Chapter Fourteen

Oten

She crawls toward me, and there is enough rationale left in my deluded mind to remember that is not good.

I retreat from her.

She moves, her body curving and flexing, her eyes stalking me. She is a fierce feline, and I am her prey.

I back into a tree and hold up my hand. “Stop.” I try to say it, but it comes out a whisper.

She reaches me and grabs my legs. She walks her hands up my body and stands, rubbing herself against me like a cat in heat—a lethally dangerous cat.

She caresses my abs and chest then fingers my knives. “Do you want me to stop?” she taunts.

My mind is gone. If there is a world outside of her and this explosive, consuming desire I have for her, I do not know it. I have no care in the world except her.

There is only this female.

This woman.

And my need for her.

And her need for me.

Or at least, her need for sex that has her coming to me.

I want to meet her need. To give her everything she craves with her body and her soul.

She seeks my lips with hers. I ache to kiss her.

But there is a reason—I do not remember what is it—some life-and-death reason why I should not. I cannot kiss her and let her suck on my fangs the way they are throbbing and begging to be sucked.

I grasp her shoulders and turn her before her mouth meets mine. I want to press my chest to her back, but I have to strip off my weapons first.

Before I can unbuckle my holster though, she shakes herself and jumps away from me.

“What…the…fu—” I think she means to swear but fails to finish the sentence and grasps her head like it hurts. She turns to look at me, and the expression on her face is pure horror.

I know why she is afraid. Or I think I do.

It is because we agreed not to do this. I should not be undressing or watching her make herself come. She should not be seducing me with her eyes or touching me.

But…why?

Why not?

We want each other.

Her body is crying out for sex with me as mine is for her.

There is nothing to stop us. Nothing in all the cosmos could lessen the desire between us.

But the fear in her eyes.

And the barrier in me. Some reason why I cannot have her.

I obey it.

She backs away but seems to grow weak and sinks to the ground. I back away, too, but stay where I can see her. I cannot bring myself to leave her out of my sight. She stares at me.

The horror on her face morphs to confusion. Like she is at a loss for what is happening.

If her mind is drowning in the need to fuck, as mine is, we need to be as far away from each other as we can bear.

I sit away from the stream, my back against a tree. My body seethes with the pain of needing to bury my cock inside her. To go make her come with me imbedded in her cunt, driving into her until she grips my cock like a fist with her orgasm.

I dare not move. If I move, I will go to her.

She sits immobile, leaning against a rock.

The heat of the day swirls around us. A mist drifts over the leaves on its way to the trickling stream.

I do not know how much time passes.

Spots cloud my vision. I still see her but only her. I don’t know how long we sit staring at each other. Her nakedness is a thing of beauty I am incapable of looking away from. I watch her breasts rise and fall with her breath, her long muscled legs stretched in front of her.

She opens them and stares at me while she strokes through her wet folds.

She glistens, the flesh within so swollen, so dripping, it calls to me. To be inside her, to taste her would be a trip into an erotic heaven. To sink deep within her once would not be enough. I would do it again and again until I was so far up inside her, I’d pull the screams from her throat.

I am hot, my skin oversensitive as though heat runs over me. I cannot stand the feel of my clothes or having my body confined, so I strip off my holsters and pants.

She stares at my cock lying hard and thick against my thigh. Her lips part, and her slender tongue flicks out, like I wish it would over my cock.

I palm my cock and stroke it. Her chest pumps faster, her breathing audible.

If she likes to watch me make myself come, I will do it, but I despair of it relieving any of the burning in me. Each orgasm makes it worse. Like giving in to it only increases the depth of my thrall. And each time I see her come, it is like she is imprinting herself deeper and deeper into me.

Soon, she will be so etched into the essence of who I am I will not be able to get her out of me. Physically.

That this is the same female who only yesterday I believed a male—who yesterday had been encased in armor denying her femininity. She is now so feminine, so powerfully sensual, I am captivated.

When she comes, her body writhes—her hips thrusting against her hand, her back arching and legs widening. Her face contorts with the climax, but she doesn’t take her eyes from me. She stares at my cock in my hand through her orgasm, as though watching me makes it better.

I am filled with jealousy—envious of her hand feeling her clench around her fingers. Envious of her other palm, caressing and squeezing her breasts.

Envious of the air filling her lungs. Envious of the leaves touching her legs, the rock supporting her back.

I would be all those things to her and more—if I could.

The hours pass, the heat of the day inexhaustible.

The two suns arch across the sky, seeming to descend. One disappears behind the horizon, but the other takes longer, stretching the twilight. The day is endless.

She fixes me with a come-fuck-me stare. She does not mean it. Or she does, but she does not really want me to do to her as her body is begging. She eases the ache of the burn by running her hands up and down her limbs. The sensation of touch making it easier to hold off orgasm again.

I do not bother touching myself. There is no easing it for me.

Only distracting myself by watching her.

I let the longing to be fucking her lull me into a state of numbness.

I can feel her—how it would be to crawl to her and run my hands up her thighs. To spread her legs and sink my face into her wet folds. To taste her again… To feel her come on my tongue again… Hear her crying my name like it is a litany. Like I am her god and savior.

To rear over her and thrust into her.

My cock so deep inside her, my whole self disappears into her. I drive into her, my hips slapping against her thighs. I have to hold her down, to keep her from moving away from the force of my thrusts.

She clings to me, her fingers digging into my arms. “Oten! Yesss!” she cries, and it is a world-shattering sound.

One that triggers my senses.

One that makes me realize, I am not imagining this.

My eyes open, as if they were not before.

This is not happening merely in my mind. This is happening in actuality. I am actually fucking her with everything in me, and she is coming around me so hard, I have to grit my teeth to keep from following.

Her head falls back, and she screams to the sky.

Though her thighs hold me in her—I have to pull away.

She grabs for me and protests, “No!”

But I pull out, just in time, spilling my come across her belly. It jets onto her in rapid bursts, the silver liquid pooling then dripping across her. It streams into her navel and runs into the valley of her breasts, across the curves of her waist.

I hang my head from exhaustion.

I cannot believe… I do not understand…

I cannot remember…

“Why?” she thrashes her head, her eyes delirious. “Why didn’t you come in me?” She tries to sit up but can’t, her body too wasted with the burning, with the sex. With everything.

I have to get it off her.

Her Ssedez-strengthened skin should protect her from my come seeping into her pores, but I cannot risk it.

She lies back on the ground, wasted with pleasure.

I want to join her, but I search for water, for cloth. I find some of each. I wash her. I clean her belly until it is as though my come never touched her.

Unclean—I feel as though I have committed some horrible sin that I do not understand.

Water. I must clean her.

I bathe her—wash her between her legs, her thighs, her breasts, to be sure I left nothing behind. I do not want to taint her. I worry my come will poison her somehow.

I refill the bottle from the stream, screw back on the top. It filters the water, and I take it back to her. I hold the bottle to her mouth, and she drinks without question.

She sleeps, and the sun goes down. My eyes are heavy, but I do not rest.

I watch her sleep and filter more water.

I urge her to drink.

The moons rise. There is a break in the trees, and the sky is bright despite the night, three moons lighting the sky. Though I cannot see through the trees. The moonlight leaves long shadows and broad patches of light.

My sense returns as the night air cools; the burning in my veins recedes. But the Attachment does not.

Her skin changes, the armor withdrawing. It smooths to its human texture. She’s changing back.

The Ssedez in me mourns the change. But the part of me that has Attached to her is glad she is getting what she wants.

Her skin is no longer protected.

But I cannot force on her what she will not accept.