VAAN

I think Gwen does not realize what she does to me.

We are here, alone, in a room that is clearly for nesting. One of the human nests is here, the blankets still carrying the scent of old, old matings from long ago. She does not pay attention to this, of course, and instead finds new coverings for her body and strips her old ones off without a thought, baring her back to me.

And I am tempted.

So very tempted.

This is not like before, when she was hurt and relied on me to care for her. Then, it was easy to tend to her body without focusing on the beauty of her form. But now that she is healthy? I cannot stop staring. I watch every little thing she does, absorb every movement, every gesture. I memorize the elegant line of her back, down to the soft curves of her buttocks.

My memory may be shattered, but I want to remember this.

She turned and glanced over at her shoulder once, aware of my presence, and I glimpsed the swells of her breasts. Her body is lovely, golden brown all over and smoother than the most polished scales. Hunger for her burns in my belly, but I do not touch her right away.

I wait to see how she reacts. To see if she gives me her mating challenge as she did before, with the mouth on mouth presses.

She does not, though, and when her gaze flicks to the door, I grow impatient. I have waited long enough, so I say the human words to let her know my thoughts.

“Ks me.”

Gwen looks surprised to hear me speak, but the expression in her dark eyes grows soft and just the smallest hint of her mating scent perfumes the thick, still air.

It is enough for me. I stride forward and put my hands on her bared waist. Her new coverings only hide the most attractive parts of her, and I am tempted to rip them off and bare her to my gaze once more.

Her breathing quickens, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. "Vaan," she whispers.

Touch me, I tell her, but when she continues to stare at me without comprehension, I ignore my impatience. Soon.

She doesn't pull away from my touch at her waist, and her arousal scent grows thicker. Perhaps with humans, the male is the challenger? I think of the smelly female and how she cowered in front of the male she was with until I devoured him. It is worth testing. I trace my claws up the flat plane of her belly, grazing over her soft skin and moving upward until I reach the dark band of her breast covering.

Her hand immediately goes to shield it from my touch. "Dntripit."

"No?" I ask, not understanding her words but grasping the meaning. She wishes for me to stop?

Gwen hesitates a moment and then takes my hand and moves it above the band, back on her skin. "Hr, notder."

"Hr," I echo, and she nods. She wants my touch, then, just not my claws destroying her new coverings. I understand. I notice the taut points of her nipples under the fabric and lightly rub a knuckle over one. "Hr?"

A low moan escapes her and her body shudders. She steps closer to me and it feels like a victory.

She likes my touch. Wants it.

The hunger I carry for her rages like fire, consuming my spirit. I lock my arm around her waist and pull her body against mine. She sucks in a breath but does not fight, her arms going around my neck. Her eyes meet mine, and even though they do not show her emotions in color, there is no denying the need in them.

I will challenge her, then, though it feels strange.

Twining my claws in the thick tangle of her hair, I tilt her face toward mine.

Her breath comes in shallows rasps, but she does not pull away.

I tilt my face toward hers and press my mouth against her lips. She tenses against me, so I go still and remain motionless against her, lip to lip.

She sighs and after a moment, she nips at my mouth with hers. "Ks me," she murmurs, and her lips brush against mine in the lightest, most teasing of touches. I know those words. I copy her movements, caressing and tasting her mouth with my own, our touches playful and flickeringly brief. They are good touches, but so fleeting that they are unsatisfying. I want more.

Then, she presses her mouth to mine and her tongue strokes against my lips, and I realize that there is more to this. The touches we have exchanged are a mere flirtation. Tongues are the true battleground. With a groan, I let her take the lead and Gwen flicks her tongue in the same teasing caresses that she's been giving my mouth…but are totally different now that her sweet, slippery tongue is involved. When it flicks against mine, I feel it in my groin, in my toes, in the very strands of my hair. My world centers around her soft, pink tongue and how she uses it. With little strokes, she tastes me, coaxing and teasing and dancing along mine until I taste her back.

Mine is not a gentle tease, though—mine is a conquering taste of her mouth. I plunder her sweetness with a bold flick of my tongue, licking at her. She trembles against me and lets me take the lead of the kiss. It goes from soft and playful to hot and devouring in moments, and then she's sagging against me, little whimpers of need escaping her throat as I conquer her mouth like I would her cunt.

This is not so very different from mating her cunt with my mouth, I decide. I am just mating another soft, juicy part of her. Strange, but equally enjoyable. I lift my mouth when she breaks away from me, panting and dazed. "Vaan," she whispers, her lips swollen from the constant press of our faces. They are shiny and flushed with color, and I cannot resist licking them again to taste her, and she moans against me, as hungry and full of need as ever.

My Gwen. I like that I can please her with my mouth. It is such a ridiculously simple thing, to mate tongues. If she had told me this was what she wanted when she rubbed her mouth to mine, I would have been mating her tongue many, many times this day. I brush my nose against hers, nuzzling her face, and the scent of her arousal wafts through the air, growing stronger by the moment. This pleases her. I rumble with pride at the realization.

I can do more to give my mate pleasure.

My claws skate up and down her back in the lightest of caresses, as I am mindful of how fragile her lovely brown skin is. She shivers, her lips parting, and she stares hungrily at my mouth, wanting more. I taste her lips once more, and then decide that I want to taste all of her. She is more than just sweet lips, and I would caress all of her with my tongue, if tongue-caresses are what she enjoys.

I stroke her sides even as I mate her mouth, and then reach for the dark strip of fabric over her breasts again. I tug at the cloth, careful not to rip it. I want to look at her bare skin. I want to put my mouth on it. I want to put my mouth everywhere on her.

She whimpers lightly and rakes her nails over my skin. It does not hurt, but I still groan, because I feel the need building in her. It is the need I feel in my belly, the endless hunger that threatens to take over whenever I am around her. Maybe tonight is the night she will let me claim her and give her my fires.

I slip the band of fabric down to her belly, exposing her breasts. Her nipples are a delicate, rosy brown, and they tighten as I gaze down at them. She moans, shivering against me. I lightly run my knuckles over one delicate tip and am surprised to see that her skin feels different here. Still soft, but with a unique texture. She is fascinating, my human mate. I trace along the tip and it grows harder and more erect as I do, and her arousal-scent grows deeper as well.

With a snarl, I turn our twined bodies and drop us to the top of human nest. She lets out a gasp as we bounce atop the springy surface, letting up a cloud of dust. I do not care about such things, though. I am too interested in the movement of her breasts, the way they shift and jiggle against me. I caress one soft mound, fascinated by the hard tip, and then lower myself over her until I can rub that mound against my face.

She moans loudly then, her back arching and her short, blunted claws going to my hair. I nuzzle at her nipple, teasing it with my lips and then my tongue. It feels strange and forbidden to touch her like this when there has been no challenge, but I can smell her mating scent heavy in the air and know my touch is welcome. I tease her skin, brushing my lips over her until she is squirming beneath me, her breath panting and quick with excitement. My cock aches as it has never ached before, but my own pleasure is an afterthought—all I want is to please her.

I rub my face in the valley between her breasts, fascinated by the way she feels against me. I could spend endless days just touching and caressing her. Breathing in her scent like this, holding her against me—the storm clouds that always threaten my mind have rolled back entirely and my entire focus is on Gwen and Gwen alone. I brush my lips against her skin and then flick my tongue over the same spot, tasting her. The whimper that escapes her excites me like nothing else, and I redouble my efforts to wring more of those little sounds from her. I lap at her skin, use my tongue to tease lines over her belly, and move lower, because her scent is driving me mad with hunger.

I want to bury myself—my face, my tongue, my cock—in the heat of her cunt and the wet wonder of it. My mate, I chant silently. My mate. My Gwen.

"Vaan," she moans again, her hips undulating under me.

I press my face against the rough fabric covering her hips, breathing deeply for a moment before pulling at it. Unlike the soft band over her breasts, it does not give at my touch. Frustrated, I hook my claws underneath the waist and pull.

She makes a startled sound and pushes my hands away. "No, Vaan."

I press my face against her belly in frustration. I know that word. It means she is done. It does not matter that her need is perfuming the air around us, or that I am desperate to give her my fires. The storm clouds in my mind rush forward, drowning out my senses with their furious rage. Anger bubbles through me, piercing the sweetness of her scent.

This place stinks of humans.

This place stinks of…another human. Not my mate, but an intruder. I lift my head, nostrils flaring and a low growl in my throat. Another female.

If she threatens my mate…

"Hey. Vaan," a female—my female—says. Dimly, I realize she lies under me. Of course she does. How could I forget? Yet even as I think it, I can feel the storms rushing in, sweeping away my grasp on things.

I stare down at her. Beautiful. Dark hair, lovely brown skin that is soft to the touch. Wide brown eyes that gaze up at me with worry. Her name is…

It is…

I snarl in frustration. Why can I not remember? The storms in my mind surge, growing stronger and more dangerous by the moment. The urge to hurt, to kill, to destroy increases beat by beat as the lightning and the storms grow wilder in my mind. Not to hurt my mate—never her—but the one that lurks nearby…

"Gwen," she says softly and taps her chest, between her bare, enticing breasts. "Rmbrme?"

Gwen.

Just like that, the storm clouds recede and clarity returns. Gwen. I know her. I know her scent, her gentle smiles.

I know that she wants to keep the other human with her. To keep her safe.

"Gwen," I rasp, and stroke her skin, touching her lovely breasts.

She nods, but the moment is gone. Her mating scent is tinged with worry, and tension vibrates through her body. "Gwen."

I will remember.

I hope. I gather her in my arms, nuzzling at her throat. She leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder. She still trusts me despite my bad mind, and I am humbled by this. Whatever she needs from me—time, patience, understanding—I will give to her. I kiss her gently, then carry her back to her nest in the other room and curl up next to her.

The stink of the other human hangs in the air, chokingly thick, but I bury my face in Gwen's hair and focus on her scent and her scent alone.

Gwen is all that matters.