Chapter Eighteen

Oten

She will be the death of me. This thing between us, just when I think it cannot get worse, it does.

We do it again: hike for a few hours, then stop when the burning becomes too much.

I fear hurting her, but not enough to be able to refuse her. I make her come with my mouth this time. She uses her tongue then her hand on me.

She makes me come on her back like I promised. The look of longing on her face as my come spouts from my cock should make me happy. She wants me to come in her—in her greedy cunt or her succulent mouth.

But I cannot.

It makes me wish I were human so that I could.

That I think this is horrific. Wishing I were human is a monstrous betrayal of everything I believe. I stay away from her for a while after that. Letting her lead, following far behind.

She does not seem to mind.

I think she is as shocked as I am by how much she wants me to come in her.

It makes no sense. But the part of me that is forming the physical Attachment to her is pleased. Each time I fuck her, each time I make her come, she becomes more attached to me, too, giving me a deep satisfaction.

It is true that I still hate her kind.

But my regard for her, my respect, is growing. I think—I am still in doubt—but I may be starting to trust her. Which is dangerous and foolish, but I cannot help relying on her steadfast abilities, how trusting and freely she lends both them and her insatiable body.

This place makes her want sex, yes, but I believe it does not force her to desire me as she does.

It pleases me. Too much.

And I fear, am horrified at the possibility, that my feelings could potentially Attach to her like I have physically. It is unthinkable.

Being with her is impossible in any case.

I do not know what will happen once we reach her ship, if we find her crew. They will likely imprison me.

I wonder if she will let that happen.

The heat of the day rises. We fuck again, and though I intend to be gentle, she makes it impossible. She demands, and I succumb. I have no choice but to give to her what she cries out for.

To see her satisfied is the fulfillment of my existence.

Denying her the pleasure of my coming inside her is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

My body is made for such marathon sex. We Ssedez are built to withstand the demands of the Attachment mating period. But I am not made to restrain myself, too.

It drains me, and I become less focused on our path. I blindly follow wherever she leads.

I worry about her body. Her sensitive human flesh.

So much sex cannot be good for her.

But it pleases me that she not only takes it but wants more at the same rate as I do.

I choose not to care whether it is because of me or because of the toxicity of this place. I care only that she wants me to fuck her. That is enough.

At least for now. When we reach her crew, I do not know what will happen to me or her. Or us.

The trail comes to the base of a cliff, an upward climb of rigid stone.

“Must we ascend?” I ask, but I do not look at her. I do not want her to see my fangs. They are extended, and my self-control needed to sheathe them is weakening.

We look up the cliff face, a wall of cragged gray rock so high, we’re unable to see the top. Low-hanging clouds block the view.

“How are your climbing skills?” she asks.

“Not as good as my fighting skills.” I wander along the cliff face. “We could try to find a way around.”

“According to my topographical reading”—she stares at her computer—“this cliff extends far to the north. The Origin landed to the west. It would take us three days to go around.”

She grips the rock with her hands, testing it. “The rock is solid.” She takes out a knife, leans her ear into the stone and taps it with the metal hilt. “It’s sound.”

She stows the knife in her belt and climbs onto the wall. Her limbs are lithe and swift, her testing of the handholds and footholds quick and practiced.

I am outclassed, already, and she has only gone ten feet.

My muscle-heavy torso does not climb well. Plus, the survival pack will overthrow my balance. “I cannot climb and carry this load. We will have to leave it.”

She hangs by one arm and stares down at me. “Seriously?”

I stare back and imitate her, “Seriously.”

She laughs and pushes off the wall. She lands in a crouch. “We’ll need to unload it.” She dumps the pack and leaves behind the cold weather gear, the stove, and the extreme first-aid supplies. She keeps the bare minimum, then binds the pack with twine, making it as thin as possible. “I’ll need it close to my back.”

I gaze up the wall, concerned for us both. “I wish we had a rope.”

“Without a belay device or pitons, it’s useless.”

I do not know what those are, but I do not ask. It makes no difference. She anchors the pack to her back and begins her climb. I watch her.

Following her path will do me no good. My body is too big to use the same hand and footholds as her.

“Don’t climb beneath me,” she calls down. “In case any rock breaks loose.”

I do as she says and start to climb to her left. I am slow and clumsy at first, but I find a rhythm. I get stuck sometimes and have to downclimb and go up a different way.

It is unbelievable how much faster Nem moves than me. She becomes a speck above me.

I reach a spot in the rock that changes to a darker graphite gray. I climb around it and farther up see water dripping down the face.

Visibility grows poor, and I realize, I have climbed into the cloud.

And lost sight of Nem completely.

I swear in my own language but keep climbing. I will find her at the top.

But my mind grows delirious.

I’m breathing in the vapor of the cloud—and it is full of the desire toxin.

My lungs burn as though enflamed. I start hallucinating.

More than once I stop, thinking it’s her tight breasts and hardened nipples in my hands. Then I remember, it’s just rock.

I keep climbing. The rock grows wetter, and sprouts of moss dot the best handholds. My options for purchase grow more difficult. My mind slips away until I can no longer remember why I’m climbing or where I’m going to—only that I have to get to her.

I need her like I need breath. I need to know she is okay. I call her name, “Nem!” but get no response.

My body pulses with the need for her, but more strongly is my mind’s panic over the need to protect her. I climb onward—focused yet brainless.

I hear her voice on the air. A cry. I know that sound.

She needs me.

“Nem!” I climb farther, not knowing which direction her call came from.

“Oten!” she shouts in pain.

The sound comes to my right. I climb sideways, the cloud thickening until I can barely see my own hands.

Her voice calls again and again. And I follow it, despairing that I’ll find her.

“I’m coming!” I call back to her as her voice grows nearer.

“Hurry!” By her tone, the cry, I know the sound. She is not injured. Though she is in pain, it is from the burn, the air in our lungs, the desire leaching through her body. It steals all will for anything other than sex.

Her cries are closer and turn to moans. Each one shoots into me, arousing my cock until it’s throbbing like needles will pierce it if it’s not relieved.

My hand reaches out and hits air, not rock. I curve around a corner in the rock and find a ledge with my knee.

“Oten…” she calls, breathless, and the cloud parts so I see her.

The ledge is a cave, a cavern in the wall, and she lies in the back on a bed of green moss. Naked, shivering, she has her fingers between her legs, kneading and working.

At the sight of me, her face twists, and her back arches—all the signs I recognize, she’s coming.

“Help me…” she cries then her face contorts in an agonizing climax.

I tear off the cloth restraining my groin, toss my weapons on her pile of things, and crawl between her legs. I grab her hands away, and she moans, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Please…” she seethes through her teeth.

Her cunt is soaking. My cock is hard as steel.

I thrust into her, and the pleasure is tormenting.

She grips my cock in a tight fist. I have to drive into her again, hard, with the full force of my body.

“Yes!” she screams and is never silent after that. She moans on my every retraction and cries each time I dive back in. Over and over, until I fear her voice will be gone before I am done.

Her gaze is delirious. Her eyes clouded. Her head thrashing side to side.

I start to come, unable to stop the growing power in me.

But I cling to the fine hairs of my control.

I must pull out. I must.

She yanks my head down to hers and growls, “Come in me.”

I grit out, “Can’t.” I stop my hips, grinding my teeth against the violent need to pour into her.

She thrusts her hips against me, teasing me, taunting me. “I don’t care. Come in me. Make me yours.” Her words are so clear, she sounds almost lucid.

It calls to me. It appeals to my baser nature, my visceral need to claim her. For her to want me to claim her.

But her eyes tell the truth. She’s not herself. The lust is driving her words. She’s not deciding in her right mind.

She sees me trying to pull away and digs her nails into my ass and milks me with her cunt. I feel her squeezing my cock in intentional spasms. She will do anything to make me come in her.

But I can’t.

I tear her hands away and spill it on the mossy ground. I cry out in agony, expecting it to bring relief. It doesn’t. My lungs are pumping fire into my blood, blazing through my veins.

My cock does not soften, and the torture is brutal.

Her aggression does not abate. She grabs my shoulders and slams me to my back. She’s on me, her mouth swallowing my cock.

I lose my rationale. All I can think or feel is what she’s doing to me. The blissful plateau I ride while she sucks on my cock like it is her meal and sustenance.

She straddles me and rides me.

It hurts. But I cannot stop. I do not want her to stop. My brain feels like it’s melting. The ability to decipher sensations burns away in the flames that only grow hotter.

I am on fire. And she burns with me.

I pull her off me before I come. I do not know why anymore. I just do it by rote, my seed pumping from my cock, the silvery liquid pooling on the green moss.

It does not end.

She’s crying in pain. I know we should stop, but she reaches for me again.

I lose all sense of space and time, awareness of feeling.

I am only flames. And she my air.

As long as she is beside me, I will burn and endure the pain.

If she were not here, I would jump from the cliff to make the torture end—the pain so terrible, I fear death may be the only escape from it.

Tears pour down her face. It hurts her. I’m hurting her. But still she cries for more.

I stop trying to fuck her. I use my hand and my tongue.

She tries to climb on me again, but her body is tense in agony, and I hold her off me.

My cock chafes. I do not want to touch it. I do not want it to feel anything else. But I cannot stop. She uses her mouth on me. It is the only relief there is. But continually fighting her, keeping her from swallowing as I come, exhausts me.

She is an insatiable sexual creature.

That is what we are, creatures. Animals.

The world goes dark, but the cloud still surrounds us, and the burning does not end.

I lie on my back, each breath I pull into my lungs cuts like a new incision in my chest.

She wheezes beside me.

We drift out of consciousness. I fear we are suffocating. We will die.

I do not know how to save us.