by Ruby Dixon
Until his mouth closes over my clit and he tastes me there.
I moan again, unable to be still. My eyes close and I rock my hips.
He rumbles low in his throat and pins my shifting thigh down with one hand and continues to lap at my clit. It’s like he’s found a new toy he’s suddenly fascinated with, because each lick he gives me makes me shudder, and he seems to want more and more of my responses. He bathes my clit with his tongue repeatedly and then eventually moves lower, exploring me with his mouth.
He’s careful, though. Despite claws and fangs and the fact that he’s leagues stronger than I am, Zohr’s incredibly delicate in the way he touches me. I know I’m safe with him, and so when he nuzzles my clit and then drags his tongue over the entrance of my core, I’m left wanting even more. God, do I want more.
Mine, he tells me in my head.
There’s no disagreement here. I’m totally his, in any way he wants me. His hand is so hot it’s practically burning against my thigh as he pushes his face between my legs and makes love to me with his mouth. His tongue feels like fire, and I can’t stop writhing with every firm lick he gives me. It’s too much sensation, and not enough at the same time. I love every drag of his tongue, but it’s not enough. I can’t seem to come, and the longer he spends between my thighs, the more I worry. Shouldn’t I be faster at this? Shouldn’t I come immediately once he touches me there? I’ve read books and magazines—and Sasha loves her romance novels, so I’ve read plenty of those—and those women all seemed to fall apart the moment her man touched her between her thighs. I love Zohr’s tongue but…I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It feels good, but I still can’t come.
I wish I had more experience in this so I knew how to make things happen. Before Zohr, all I’ve done is masturbate. Maybe I should have tried harder to get more experience—
Zohr lifts his head, and his eyes are swirling, edged with black. Mine, he tells me, panting. His mouth is wet with my juices, and the look on his face is so possessive it takes my breath away. No one touches you but me.
“Okay,” I agree, breathless. I don’t want anyone else anyhow. All I want is him…and one teeny tiny orgasm. Last time we did the dirty together I didn’t come that time, either. Someone barged in before I could get off. Maybe there’s a problem with me. Maybe I need more than what he can give. Maybe—
He growls and lowers his head again, and his mouth closes over my clit once more.
But it’s too much, or maybe I’m too sensitive after all the working his tongue’s been giving me. Either way, I don’t think it’s going to work and it’s not bringing me any closer to the orgasm I’m seeking. I push at his head. “No, Zohr.”
He snarls and lifts his head, casting another hot look in my direction. His eyes are flaring with both black and gold, and I remain still, wondering if he’s losing control again. I thought he was back to himself, that touching me was connecting us once more, but maybe he’s still lost in his fever.
He lowers toward my pussy again, watching me, and when I shake my head, his eyes narrow. He studies me for a long moment, as if he can’t figure me out, and then presses his mouth to my thigh, in an almost-kiss.
And that’s not so bad. I relax, glad he’s not going to push the matter.
He kisses my leg again and then tugs on it. I’m a little confused when he pulls my legs together and then begins to kiss along the side and back of my thigh. Where’s he going with this? I realize it a moment later when he rolls me onto my stomach and then puts his hands on my hips and hauls them up.
Oh. He’s going to come into me from behind. I can feel a blush sweeping over my face with the realization, but I’m also excited at the thought. His hand strokes down my spine, and then he caresses my bottom in a way that feels…appreciative. I can’t help but wiggle under his touch, and he growls with appreciation. His thoughts start to cascade again, full of pleasure and dominance and possession.
My Emma, he tells me again.
“No argument here,” I reply, panting. I’m full of anticipation. The nervousness hasn’t gone away, of course—I don’t think it’ll go away until I become more practiced at sex—but it’s being pushed aside by excitement. I want Zohr’s touch. I want to feel his body over mine.
His hand grips my hip and I feel his claws drag ever so lightly against my skin. I moan, and feel his body settle behind mine. His skin still feels scorching against my own, a sign that the fever still rules him. Maybe we shouldn’t be having sex if he’s unwell, but when I try to touch my thoughts to his, I get nothing but chaos and feelings.
“Zohr, should we—”
One big, hot hand moves up and down my bottom and then pushes between my legs. I feel him exploring me with the pads of his fingers, and when he finds my core, he rubs it, then grunts as if how wet I am meets his approval. “Em-mah,” he says again, voice thick, and it gives me goosebumps.
“Right here,” I whisper, fighting the urge to push back against the fingers stroking my core. Claws, I remind myself. No matter how good it would feel to have his fingers inside me…claws.
Mine, he reminds me in his fevered thoughts. Before I can agree, his hand leaves my pussy and he nudges my legs further apart with his thigh. I feel something hard and thick prod against my core and then he pushes inside me in one swift stroke.
I suck in a breath.
At first, I think it hurts. It takes me a moment to realize that what I’m feeling isn’t pain, just a weird sort of tight discomfort, like things are stretched far too tight. I get a strange mental image of the tiny T-shirt I was wearing earlier, and a laugh bubbles out of me.
Zohr groans, and I feel his hand tighten on my hip. He rocks gently against me, as if testing my reaction. His thoughts are no longer wild and savage with emotion, but patient…waiting to see how I feel.
How do I feel? I feel like every nerve ending has sprung to life. I feel like my body has become a bowstring and that if I’m pulled any tighter, I’ll snap. I feel…incredible. I feel alive.
I feel…like he needs to move right about now. I send that thought—no, demand—to him, too.
With a surge of emotion, he grips my hips and thrusts into me.
I gasp, feeling pummeled both by his body and his mind. I’m not used to either one, and both together feels almost overwhelming. My fingers knot in the sheet underneath me, and I’m gasping for air as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, hard. It doesn’t hurt—I think I’m too slick and too aroused for that—but every thrust feels as if it’s pushing so deep I’ll come apart at the seams.
Zohr murmurs my name again, and then he begins a slow and steady rhythm, pumping into me with a stamina I didn’t realize he had right now. His thoughts come to me, even more jumbled than ever, and they feel heavy, as if drowning out my own thoughts. I’m being overwhelmed, not only physically but mentally.
And I still can’t come. I whimper with frustration. Zohr’s thrusts feel good—god, so good—but I’m not any closer to an orgasm. I don’t know what else I need. Maybe I need to touch myself—
One big hand settles on my shoulder, as if claiming me. Zohr pauses in his deep thrusts, and I feel his hand push between my legs again. His fingers slide over my clit.
That. That was what I needed.
My entire body tenses up. I cry out, pushing my head down against the blankets. Oh god. Oh godohgodohgod. Now it’s coming. He rubs against my clit again and thrusts into me with one of those teeth-rattling thrusts, and I give a choked cry. I can feel my pussy clench around him, tightening. All of me is tight. My toes are curled, my hands fisted, and that bowstring is so close to snapping…
He rocks into me again, hard, and rubs my clit once more. This time, I come with a scream. The world shatters around me and it feels like everything’s exploding. My thoughts are cascading—just like his—into chaos, and I come and come and come.
God, it feels so good.
I feel like I’ve shattered and been put back together. Somehow. I’m panting, waiting fo
r my body to slowly unwind itself as I come down from my orgasm.
Zohr has other plans, though. He slides his finger along the side of my clit and thrusts into me again, his hand anchoring my shoulder. It feels like I’m coming all over again, and my body seizes up with another orgasm. This…this is so not possible. But when he thrusts into me again, through the haze of my mind, I realize that not only is it possible, but oh my god, it’s amazing.
He doesn’t stop, either. It doesn’t matter that I’m still coming and I can barely breathe with the force of the orgasms ripping through me. He just keeps stroking my clit and thrusting into me with fierce, possessive strokes. I’m coming again. And again. Or maybe I’ve just never stopped. All I know is that I’m practically limp when he snarls my name once more, and his movements become jerky.
Then he’s coming, too. His hands lock onto me, tight but not painful, and I feel the heat of his release wash over my insides. It’s…strange. He pins me underneath him, his big body covering me, and his thrusts grow smaller, slower, as if he’s reluctant to stop.
As if he never wants to let me go. It’s a…strange sensation. In the After, I’ve learned it’s better to be alone. To depend on yourself. But when Zohr relaxes and lies on his side and pulls me against his feverishly warm skin, I feel…happy. Protected.
It’s a feeling I shouldn’t trust, but I guess I can enjoy it for now.
17
ZOHR
Agony.
My back feels white hot with pain. I cannot breathe without it slicing through me. There is no comfort. Through my muddied thoughts, I realize there is a weight on my chest, but it is a slight annoyance in comparison to the torment that is my shoulders. I groan, stretching against the chains that tie me down, hating them…
Only to realize that they are not there.
I can move my hands.
The realization is slow to dawn on me. I am not captive any longer. The slight weight I feel pressing on my chest? It is not the vest of metal thorns, but the small, soft body of my human mate, her head pressed against my shoulder, her arm flung around my waist. She clings to me in her sleep, her skin sweaty against my own.
Vague memories start to flood back. They are mere pieces, wisps of thoughts darting through the foggy cloud that is my mind. There are memories of Emma, trying to free me. Emma, standing small and alone as two humans point their fire-spitters at her. The face of the hated Salorian, his eyes alight as he presses his mind against my own, demanding that I give in to him.
There is rage in my memories. So much rage, then nothing but madness. Pain. Through it all, there is a need to protect Emma, to keep her safe.
I have vague recollections of pushing through the shackles that held me captive and transforming to battle-form. Of knowing I must do so because my mate needs me, and of the agony the transformation brought as my wings were destroyed. I think of the endless, blurred hours of racing through the dark, filthy human hive to find a place where my mate can be safe. It rambles together, into a pile of thoughts I can make little sense of. I have visuals and feelings, nothing more. When I try to focus on them, to clarify them, they disappear on me.
But one thing I do remember is Emma’s big, dark eyes staring up at me with so much fear. The scent of her terror filling my nostrils and how angry it made me. Her gentle words. You have to change, Zohr.
I did it, for her. I remember that. I remember that even lost in my own mind, my greatest desire was to please her. I changed to my two-legged form, but after that, things are blurry. After that…my memories are of nothing but Emma, and the memories take a very different turn than the ones of fear and anger and frustration.
This time, I remember the feel of her body under mine. The taste of her sweet cunt under my tongue and how soft she is. The little cries she made as I touched her breasts. The clench of her body around my cock as I filled her with my seed and truly claimed her.
I claimed my mate fully, and I do not remember it. The agony of such a thing eats at me, and I close my eyes, frustrated at my mindlessness. How could I let myself sink back into the fog so easily? I told myself after Emma connected her mind with my own and freed me from the clouds of rage that I would never lose myself again. That I would work to regain what I had lost, and instead, I fell back into their grip once more. I hold Emma tightly against me, breathing in her scent in the still air.
I struggle to remember more of our time together, but all I have are vague impressions, and it angers me. I let the madness control me and it has taken something valuable from me. Something priceless. There will be another time, I vow. One in which I will scrutinize every detail and commit them to memory. I will fill my thoughts with her and how good she feels. I will take my time pleasuring her so I can memorize her sounds, her scent, her taste.
I stroke her arm and she sighs, snuggling closer against me. It does not matter that I lie on my back and with every moment, the pressure on my wounds shoots pain through my body. She is comfortable, and that is enough for me. I gaze down at my mate, my heart full at the thought of finally having her in my arms.
She—
My joy crashes in on itself as her arm moves and I catch sight of dark, purplish bruises on the warm tones of her skin.
She is…hurt?
Anger fills my mind. Furious, I think back to the humans who tried to harm her, but even in my fractured memories, I do not remember them getting close enough to touch her. I broke free before they did, because the thought of them putting a hand on her made me crazed.
How did they harm her?
I sniff the air. Her scent is clear and sweet and unsullied. She smells of sweat and my seed. I do not scent another on her, and the only smells in our dwelling are hers and mine.
I am the one that hurt her.
A new, fresh agony rips through me. I have harmed my mate? How lost was I? How can she ever forgive me?
It is unthinkable.
Unbearable.
No drakoni warrior would ever harm a female, even in mating battle. That is one of the challenges of subduing a female and defeating her—to do so without harm, without those tools that make it easy to defeat a true enemy. A female is to be cherished and loved. Even a challenge comes from a place of affection rather than true anger or the need to harm. I have wanted her since the moment I saw her, but I have never thought to attack and subdue my Emma. I have always known that she is fierce in her own way, and strong, but she is not drakoni. She cannot be courted in the same way a drakoni female is courted, with claw and gnashing teeth and battle games that lead to a fierce mating. She is small and must be protected. Her skin tears easily and she must be handled carefully. I knew this, even chained down.
But…she smells of my seed and her arms are covered in bruises. I cannot deny these things. Did I truly lose myself so completely that I would hurt the one I cherish the most? The thought makes me ill.
My distressed thoughts must be spilling over to her. Emma makes a soft noise and lifts her head, blinking wearily at me. “Zohr?”
Just the sound of my name on her lips brings me pleasure. I am not worthy of her. Shame rushes through me. My mate. I am truly, deeply apologetic. I do not deserve you.
She rubs her face and sits up. “What are you talking about?” Her eyes widen. “Oh, you shouldn’t be lying on your back. You’ll harm your stitches.”
Stitches? I do not understand what she means.
She sits up and pats the blankets. “I stitched your wounds so they’ll heal properly. Roll over onto your stomach and let me look at them.”
I do as she commands, because I am fascinated by her firm, decisive manner. Even now she does not act afraid of me. I harmed her. I remember her fear. Why is she so calm now? Is my Emma used to males harming her? I think of the others in her strange family group and I want to rip out their throats all over again. How can humans be so cruel to their females?
But then she gets up and walks away, and her rounded bottom flashes at me. There is still wetness between her thighs fr
om our recent mating, and I am still possessive drakoni enough to see it and want to hold her down and push my seed back into her with my claws, to make her take all of me. To claim her in every way.
But I have harmed her. I do not deserve her.
Emma returns from an adjacent area of the nest—the kitchen, according to her thoughts—and brings with her a bowl of water and towels. She seems happy, as if my presence alone brings her joy.
You are pleased, I venture, gauging her reaction. Why?
“Why am I pleased? Seriously?” Emma’s chuckle is hauntingly beautiful. She is so full of joy, my mate. I love that about her. “Because you’re awake for the first time in days and you’re not burning up with fever? That means I didn’t kill you with my terrible nursing, after all.” She dunks a cloth into the water and then wrings it out. “To say I’m relieved would be a gross understatement.”
She is relieved that I am alive…even after I harmed her. Strange. I wish for the death of those that tried to harm her. How can she so easily forgive? I remain still as she places the wet cloth on my back. The coolness of the water feels good against the rawness of my skin. My thoughts…they are confused. I do not remember much.
“It’s okay,” she says, gently swiping at my back with the wet cloth. “I’ve had things under control.”
Have you truly? Her easy words about control just increase my guilt. You are bruised. I hurt you. I cannot stop the thoughts from pouring forth, nor the shame I feel at admitting such a thing. I am not worthy of being your mate.
“Hurt me?” Her brow wrinkles as she gazes down on me. “You mean the stitches?” She touches her hairline. “Those have been there for days. It was Sasha that beaned me, not you.”
Not that. Your arms. Your legs. You are covered in marks.
She looks down, surprised, and then gives a little laugh. “Oh. Those. I fell. Actually, I fell quite a bit while you were unconscious. One of these apartments has soggy stairs and I crashed through. Plus, you’re not exactly the easiest man to wheelbarrow across the city.” Her smile is bright and friendly, open.