Chapter 8 #2
The way his eyes darkened. I squeeze my eyes shut. “That was a bad decision,” I whisper, mostly for formality’s sake.
A part of me disagrees immediately. My brain argues back. He is sworn to protect you. He has taken an oath. And you are stuck in a freezing alien village surrounded by warriors who have never seen a woman before.
It’s a complicated situation, but not as bad as if I’d been here alone.
Because that, I realize with a shudder, was absolutely an option.
If Nator’ax hadn’t stowed away in that saucer, I might well have crashed on that glacier on my own.
I would have been there with only a half-ripe Plood for company.
Outside, footsteps crunch across the ice. Two young hunters stop near the cave entrance.
“…she is smaller than I expected,” one of them says.
“I told you,” the other replies. “The Prophecy never mentioned size.”
“Do you think she is fragile?”
“I think the Borok warrior would break your arms if you tried to find out.”
They laugh quietly and walk away.
I sit up. “Well,” I say to myself, “that’s less encouraging. They believe in the freaking Prophecy.”
The cave grows darker as night settles fully over the glacier.
Someone lights a torch outside the entrance, and its flickering glow paints soft shadows across the walls.
I lie back again and pull the fur over my chin.
“Sleep,” I tell myself firmly. “Come on. Sleep now. Think tomorrow. Night thoughts are always wrong.”
My eyes close, and for a few minutes I drift in that comfortable place between waking and dreaming. My body relaxes slowly, muscles loosening after the long march across the ice.
But even half-asleep, my thoughts circle back to him. Nator’ax moving through the village with that calm, controlled strength. Nator’ax standing between me and curious hunters. Nator’ax’s voice when he said he would hear if I shouted.
A quiet sigh slips from my lips. “I wish you here,” I murmur.
There’s a little draft on my cheek, and the furs shift.
My eyes snap open. For a second I freeze. Did I imagine that? The cave is silent.
Then the fur lifts just a little near my shoulder.
A familiar whisper reaches my ear. “Riley.”
I gasp. “Nator’ax?!”
“Quiet,” he says quickly. “We don’t want them to know.”
My heart launches into my throat as his large form slides under the fur beside me. The sudden rush of warmth is unmistakable.
“You escape?” I whisper.
“Something like that. These men are not used to being guards. And I don’t think they’re supposed to keep me in the cave, just in the village.”
I stare at him in the dim torchlight filtering into the cave. “How did you—”
“I will explain later,” he murmurs.
I can’t help it, so I grin as something tight in my stomach loosens. “Jungle warrior not like being prisoner.”
“Nor do you, Dame Riley.”
The fur settles around us again, trapping the heat of two bodies in the small space. For the first time since entering the cave, I feel completely warm. And very, very awake. All the way through.
The warmth under the furs deepens, thick and close, wrapping around us like a secret.
Nator’ax’s hand finds my waist, steady, certain. His breath brushes my neck, and I shiver—not from cold, but from the sudden, overwhelming awareness of him. Of us. Of how little time we might have.
“I thought of you,” he murmurs against my skin, lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
My breath catches. “Yes?”
“Yes.” His voice drops to a velvet growl. “Every night. Every night I imagined this. Your taste on my tongue, your thighs shaking around my face, the sounds you’d make when I finally got to drink you.”
My fingers curl hard into his shoulder, nails digging in. “Good. Because I not want to think about tomorrow either.”
There’s a brief pause, heavy with everything unsaid. Then he shifts, forehead resting against mine beneath the furs, eyes burning even in the near-dark.
“I want to Worship you,” he says quietly, but the words land like a vow carved in stone.
For a second I just stare at him, heart slamming against my ribs. Heat floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
“Yes,” I whisper immediately. “Yes. Worship me. Please.”
Something in him stills at that. Like he’s drinking in the permission, the urgency, the raw need in my voice. Then he moves.
His hands slide over me with slow, deliberate reverence that makes my breath hitch.
He peels the heavy fur-lined dress up my thighs, bunching it at my hips, exposing me to the warm cave air and to him.
His thumbs stroke the tender crease where thigh meets pelvis, spreading me just enough that I feel the first cool brush of air against my slick, swollen folds. I’m already embarrassingly wet.
No, I correct myself. Nothing is embarrassing here. This is likely our last chance.
He exhales roughly, a low, reverent curse in his own tongue. “Oh, my Holy Ancestors… look at you.”
“Don’t stop,” I plead, voice cracking. “Please don’t stop.”
The furs shift as he lowers himself, broad shoulders parting my thighs wider.
Warm darkness envelops me as he disappears beneath them, taking the last of the cold air with him.
Everything narrows to heat, his heat, his breath fanning over my dripping sex, the first deliberate press of his wide, rough palms pinning my hips so I can’t escape what he’s about to do.
The first touch of his tongue is devastating.
Flat and slow, he licks a long, luxurious stripe from my entrance to my clit, gathering my wetness like he’s starving for it. I jerk so hard the furs slide, a choked moan tearing out before I can stop it.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, eyes squeezing shut.
He stills for half a heartbeat, then does it again, slower, filthier, letting the flat of his tongue drag over every sensitive ridge and fold, savoring me. When he reaches my clit he circles it once, twice, then sucks it gently between his lips and flicks the very tip with a rapid, teasing flutter.
My hips buck involuntarily. “Oh…fuck…”
He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through my core.
One thick forearm bands across my lower belly, pinning me down while his other hand slides beneath my ass, lifting me so he can angle deeper.
His tongue spears inside me, hot, wet, insistent, fucking me with slow, curling strokes while the bridge of his nose grinds against my swollen clit.
I’m shaking already.
Every nerve feels raw, exposed, unbearably awake. I twist in the furs, thighs trembling around his head, trying to stay quiet, trying to stay still, failing miserably.
“They’ll hear,” I gasp, voice wrecked.
His only answer is to tighten his grip on my hip, holding me exactly where he wants me, and double down. He switches to tight, relentless circles around my clit, fast, then slow, then fast again, until my whole body is strung tight, muscles quivering, breath coming in shallow, desperate pants.
I grab blindly for anything to anchor me and find a strip of leather near the bedding. I shove it between my teeth, biting down hard as another thick wave of pleasure rolls through me.
It only makes everything sharper. Hotter.
He growls low in approval at the muffled sound, then seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, hard, rhythmic, pulsing suction that matches the frantic beat of my heart.
At the same time two thick fingers slide inside me, curling upward, stroking that perfect spot while his tongue lashes without mercy.
My back arches off the furs. My teeth sink deeper into the leather. A high, broken whimper escapes anyway.
He doesn’t let up.
The rhythm he builds is unhurried but ruthless, long licks, filthy open-mouthed kisses, sudden hard sucks, fingers pumping in perfect counterpoint. He’s learning me in real time, listening to every hitch in my breathing, every involuntary twitch of my hips, every stifled cry I can’t quite swallow.
The coil inside me winds tighter, hotter, unbearable.
I can feel it coming. Too big, too fast, too much. My thighs clamp around his ears. My fingers fist in the furs so hard my knuckles ache. My whole body locks up, trembling on the edge.
He knows.
He growls against my clit “Give it to me”. The words vibrate straight through me, and then he sucks hard at the same moment his fingers crook and press relentlessly against that spot inside.
The release detonates.
It rips through me like wildfire, sharp, blinding, and consuming.
My vision whites out. My body convulses, inner walls clamping and fluttering around his fingers as wave after brutal wave crashes over me.
I bite the leather until I taste salt and hide, muffling the raw, keening cry that wants to tear out of my throat.
My hips jerk uncontrollably against his mouth; he doesn’t pull away.
He drinks every shudder, every gush, licking me through it until I’m oversensitive and trembling and boneless.
When it finally ebbs I collapse back into the furs, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, heart thundering so loud I’m sure the whole cave can hear it.
Nator’ax emerges slowly from beneath the pelts. His lips are glossy, chin wet, eyes dark and wild with hunger and pride. He licks his lips once, very deliberately, while holding my gaze.
Then he leans down and kisses me, deep and filthy, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
“Mine,” he whispers against my mouth.
And for this stolen heartbeat, with the aftershocks still rippling through me, I believe him.
A moment later, he emerges from beneath the furs, his eyes finding mine in the dim light.
For a second, neither of us speaks. Then I let out a shaky laugh. “Yes, warrior,” I whisper. “That helped.”
He lies down beside me. “It really did. I can face my Ancestors now. I didn’t abduct you, and I didn’t cause you any harm. My oath is intact.”
“Clever man,” I murmur into his ear.
“Tomorrow we’ll see how clever I really am,” he says. “I have an idea.”
“Good,” I coo as I get comfortable next to him, enjoying the heat from his immense body. “Very clever. Don’t tell me now.”