“How’s this, darling?” he rasped. “Is this . . . how you want it?”
“Da, Wolfie!” she panted. She glanced back at him, a delirious grin on her glistening face. “You are so perfect!”
He started pumping again, slowly but forcefully, going as deep as possible each time. “Does this . . . mean . . . I’m forgiven?”
She nodded, her mouth agape. “I . . . accept . . . your apology!”
“So I can finish now?”
“Da!”
“Good.”
Garm released his grip on Natalya’s tawny hair and bore down on her, one hand on her hip, the other between her shoulder blades. Using his superior mass, he forced her lower onto the soaked sheets, until she was laying face down with him on top. Still buried inside her, he used his knees to push her legs together until he was straddling her. Then he lay on her like a 245-pound blanket.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered in her ear.
“Do you hear me complaining?” she asked, chuckling.
Garm inhaled sharply as he felt her vaginal muscles spasm like a tight ring around his rock-hard member. I guess laughter really is the best medicine, he thought as he resumed thrusting. His breathing grew heavy and his jaw tightened. It was time. He’d made certain his woman was satisfied. Now he was in it for himself.
Pinned beneath her lover as she was, Natalya was in heaven. Her head was up off the bed, her mouth opened wide as she moaned in perfect timing to Garm’s powerful pumps. He could feel the friction between them building, the sucking heat of her core growing ever hotter, urging him on to release.
“God, Wolfie . . . you are fucking huge!” she breathed. “I can feel you spleeting my tight pussy in two!”
He had a feeling that, in an effort to expedite things, she was stroking his ego every bit as much as he was stroking her, but he was beyond caring. The visual of what she’d described was more than sufficient for his needs.
Garm reached around, wrapping one big hand around the front of Natalya’s throat, and gently but firmly pulled her head back. Pumping fast now, he pressed his mouth against her warm skin, his teeth digging into her nape, and then the side of her throat. As she cried out, he put his lips next to her ear, his breath coming in hot pants.
“Do you like that, you dirty bitch?” he asked as he nipped her earlobe. “Do you like me biting you while I pound your tight snatch?”
“Oh, da!” she moaned. “I fucking love it! I want more!”
“Oh, I’ll give you more, alright . . . bring those hands back and pull open those cheeks, woman. I’m going all the way in. I want you to feel me in your chest!”
Natalya let out an anticipatory purr and reached back. Her nails dug in to offset all the perspiration and she spread her ass cheeks wide. As he plunged down, she pushed up to meet him, allowing him to penetrate her as deeply as possible, and with all his weight behind each thrust.
Garm was ecstatic. Once he felt how deep he could go, he started pounding like a madman, his muscular rump bouncing up and down so fast it was a blur. His breathing grew more and more labored. Underneath him, Natalya’s intermittent moans switched to piercing wails of bliss, spaced closer and closer together, until finally she was crying out in a single unbroken peal of passion.
Garm could feel his own orgasm in the distance, a tsunami of pleasure looming on the horizon, and his grunts and moans grew louder in anticipation. He was holding nothing back now, his hips smashing down against his lover’s welcome wetness with a force that would have incapacitated most women. He’d never been more grateful for Natalya being the powerfully built female she was than at this moment.
All of a sudden, his climax was there. It started in his toes and scaled his legs like searing bursts of electricity, increasing geometrically in size and intensity as it made for his groin. He slipped his arms under Natalya’s armpits, sliding his hands forward, palms-up, until he was cupping the front of her shoulders. He dug in and pulled back toward himself, his powerful arms locking up and holding her stock-still, removing any body movement the impact of his thrusts generated, and forcing her to absorb everything he threw at her.
As the orgasm hit home, Garm’s body bucked like a wild mustang that refuses to be broken and he started to scream. It was a deep, guttural cry, reminiscent of the sound a stricken bear makes. His huge body was awash in its most primal need and he convulsed powerfully as his essence spewed deep inside his lover. Teeth tightly clenched, Natalya was every bit his equal. Matching him wail for wail and push for push, she clamped down and thrust back to meet each of his strokes, increasing his sensory overload until she sent him tumbling head over heels into the rose-tinted precipice that awaited.
Then everything Garm saw and touched turned to gray.
CHAPTER
17
Creeping stealthily along the coral-strewn seabed, the male Octopus giganteus gazed upward, his gleaming golden eyes studying the moonlit surface five hundred feet above. He paused, his amorphous body twisting like a monstrous piece of rope as he swept the nearby water column. His search for additional victims had proven fruitless. Ahead, the nutrient-rich waters of the Straits of Florida became a veritable wasteland as sharks, whales, and even a huge bull pliosaur, all detected his presence and fled.
Dawn was still a spectral flicker on the horizon as he approached the downed submarine his mate had chosen as their midden. Still 150 yards out, the male stopped. His tentacles writhed like a nest of angry vipers as he waited for the contractions to cease. His hunger pangs were growing stronger, to the point his empty stomach growled like some ravenous beast that senses food is within reach. It was, but his burgeoning paternal instincts, combined with a healthy dose of fear, prevented him from giving in.
As he closed to within seventy-five yards of the wreck, the male adjusted his grip on the prey item he’d kept hidden beneath his mantle. As he did, the chemoreceptors in his suckers detected the intoxicating taste of blubber and transmitted it to his hunger-warped brain. He examined his kill. It was a dead Orca, a decent-sized bull measuring twenty-seven feet in length and weighing nearly eight tons. He’d surprised a pod of the aggressive pack hunters as they passed over what appeared to be a harmless stone outcropping, seizing the nearest one with his tentacles and wringing its neck while its panicking brethren swam for their lives. The toothy cetacean was small – hardly enough to satiate the female’s boundless appetite – but it was the only thing of respectable size the male had been able to catch and he knew better than to return to his mate empty-handed.
Not in her current frame of mind.
Outside the entrance to their lair, the male hesitated. He contemplated the lightless opening. Many of the reddish brown rusticles that draped the forty-foot rent in the century-old submarine’s hull had been broken off or shattered by the pair’s repeated comings and goings. In the blackness that welled beyond, he could see his mate’s eyes: twin globes of fire that shone like embers in the darkness.
As he studied her, the male’s own eyes glittered and his giant body swelled with pride. His mate had given birth in his absence. He could make out the strings of gelatinous eggs that hung suspended from the sub’s rusted ribs like translucent grapes. There were tens of thousands of them, each one containing a rapidly-developing larva that writhed within the confines of their foot-long wombs.
The female Octopus giganteus hovered protectively over her brood, her powerful gills sucking in tremendous quantities of seawater which she expelled slowly from her siphon. She directed it to waft gently over the eggs, keeping them clean and oxygenated. Mixed with the water, the male octopus’s keen eyes espied more of the black, crystalline granules that littered the nest’s floor. The dark-colored sand mingled with the eggs, caressing them before drifting harmlessly back down to the seabed.
Spotting his approach, the female sprang to life. Her gigantic body swelled to twice its normal size and she curled her lethal arms about her clutch. Her luminescent, yellow orbs narrowed into slits. Like a
ny mother, she would defend her offspring with her life.
The male froze, fearful that the cow, blinded by maternal instincts, would attack him on sight. Then he remembered his gift and extracted it from between his tentacles. The female’s eyes widened at the sight of the fresh whale carcass and she shifted position. Unwilling to relinquish guardianship of her brood, she extended one of her bridge cable-sized tendrils over one hundred feet from the nest and demanded the offering.
Not willing to chance her temper, the male gave the dead Orca a healthy push. Backed by a burst of seawater from his own siphon, he sent the still-warm cetacean spiraling flukes over fin in the female’s direction. The tip of her tentacle curled gently around the killer whale’s remains as it neared the bottom, her suckers sampling it.
The taste was obviously to her liking. A split-second later, the Orca was snatched back into the nest with astonishing speed and enveloped.
The male octopus remained motionless, his body wracked with hunger, listening to the sounds of maceration as the female’s five-foot beak shredded the bull killer whale like a meat grinder. Starting at the whale’s snout and working toward the flukes, its flesh, blubber, and bones were ground to pulp and greedily swallowed.
In less than three minutes, the body of the once-proud cetacean vanished as if it had never existed. The cow octopus sucked in a few deep breaths and sat there, the gnarled skin covering her immense body slowly changing hues. A moment later, she began to cast about. She wanted more. As her gaze fell on him, the male paled and retreated a safe distance away.
He settled down into a clump of tentacles, his 134-ton body draped atop a seaweed-choked hillock as he waited to see if his mate’s hunger would subside. When she continued glaring at him with those malevolent eyes of hers, he knew it would not. Rising, he gave the cephalopod’s version of a shrug before turning toward the nearby abyss.
The surface had stopped being productive. He would try hunting the extreme deep instead. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to catch a prowling sperm whale off guard. If so, he would be able to not only appease his mate, but also stave off his own pending starvation.
As he jetted down into the lightless depths, the male accepted with cool, mollusk deliberation that his own fate was inconsequential. Only the survival of his brood mattered. It was evolution at its most basic. They were the future, he was not. He would nourish his mate and protect both her and their clutch until his strength was gone.
It would not take long for their eggs to hatch: a few weeks at most. Once they did, there, in the safety of the shallows, away from the hordes of rapacious squid that swarmed the deepwater trenches, their offspring would survive in far greater numbers. They would grow and multiply, feeding off the plentiful warm-bloods that occupied the fragile surface constructs, until they reached adulthood and could tackle more imposing prey.
When that day came and their numbers had rebounding sufficiently, even the sunlit portions of the sea would be theirs for the taking.
* * *
“So, basically, you screwed around with an entire floor of security cameras, just to stop Grayson from finding out your pet pliosaur got its period?” Dirk shook his head as he walked through the kitchen in his quarters, flipping on the coffee maker and ordering the overheads to full. He frowned as he adjusted his nametag in a nearby mirror. He’d heard Stacy’s bizarre story once already, albeit while the two of them were entwined in a post-coital embrace, but he wanted to hear it again under less distracting circumstances.
“Hey, is this the same bed you bought your brother last Christmas?” Stacy called out from the bedroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Dirk saw her bend forward, deliberately sticking her butt out as she dug both palms into the expensive mattress. She wore a huge smile. “Because it’s awesome!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, it’s the same bed . . .” he drawled. He turned back to the mirror and gave a schoolboy grin. In truth, their unexpected tryst had been just what the doctor ordered. After six months of self-imposed celibacy, he felt like a new man. Now, however, he had to deal with the fallout. He liked Stacy; he always had. But she wasn’t “Miss Right.” He knew it in his bones. And he didn’t want to use her as a “Ms. Right Now.” That left the two of them holding a harsh reality check – one she wasn’t going to be too happy with when she discovered she was the one paying.
“Dirk, I know last night started out rough,” she called out. A moment later, she came bouncing out of the bedroom, checking her hair and adjusting her lab coat. Judging by the bounce in her step, last night’s lovemaking had obviously been pleasing to her. “But I want to thank you for listening to me.” She reached into one coat pocket and smiled as she came out with a name tag. “I’m glad you still had some of my stuff here.” She walked up, her tight blonde curls bouncing, and kissed him.
“Let’s get back to the listening part,” Dirk grumbled. It bothered him that Stacy was so happy. It made letting her down easy that much harder. He sighed as he watched her parade around his place, her head swiveling as she looked to see what had changed over the last six months. He extracted a silk tie from his pocket and looped it around his neck, then blew out an annoyed breath. He should’ve paid closer attention to his dad’s instructions for tying a Windsor knot. He grunted irritably as he fumbled with it. He hated wearing a tie; it made him feel like he was being choked. Normally, he wore a polo shirt under his tech garment, but with the importance of this morning’s demonstration, appearance mattered.
Dirk checked the wall clock as Stacy poured the coffee. They had plenty of time to get prepped for the presentation and, if they hauled ass, might even manage to sneak out of his quarters before someone spotted them. At least, he hoped so. The last thing he needed was the rumor mill getting started again. “So, last night’s drama was all about concealing the fact that Gretchen is in estrus? Why? I don’t understand what the big deal is.”
“You know how Grayson is,” Stacy said, walking over to him and handing him a steaming cup of Colombian. One whiff told him she’d brewed it just the way he liked. “He might decide to weaponize her, which would include sterilization,” she said, “Or pair her with Polyphemus, before he ships out. Or even worse, the twins.” She shuddered at the thought.
Dirk sipped his coffee and nodded. Stacy had a point. Although he couldn’t imagine Grayson queuing Gretchen for sale, it was official policy to neuter any implanted pliosaur before delivery to a vender. He stood ramrod straight as she reached up and adjusted the mess he’d made of his tie. “What would be so wrong with that?” he asked. He grimaced as she pulled roughly on the tough silk. “The mating thing, that is. I mean, she’s a Kronosaurus cow. It’s kind of her purpose in life.”
“I know you think Gretchen is big and scary, Dirk. But in human terms, she’s a thirteen-year-old girl.” Stacy explained. “She’s inexperienced, not to mention too young and small to copulate with adult bulls.” Her eyes widened like a pensive parent’s, watching their child board the school bus for the first time. She shook her head vehemently. “She’s not like them,” she insisted. “All she’s known is people. She could be injured by our brood stock, even killed.”
“Is that why you keep her in the training pool instead of the empty paddock?”
Stacy finished his tie and nodded. “That, and it’s easier for us to interact.”
Dirk sucked on his teeth contemplatively. He checked his tie in the mirror, smiled, then hooked an arm around Stacy’s waist and pulled her close. “You know, between deejaying the demo, overseeing repairs to Antrodemus, trying to track down Typhon, monitoring Goliath’s recovery, and a hundred other things I’ve got going on, it’s distinctly possible that updates on the menstrual cycle of a sub-adult pliosaur won’t be on the top of my list of newsworthy events.”
Stacy looked down, her hands on his chest. “Are you sure?”
He gave her a huge grin. “Are you kidding? After last night’s performance, I might lose the list altogether!”
She leaned back against h
is grip, pressing her pelvis playfully against his. “Me? What about that crazy position you pulled last night?”
“You mean the missionary one where I held you, suspended, over the bed?”
“Yes. You had all your weight on your forehead and the balls of your feet. That was amazing!”
“Yeah, that was ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water,’ like the song.”
“Seriously?” Well, it was unbelievable. It felt like I was floating, weightless, as you held me in the air and ravaged me.” Stacy’s expression suddenly downshifted. “Where exactly did you pick that up?”
Dirk smirked at the unfamiliar green in her eyes. “Actually, my brother told me about it a few years back, but I never had the guts to try it until last night.”
She nodded. “Garm, eh? Wow. No wonder the ladies are beating down his door. Any other sex secrets he told you about that you’ve been holding back? Because I’m looking forward to--”
Dirk’s teeth dug into his upper lip. “Yeah . . . Listen, Stace. Last night was great and all, but, uh . . .”
She clocked the familiar look and exhaled heavily. “Relax, stud. I know, ‘It was fun and we were both overdue, but it doesn’t mean we’re back together,’ yada, yada, yada . . .” She gave him a smug look. “Actually, if we’re being 100% truthful, I should tell you I have no interest in resuming a relationship with you, Derek Braddock.”
He did a double take. “You don’t?”
“Nope.” She smiled sinfully. “You’re nothing but a piece of ass to me.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Dirk thought it over. Then a wry smile crept across his face. “Actually, no. Not at all.”
“Good,” Stacy moved to Dirk’s workstation, sitting her dried neoprene bodysuit in a neat bundle on his desk. She spotted his assortment of fossil teeth and whistled. “Wow, your collection’s getting better all the time. I love the Livyatan tooth.”
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