Chapter 21
Before my rational mind can analyze the decision, I feel my mouth begin to speak, my tongue slipping across the words, hardly believing that I allow them to. “Alright, I agree. ‘Do what you need to do.”
Wake moves suddenly towards me, backing me all the way against the nearest solid object – the computer console. Only a yard or so behind me is Peter, still unconscious, but breathing, completely clueless as to what is about to happen.
I reach back, clutching at the edge of the desk, bracing it with my feet against the floor of the observation deck to try and give myself space, but the instant he comes to a stop before me, looking over me with that starving glint in his obsidian eyes, I find the urge to retreat from him lessen. I know I should be fearful.
He is so much larger in life while in his aquatic form – his tail alone is taller than me, and his physical strength is incalculable. His body is so heavily muscular. Rippling with cords of hard muscle. Without taking away from his inherent beauty, there is no escaping the fact he’s also dangerous.
But knowing he can harm me – has harmed other people so easily – is not the same as experiencing the exhilaration and terror of being utterly at his mercy. Instead, I find the tiny seedlings of fear growing more toward excitement. Toward nervous anticipation.
He stays still for a few moments, studying me, and while he watches me I try my hardest to breathe. It proves to be difficult. Each breath feels tight, restricted as the ache between my thighs grows more uncomfortable. Inescapable.
After what feels like forever, Wake seemingly makes a final decision. He is done assessing his quarry and is ready to go in for the kill. A careless slash of one clawed hand decimates my borrowed tunic, and the loose cotton pants don’t fare much better.
He claws at my hips and buttocks, the razor sharp nails slicing through the thin material and baring my naked body to him.
I squeeze my thighs together in an effort to control myself, to push past the agonizing tension in my pussy. This whole situation is ludicrous, like playing in traffic, but my body doesn’t seem to think so, wetness gushing from my pussy at his harsh, decisive nature.
It shouldn’t excite me. He’s forcing himself on me, entrenching me in something primal and inhumane, a ritual that should be reserved for his species alone.
Instead, the first swipe of his tongue along the length of my throat sends a fresh surge of juices coursing down my inner thighs, further fueling his hunger. The lingering stroke of his tongue, coupled with the vibration of his responding purr, has my hips involuntarily rocking forward, seeking satisfaction.
“Don’t hurt me, Wake,” I moan in a last–ditch attempt to get through to him. Wake’s head pulls back slowly, leveling those hungry onyx eyes on mine. He makes some sort of deep growling sound from within his throat. I don’t know if he understands me. I don’t know if he cares.
Without warning, he slashes a claw across my jugular, making my entire body seize with horrified surprise. As quickly as I feel the first drops of blood begin to trail from the shallow cut, Wake’s broad tongue follows, running across the stinging line, taking away the burn as it heals almost instantly.
2
I gasp, on the edge of screaming, shattering completely. My chest is heaving, pulse fluttering, and Wake is above me, feeding on my adrenaline and fear. In spite of the fear holding me in place, I’ve never been wetter in my life.
I’m not ready for the next cut, or the next, across my left clavicle over the deep abrasion left by Stan’s gun, and then down the center of my chest, trailing down my sternum. But I quickly come to crave the sweet relief of his tongue. I want the pain, need it, as long as I get to feel his mouth on me after.
By the tenth slice, I’m on fire, so aroused my insides are starting to hurt. I’m trembling, too weak to do more than curl my fingers around the lip of the counter keeping me upright, panting and moaning like a whore. I tip my head back and let my legs fall open, waiting to take whatever Wake wants to give
- me.
Pure animal passion. Uninhibited want.
With every cut he creates, each leaves a small lick of fire behind, then release, the endorphin high is…intoxicating. By the time his claws rake a path over my breasts, across my ribcage, a long crimson line leading down to my bellybutton, all leaving pin–pricks of magma in their wake, I’m dripping wet.
Drenched.
Needy as a bitch in heat.
As Wake licks at my breasts, savoring them as if I’m the richest dessert, his tongue becoming frenzied when his mouth fills with the taste of me, embedding my flesh with the scent of petrichor and deep sea brine.
His dark and heady fragrance intoxicates me, and my every thought and sensation is focused on him, the ecstasy–tipped barbs that punctuate my breasts as he uses my pebbled nipples to spread his essence to me, the blood–soaked tip that barely glances over my protruding hip bones to cut away my panties and leave me exposed, vulnerable.
1/2
Charter 21
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