbs float, weightless in the mineral-rich water, the faint, earthy scent grounding me as warmth swallows me whole. My heart beat slows, and I just relax, letting my head lie back against the edge of the pool as my hair swirls around my shoulders like seaweed. Sweat blooms on my face, and gods, does it feel good to be wholly and completely warm.
I hear his footsteps return, and I sit up slightly, waiting for whatever comes next.
His gaze, slow and deliberate, roves over my relaxed body visible in the clear water. It traces over my bare shoulders, my collarbone, the way the thin fabric of my tank top clings obscenely to my body.
I can feel the weight of it pass over the swell of my breasts, pause for a heavy heartbeat at my barely concealed sex, then continue along each relaxed leg to the very tips of my toes.
When his silver eyes snap back to mine, his expression is dark. Feral. Something flickers in the depths of his mercury gaze. The pearl and frost swirls have been replaced by something ancient and hungry.
My nipples tighten painfully, and I curse the interplay of warm water and cool cave air as I sit up a little straighter. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I know damn well the temperature change isn’t the reason.
He vaults back into the pool and moves closer, an apex predator stalking his prey, and heat pools deep in my belly, far hotter than even the spring. He looms larger above me, and it's too much.
Too much heat, too much feeling, tightening my throat as claustrophobia claws at me. I grab at my neckline as if the wet fabric is to blame for the tightness consuming my breath. I’m suddenly too raw, too vulnerable for all that his eyes promise.
