Untethering Dark

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Hexe had not one, but two gifts for him tonight, and he really didn’t know what he ever did to deserve such sweet attentions. But he cherished each and every one.

“These are my favorites,” Astrid said, holding out a plate of cookies drizzled with chocolate and filled with homemade jam. “Kirsch-Marzipan Pl?tzchen.”

“You spoil me.” He grinned, taking one.

When he popped it into his mouth, her baked-in feelings unleashed havoc on his tongue, wrecked his throat. This batch was so saturated with rich, decadent wanting, he coughed, nearly choked, from the potency of it. Of her wanting him. And wanting him to want her.

Chewing intensified the flavor, and he clasped his throat, his belly, realizing he’d been wrong. Wanting was too tame a word for what this was.

He was tasting her desire, her sweat-soaked fantasies, the wet glide of fingers through needy, slickened flesh.

Heat raced up the base of his spine, flooding his limbs, and hunger in the carnal sense buzzed along his skin. That’s when he scented a fresh plume of her arousal in the air, breathed it in deep. Sweet and tart and...

He was painfully aroused the night before, but this was on a whole other level.

The urge to throw her down on the ground and mount her burned through his blood. To the startling, uncontrollable, and insatiable degree in which he sometimes hunted humans for food.

It scared him.

He had to get away. Now. Before this new hunger addled his brain and turned him into a mindless, rutting beast. It didn’t matter that she wanted him. He needed to be present and in control of all his faculties when he touched her.

“I have to go,” he bit out, before racing off into the trees.

There was no time to explain.

Were the cookies really that bad? Had the jam spoiled?

Astrid lifted the plate and sniffed. Didn’t smell bad, but...

He was choking and holding his throat.

Ach! What if he was allergic to chocolate?

She ran inside to brew a tea that would ease the symptoms.

Cock in hand, desperately chasing release, Gudarīks sucked in lungfuls of sharp, cold air. Distance from Astrid’s heady, aroused scent was already working wonders for clearing his head. He’d just been taken off guard by literally consuming the emotional equivalent of juice concentrate—a potent little beverage he sometimes found in tourists’ backpacks.

The unexpected intensity of her lust triggered the ravenous hunger, but now he knew to expect it, and he’d be prepared for their next meeting.

Now to just take the edge off...

Carrying a thermos and a pouch of willow bark stuffed in her coat pocket, Astrid followed Gudarīks’s trail. In the spots where tree cover was minimal, and gusting winds blew away his tracks, she tugged off her mittens and crouched down to sift her fingers through the snow.

It did not melt from her touch.

Focusing on the accumulated flakes, the traces of melt and refreeze, she cast a spell to illuminate the heat signatures creatures left behind when they disturbed the snow. Patches began to glow—a chaotic latticework of tracks left by boots, paws, and hooves. The oldest prints were the faintest, light yellows and oranges, but the most recent were as bright and angry as flame.

It was how she found nightly offerings even in the harshest winters.

Once illuminated, Gudarīks’s large, bipedal hoofprints were impossible to miss. She continued onward.

It was strange walking the woods this late in the day, and this far from home. She never could before. Even the so-called “Witching Hour” had always been off-limits. But that was before she’d gotten to know that there was so much more to Gudarīks than a ravenous beast who prowled the mountain at night, looking for his next meal.

To practice winter magic under the light of the full moon... Slivers of excitement thrummed beneath her skin. What a glory that will be.

The sun hovered just above the horizon, twilight minutes away, and was soon to cast everything in pink and violet light when Astrid finally found the antlered forest god in a thicket of trees.

She almost called out to him, but his name froze on her tongue as she took note of his stance.

Gudarīks stood wide with one arm braced against a tree, just above his head, and a hand between his legs, jerking back and forth.

Quiet as a rabbit, Astrid stilled, scarcely breathing as she watched, riveted by the motions and the sounds of slapping flesh. She hadn’t made him ill. Hadn’t triggered an allergic reaction. She somehow got him so hot and bothered that he ran off to masturbate.

She tried to remember something he said. Something about emotions and her baking.

I can taste you in these. Every emotion you’ve felt while making them is baked in, and I’m enjoying every single one.

Her cheeks flamed. He was enjoying her sexually frustrated batch all right. How had she forgotten about his sensitivity to emotions? It hadn’t even been a thought in her head when she offered the Kirsch-Marzipan to him.

His breathing and pacing picked up.

It was rude—no, it was wrong —to watch, but stars above, she couldn’t look away.

When his whole body shuddered, dappled rump clenching, her mittened hands tightened around the hot tea thermos. Ach Holle, he’s coming.

He sighed, heavy and sated, cum spurting the tree trunk and snow in crimson slashes.

Crimson?

A choked cry escaped her lips. “Are you okay? Is that...?”

His shoulders bristled a moment before relaxing. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.” He searched her eyes, a tenderness settling his features further. “But no, it’s not blood. That’s just the color it takes. And I’m fine. More than fine actually.” The last bit he said with a wink.

Relief was her first reaction, which was then immediately drowned by sheer panic and embarrassment. Schei?e! Now he knew she’d been watching.

Gudarīks turned around fully, cock jutting out in front of him, dripping red. Upon closer inspection—yes, she was that shameless—it was too bright and viscous to be blood, the consistency more like sap tapped from a tree.

Mutter Holle, he was glorious. When he breathed, powerful muscles rippled beneath short, dark fur. And yet, despite the brute strength of him, he held himself with a regal, long-limbed grace.

So many contrasts existed in this one being.

Predator, prey. Tender suitor, ruthless hunter.

She drank him in, absorbing every detail of his body. How the setting sun painted the white bone of his face in its warm hues. And how the mighty rack of antlers that crowned his head mirrored the trees around them, reaching toward the sky with their naked branches.

Were they made in his image, or he theirs?

Stars above, she didn’t know. All she did know was that if he touched her right now, she’d melt straight to the ground, begging for a taste.

A bead of cum rolled from tapered tip down the underside of his shaft. Begging to be licked and sucked clean.

Gudarīks openly appraised her, daring burning in his eyes, completely unashamed of his just spent state. And waited.

“Why’d you run?” Astrid set down the thermos and took a step closer.

His cock twitched. “I lost control. Won’t happen again.”

Another step. “What if I want you to lose control?”

He growled, clawed hands flexing like he was thinking about snatching her up. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking.” Astrid’s voice was firm. Bacchanals were not for the faint of heart, and some of her favorite memories were of debauchment. “I want to be hunted. Chased down. Have the clothing ripped off my body. I want you to pound me into fresh fallen snow until I forget my name or what my limbs feel like.”

Give me your ferocious desire.

He went very still.

Then he chuckled, a cheerful, teasing rumble. “I’ll keep that in mind, but for now, let’s keep it simple?”

She nodded slowly, unsure what “simple” meant to him.

Though she hadn’t expected a paleolithic forest god to turn down an offer for primal sex, it wasn’t fair for her to assume he’d jump at the opportunity. The satyrs, despite their promiscuous reputations, were the same way. Some came to Bacchanals for the drunken revelry, others the sex. While many came for both, not all did.

“I can see I’ve disappointed you. How can I make it up to you?”

Her eyes dipped down, lip folding between her teeth. She had something in mind. But what if he rejected her next suggestion, too? Maybe she wanted too much, too fast. “I’m not disappointed,” she replied. “I just don’t know what to ask for.”

“You know exactly what you want.” He pinned her with a smoldering, sanguineous gaze. She should’ve known that a being such as him had lived far too long to be fooled by a flimsy lie. “I’ve a feeling I’ll quite like whatever has turned your cheeks so red.”

Her skin heated even more, but not with embarrassment this time. As her gaze settled below his waistline, openly appreciating what he had to offer, she touched her fingers to her lips. Her mouth watered—tingled even.

His cock gave an eager little leap.

“Tell me what you want.” The impatient gravel in his voice pricked goose bumps all along her skin, but it was just the encouragement she needed.

“Can I have a taste?”

Palming the base with one hand, he beckoned her forward with the other. “Come take your fill, little witch. I have plenty left to spill for you.”

Despite having just come, his balls had a swollen look to them. Was self-pleasuring routine for him, or did he so desperately need release that once was not nearly enough?

Cheeks on fire, she came forward, watching him pull the scarf from around his neck to lay it out on the snow.

“Is that...?”

“For your knees, Liebling.”

Her stomach fluttered at his thoughtfulness and the endearment. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He took her hands in his, smoothing the tops with the pads of his clawed thumbs. Though the gesture was affectionate, there was a wicked, mischievous glint in his lambent, bloodred eyes. “Down you go.”

Using their handhold as support, she knelt on the scarf. Face-to-face with his leaking cock, she learned that the satiny flesh was not furred like the rest of him.

She looked up and found him watching her.

“Are you afraid?” He placed her hands on his haunches, the short, dappled fur soft and smooth to the touch. Then he cupped her chin in one clawed hand. “Lieblich Hexe.”

“Nein.” She gripped his hips and took the engorged flesh into her mouth. Earthy, a little tart to the taste, until her tongue met with a spicy sweetness at his tip. Like ginger and anise.

Was it always like this or had her baking changed his taste? To mark him in such an intimate way...a pleased, possessiveness rolled over her.

As she bobbed her head, he brushed away her hair, holding it back with one hand, then cupped her face with the other. No doubt feeling himself in her mouth every time her cheeks hollowed.

When she slid a hand between his legs and over his balls, he bucked, the motion followed by a jet of cum. But just one.

Interesting.

She rubbed him again and got another.

Each time a new stream skated across her tongue, and soon a chorus of groans arose from above.

“Meine Hexechen,” he murmured. “You make me feel so good.”

Carefully, he traced his fingers across her jaw, silky to the touch and making soothing circular motions, leaving a velvety film on her skin.

The more they rubbed, the more she felt herself relax. Jaw pain eased away. Her gag reflex, inconsequential. Perhaps the secretions had a numbing effect, allowing only pleasure.

Guiding Gudarīks’s hips, Astrid encouraged him to thrust into her mouth. He did so slowly, and shallowly, but bit by bit fed himself deep. Although her chin and throat quickly became a drooly mess, she loved it, relishing this newfound ability to take the whole thing at once and without a stitch of discomfort.

Reaching under her coat, Astrid shoved a hand down the front of her pants. She moaned, eyes fluttering closed, movements becoming erratic as her body shook with delicious jolts of self-given pleasure.

This was terribly distracting.

“It’s okay, Liebling. Let me take care of you.”

He went to withdraw, but she grabbed his hip, and kept him in her greedy mouth. She could, and would, do both.

“Very well.” He chuckled, affectionately stroking his knuckles down her cheek.

As she continued giving her aching clit the attention it needed, her tongue rolled languidly against his sensitive underside, teasing and tasting before taking him to the hilt and dragging her lips slowly back along his length. Gudarīks inhaled deeply and tilted back his great antlered head. “You’re so wet, little witch. I can smell it on you. Do you want to feel me there?”

She nodded, cock still stuffed in her mouth.

“Lay down.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I’m going to earn this.”

No sooner did she release him, he lay in the snow and pulled her on top. “Do you care about these?” He plucked at the fabric of her pants.

“They’re not my favor...” Before Astrid could finish, he spun her around and yanked her hips back toward his face, breath hot between her legs. Oh.

With short, careful flicks of his claw, the seam of her pants split open, exposing swollen, needy flesh to the frigid air. While his hands divided and conquered, each skating under her coat and the layers beneath to cup her breasts and strum her nipples, his tongue rubbed her clit and delved into her wet heat.

She shivered, claimed by both cold and pleasure.

As his silken tongue worked her sensitive flesh, its sinuous glide delivering such exquisite, attentive stimulation, she took his length back into her mouth, and attempted to return the favor. But she was helpless to the way his tongue molded to her core, applying varying degrees of pressure and speed to her nerve center. Embracing every tremor—learning, adapting, reading the very pulse of her pleasure. Under such studious ministrations, no bit of her was left wanting.

Astrid clung to Gudarīks’s thighs, her mouth tightening around his cock each time her body jerked or spasmed.

Abandoning a breast to attend to her clit, he tenderly stroked her, using the rounded backs of his claws, devoting his tongue instead to plumbing her slick depths. Tension coiled tight in her belly, steadily raising her higher and higher toward that sacred peak. And that’s when his fingers, those faithful appendages, began to vibrate.

Nostrils flaring, she mewled around the forest god’s cock. Wave after wave hit her body in an avalanche of pleasure. She dug her nails into his haunches, trying to keep herself upright, and he emitted a deep, answering groan as he pulsed, unloading cum into her mouth that really did taste a lot like the Pl?tzchen she’d been feeding him.

When they finished coming down from their highs, she released his cock and swallowed, wiping her chin with a shaky hand.

Gudarīks helped her up, eyes glowing red in the diminished light.

Dusk had fallen.

“The vibration was a pleasant surprise.” She laced her fingers with his.

“I rather liked using that on you,” he said, pulling her flush to his body. “I’m not done with you yet, little witch. Come back to my den and warm my bed.”

Desire immolated Astrid from the inside out. Already she was burning again for his masterful attentions.

“Show me the way.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she stretched upward to press a kiss to the column of his throat. “And I will gladly do so.”

He lifted her off the ground, and she hugged his hips with her legs.

“Grab the scarf,” he bid, dipping her toward the ground.

Laughter on her lips, she snatched it from where it lay rumpled in the snow, along with her thermos, and kissed his bony cheek.