VAAN

Gwen's high spirits of earlier in the day are completely gone by the time the sun sets. She chatters with the smelly one in their fluid, mouth-twisting human language, but whatever they speak of makes her sad. Her shoulders slump with defeat as if she has lost a battle, and the other human female comforts her with small touches and pats on the back.

I do not like this.

I do not like it because I do not know what is wrong. Whatever it is, they communicate it in words too fast for me to grasp, and my Gwen's face only grows sadder by the moment. I do not like her sadness. I like even less that the other touches her and gives her comfort. My possessiveness grows by the moment, and I growl when the smelly one touches her.

It only makes Gwen sadder, and I feel as if I am somehow responsible.

They remain in the large, dirty building, hunting through the wreckage of the human hive for a safe spot to sleep. When they find one, my Gwen lies down on the ground with a faint, sad smile for me. She is very distant, for all that she remains an arm's length away.

Thunder rolls through my mind, loud and angry and unrelenting. It does not let up, and I remain utterly still, watching the females.

I watch the smelly one especially. In my eyes, she is the intruder. If she makes my Gwen sweat from her eyes, I will rip her limb from limb. Storms crackle in my head, lightning crashing with brutal force. Just one wrong twitch and—

"Vaan," a female whispers, and pats the blankets in her nest, inviting me over.

The clouds recede. I blink and refocus my eyes on the human before me. Soft eyes. Brown skin. Perfect, incredible smell. My mate.

My mate.

She has a name…Gwen. Ah, yes. "Gwen," I rumble, pleased I remember it, and move to lie down next to her. I can see the sadness around her, and her melancholy makes me ache inside. I pull her against me, tucking her head to my chest and stroking her hair. I remember that she sweats from her eyes when she frets, and petting her hair helps. She gives a sad little laugh and her arms go around me, and I keep petting and stroking, waiting to see if her eyes get wet.

They do not, though, and eventually she lets out a little sigh of contentment. Across the way, I hear a low sound. The other female's blankets rustle and her light, padding footsteps recede. She is leaving the nest to give us privacy. Good.

If ever there was a time my Gwen needed comfort with touches, it is now. She likes my kisses, I remember. The mouth matings and my claws teasing her breasts. I will do all these things for her tonight, if only to wipe the sadness from her eyes.

I pull her close and smooth the hair back from her face. "Gwen," I whisper, loving the taste of her name on my lips.

She smiles up at me, but it does not reach her eyes. Even in my arms, she looks troubled. I must remind her she belongs to me, then. I place my fingers under her chin, tipping her face up to meet mine, and then kiss her. I do not give her the soft, playful kiss of before—this time I show her the storms in my mind, the need that rips through me as the lightning rips through the clouds. I show her all of the desire and intensity I can give her. I pour everything I am into each stroke of my tongue, each flick into her mouth, each conquering thrust.

I am tired of being patient. Of being understanding. The storm in my mind is an insatiable beast hungry to feed, and Gwen is the only thing it wants. It craves the drenched scent of her cunt, wet with need and plump with arousal. My blood throbs at the very thought, and I redouble my efforts to conquer her mouth.

She lets out a throaty moan, rubbing up against me. As I have done for the last several nights, I slide one hand to the band she wears over her breasts and tug it down her torso, freeing her pretty nipples for my touch. They are already hard and pebbled, and whenever they brush against my skin, she whimpers, sucking lightly on my tongue as she does.

I release her mouth, frantically kissing her neck and then moving lower. I want to make her as wild for me as I am for her, so I nip and lick at her fragile collarbones and then move to her sensitive breasts. I have toyed with the tips, but tonight, I am hungry to put my mouth on them, to suck them as I sucked on her tongue. With a hungry groan, I capture one breast in my hand and tease the tip between forefinger and thumb as I take the other nipple into my mouth and give it a hard lick.

Gwen cries out, arching up against me. The breath catches in her throat and she presses a hand to her mouth, quieting herself. "Vaaaaan," she manages, drawling out my name in that breathless human way of hers. If it is a protest, she will let me know soon enough. I continue my ministrations, nuzzling and kissing her sensitive flesh, ever-aware of her body's responses. The scent of her cunt rises in the air, telling me that she responds to my touch, even as she writhes underneath me.

My Gwen. My lovely, responsive Gwen. Challenge me, I demand as I drag my tongue over one hard nipple. Show me you wish to mate this time.

There is no response to the press of my thoughts, though. There never is. Growling low with need and frustration, I nip at her breast and then move lower, determined. Tonight, I am going to taste all of her.

I find the waist of her coverings, the thick material that hides her favorite parts from me. I have watched her closely in the past few days and have learned how she unties it with the strange, toothed seam, and I pull it apart.

Her hands move down and I flick her away. I do not want to be interrupted. If she wants me to stop, she can tell me to stop. I do not rip her coverings, but carefully undo the fastenings and ease them down her hips. The fragrant scent of her fills my lungs and I bite back a groan of need. I have never wanted anything as much as I want Gwen in this moment. After a moment, the dark thatch of hair between her thighs is revealed to my gaze, and my mouth waters at the sight. I discard her coverings and place a hand on the inside of her knee.

I can feel her trembling, her breathing shallow, and I wait to see what she does. If she wants me to stop, I shall, but she must say it first. Gwen shivers and remains silent, her gaze locked on me. I slide my fingers along the inside of her thighs, then gently part them.

A low moan escapes her throat.

I growl with pleasure. Finally, she lets me know she wants me. Her scent is in the air, but it is different when she says nothing at all. I want my mate to admit that she craves my touch as much as I crave hers. With a low rumble in my chest, I lower my mouth to her damp folds and taste her.

Sweetness coats my tongue and need explodes through me. My thoughts disappear, leaving only the ravening beast behind, who is utterly entranced by the taste of his mate’s cunt. The world erodes away, and there is only her hot scent, soft skin, and the clasp of her thighs. She cries out and arches, but it only brings her to my mouth again.

I take control, my grip tight on her legs as I hold her up and feast upon her. I trace my tongue over every fold, drinking every bit of her nectar down. I am ravenous for her taste, and I cannot control myself. Over and over, I drag my tongue against her softness, learning her body and reveling in her scent. Her flavor strengthens with every lap of my tongue, even as her quivering continues. I lap at her, exploring her folds and discovering which touches she likes the most. Mindless need hovers nearby, but I force myself to concentrate on pleasing her. My wants mean nothing if I cannot satisfy my mate.

And yet…I did not expect that the taste of my mate would be so…overwhelming. I growl even as I work her cunt with my tongue, dipping into secret, wet places. Need is the storm that tears at my thoughts this time. It is not anger, nor violence, but the insistent, rapacious need to make my mate come, to bring her to climax and let her pleasure wash over my tongue, my face, my spirit.

With a flick of my tongue, I discover the small bump between her folds that makes her entire body jolt with awareness. The cry she makes is startled, and I pause in my long, slow licks because this is new. I have never touched a female before her, but it was easy to guess how to pleasure one—find the source of her mating heat and devour it. But this new sound she makes…I wonder if there is more I can do.

I redouble my efforts to please her. There is no bit of skin that my tongue does not sweep over, no fold untouched. I use my tongue so feverishly and so furiously that she writhes against me, her cunt pushing up against my mouth. Still she does not climax, so I must be doing something wrong.

She whimpers, frustrated, and then her hand slides down to cover her cunt from my mouth.

I growl and swat her away again, determined to pleasure her.

“No, Vaan,” Gwen whispers, and caresses my cheek. “Wtchme.”

I know the “no” word, and I lift my head, frustrated. She glides her fingertips along my jaw, then caresses my lips before moving her hand over her cunt. Instead of hiding it from me, though, she slides the gleaming, flushed folds apart and reveals the little bud to my gaze.

“Wtchme,” she murmurs again, and as I try to decipher that, she begins to touch herself.

I am frozen in place at the sight.

As I watch, she slowly, gently circles the nub with one fingertip, her movements careful and light. She eases her finger down, dipping into the wet heat of her cunt, and then moves back up to the bump, rubbing the slickness against it. Her breath quickens and her breasts heave with need, and as I stare, riveted, she repeats those motions.

I want to try it.

I move in, pushing her hand aside so I can touch her like she showed me. Gwen gives a throaty little giggle and touches my jaw again before letting her hand fall to her belly. She is not stopping me now. I latch on to the small bump and glide my tongue around it in the same manner she touched it, and Gwen sucks in a breath, her hands moving to my horns and clenching them. Ah. Pleased at her response, I continue to tease the nub with my tongue, stroking one claw along her folds even as I do so. I remember how she dipped a finger deeper to touch her core, and I want to do that, too.

My claws are a problem, though.

I lift my head long enough to bite off the end of one claw. There’s a flash of memory in my head of bad things, of shame, of drakoni warriors stripped of their rank and their claws torn away…but that feels like long, long ago and my Gwen is here right now, her hips rolling with need.

Claws do not matter. Gwen matters. Touching her matters.

I push away the memory and slide my now-blunted fingertip along her core. She cries out loudly, then presses a hand to her mouth, as if to silence herself. The sweet taste of her grows even stronger, and her lust only fuels mine. The storms in my mind crash over my thoughts and then there is nothing but Gwen and the cunt spread before me, begging to be licked until it is creamy with release.

With one hand, I anchor her thigh over my shoulder, holding her down as I devour her cunt, working the nub with the same careful, steady motions she showed me—even though I am insatiable for her. I save that for her core, teasing one finger into her hot, slick warmth, and when her body yields to my touch, I thrust into her like I want to thrust my cock deep inside her.

She cries out, over and over, her voice louder each time I lick her, until her entire body is trembling and utterly full of need. Her thighs tense and she pushes me away—or tries to. I growl low and continue licking her, and she lets out a high-pitched, keening sound. Her folds flood with her nectar and she quakes from head to toe, her cunt quivering tight around my finger.

With a groan, I climax, too, grinding my cock into the soft coverings of her nest and my fires spurting into them. Even as I do, I grit my teeth.

It does not feel right to do so. I should have come inside her. My fires should be spent only inside her body—to do otherwise is an insult to my mate and her beauty. Angry at myself, I continue to lap at her cunt, determined to savor every last bit of her taste.

“Vaan?” she whispers, breathless. Her hands smooth along my horns and brow, and then she tries to lift my head. Her eyes are full of soft emotions; there is no anger at my disgraceful release.

“Gwen.” My voice is thick with emotion. I am the most fortunate of males.

She bites her lip and slithers out of my grasp, her lovely thighs sliding back together again once she’s out of my reach. She sits up in the nest, and I do so as well. There are so many things I want to tell her, to explain to her, but when I reach my mind to hers, there is no returning touch.

Even though I have pleasured her, I still feel isolated and alone, and my chest aches with the need to claim her. To just speak to her truly, to hear her thoughts.

She says soft, babbling human words as she peels away one layer of her nest and gently wipes my fires from my skin. I close my eyes, listening to the soothing sounds of her speech.

For now, it must be enough.