His saliva changed something in me. It prepared me, opened me, made my body ready for his. The thought cuts clean through the pleasure: if his body can do that, then maybe his venom won’t kill me either.
Then he starts to move, and I stop thinking.
I wrap my legs around him as he fucks me into the ground. He’s so thick inside me that I keep expecting him to split me in two. Somehow, he doesn’t. I’m stretched around him and full, fuller than I knew my body could be, filled so deep that I feel him everywhere – in my belly, in my spine, in the backs of my knees where they grip his sides. The shell over his cock drags against every part of me with each stroke, smooth and hard, and my pussy pulses around him. He drives in, and my body slides against the dirt. He drags back out, and I ache at the emptiness until he fills me again.
His body settles over mine, hard and heavy, and pins me to the ground so completely that I can’t move at all. I don’t want to. Being held down under his weight while he takes me is its own pleasure. My wrists, my hips, my thighs, everything is caught under him. The most dangerous creature in this desert is wrapped around me, making me moan until I lose myself.
My breasts feel heavy, swollen and tight, my nipples drawn into hard, painful peaks that rub against his shell with every thrust. I’m flushed from my face down to my thighs, slick with sweat and dust, and I can’t stop the sounds spilling out of me.
Above his shoulder, his tail curls up and over his head. The stinger hangs above me, aimed down at my body, drifting from my chest to my throat as if it’s searching for the right place to sink in. Venom gathers at its sharp tip and drips onto me – on my chest, my neck, even my forehead – and where each drop lands, my skin goes cool, calm, and numb.
He’s numbing me. He’s numbing his prey before he devours it.
The danger of it, the stinger drifting over my skin while he fucks me, should terrify me. Instead, it makes me wetter. I realize that’s insane, but the realization changes nothing.
He drives into me, deep and steady, and I stare up into his black eyes. They’re black from edge to edge, shining. I can see my own face reflected inside them. I can’t look away.
There’s no going back from this, not from him, not from us. I’m the bride of a Scorpius, claimed in the dust of Otheera, with his venom cooling on my skin.
I tighten my arms and legs around him and hold on.
Chapter Twenty
Osric
Esme’s fingernails dig into my shell. She scratches over the plates on my back until her fingers catch in the seams between them.
Her pussy is so tight around my cock that every thrust drags a rough sound out of my chest. I’m fucking her fast and hard, hard enough to rock her whole body through the dust. I can’t slow down.
I know I’m being rough. I know it, and I keep going. I catch her wrists and pin them to the ground above her head, holding both in one hand while my other hand grips her hip and pulls her onto my cock. My fingers press too deep into her soft skin. She’ll bruise. She’ll wear the marks of my hands on her hips and her wrists, and I hate that I can’t stop.
I did everything I knew to make her ready for this. I licked her pussy until she came on my tongue. I coated her in my saliva, because my saliva opens her, softens her, and prepares her body to take me without pain. It was the last thing I did while I could still think. There’s no more thinking now, no more restraint. There is only Esme beneath me, Esme around me, Esme clinging to me while I take what my body has been dying for.
She’s soaked. I hear it with every stroke, wet and loud between us, her slickness and my own running down my cock and spreading over her thighs. Her taste is still on my tongue, and I want it again already, want to eat her and drink her while my cock aches for her.
Everything narrows down to her body under mine, her cunt gripping me, the drive to bury myself in her again and again.
She’s hot inside and so tight that every thrust drags her grip along the whole length of my cock, from the slick tip to the base. The smooth plates of it slide against her walls, and she moans atthe drag of them, a low broken sound that she makes each time I pull back, and each time I push home. I feel everything: her wet cunt, her thighs shaking against my hips, the heat of her skin against mine, every point where our bodies press together.
Every thrust shakes her breasts, her nipples hard and dark against her pale skin. When I lower my head and pull one into my mouth, she cries out and clamps down on me so hard that I nearly spill into her right there. I suck her nipple, drag my tongue over it, move to the other and do it again. Her pussy answers every pull of my mouth with another squeeze. Her breasts are swollen, heavy in my hand when I cup one. She pushes herself into my palm and begs me not to stop.
She’s my first. I never wanted a female who wasn’t mine. I saved myself for my fated mate without ever knowing whether she existed. I chose an empty bed over a body that wasn’t hers, and I never regretted it. Now she’s here. She’s soft, hot, and tight around my cock, crying out under me, and I need no teaching. My body wants to fuck her, wants to claim her, wants to mate her, and it’s doing all three at the same time.
I release her wrists, and her arms come around my neck. I slide my hand under her ass and lift her into my thrusts, changing the angle, driving deeper. She wails and digs her heels into the backs of my thighs. She’s stretched around me to her limit. She takes all of it. She lifts her hips to meet every stroke.
“More,” she gasps against my jaw. “Please. Don’t stop.”
I couldn’t stop now even if she begged me to. It’s a good thing she’s begging for the opposite. I grip her ass with both hands and pull her up off the ground, holding her weight while I fuck her. She hangs on to my neck and lets me move her body at the pace the rut sets, lets me use her, gives herself over to it with her head thrown back and her throat bared. She’s a soft human female in the arms of the most dangerous creature in Otheera, and shegives me her throat. That trust arouses me more than her cunt does.
I lay her back down in the dust, because I need to see her face. Her mouth is open. She looks into my black eyes while I drive into her.
Esme clings to me, screaming, begging, breaking open beneath me. She begs for more, begs me not to stop, and then begs without words when the words run out. I understand every sound she makes. The rut has tuned my senses to her, to her scent, her voice, to her desire. There’s no pain anywhere in her. She screams because it’s good. She begs because she wants more of me, and her pleasure pours into me and becomes my own, doubling everything, driving me deeper into the rut. Every time her pussy squeezes my cock, I feel it through my whole body. I slide closer to losing what little mind I have left.
I grind into her, deep and slow for a few strokes, my body pressed against her clit, and she chokes on a moan and pulls at my shoulders. Her scent sharpens, and I know what it means: she’s close. She tightens around me, a flutter starting deep inside her. My hips speed up on their own, fast and hard again. She claws at my back and lifts into every thrust, wanting more. Her wanting makes mine worse.
She’s glassy-eyed, her red hair tangled in the dust, and sweat shines on her throat and between her breasts. I lick the line of her throat and taste the salt of her skin. Her taste pulls a snarl out of me that she answers with a moan. Her voice is hoarse from screaming. I register nothing beyond her body and mine.
My tail rises over my head.
