Chapter 8
ADA
He thrusts into me on the landing.
All of him. All at once. All of him drives in before my body has made any peace with the size—the sheer depth of it, the stretch, the overwhelming feeling of him filling me completely—
"Fuck—" I manage, ragged. His weight follows me down, pinning me. I'm face-first in the furs, pinned, his cock buried deep inside me before the word has finished.
He doesn't pause for my comfort.
His hands lock on my hips. He pulls his cock back—the slick sound of it obscene, I'm soaked and gushing around him—and drives in hard. A moan tears out of me, unwilling.
He pulls out and drives in again. It fills the aerie immediately: his hips slapping against my ass, the wet sound of every thrust, his deep guttural breath, my voice coming out in ragged gasps. The fucking rising, faster, louder, as he keeps going.
He's grunting. Short and low with every thrust. Something that has been driving toward this since the moment the switch flipped and has arrived and is not stopping.
His tail loops around each of my thighs from below, pulling them apart, holding me spread wide under him.
He's enormous—his chest is at my shoulder blades, not my head, his body so much larger than mine that I barely reach his sternum.
Every thrust drives me into the furs, fills me entirely, his cock reaching depths no fingers ever could.
Like nothing I've ever felt or dared to imagine.
His cock flexes inside me.
Not just thrusting. The prehensile muscle pressing forward from within, finding the front wall and holding it, stroking that spot through my walls while his hips keep driving. My cunt clenches around it, gripping hard, and he groans once.
Both at once: the full thrust and the internal pressure, his cock pressing on that exact place on every stroke. The tail sends its tip to my clit and starts to circle. Slow. Relentless. Ignoring everything else happening in this aerie.
I claw at the furs. My thighs are trembling against his—both legs shaking, nothing left in them.
His cock presses that spot on every stroke. The tail circles my clit without mercy. He's grunting against the back of my neck—low, rhythmic, animal—and he's so large inside me and I—I can't—there's no—
I come on his cock.
My cunt seizes around him, hard and clenching, and I cry out—"no—" breaking into something shapeless. "Good," he says against my neck, low. He drives harder through it. The tail tightens on my clit as I clench.
I'm keening into the nest, gasping on every thrust. He groans—wrecked—and doesn't slow down. His hips slam into me through all of it. I grip the furs and he keeps going.
His fangs find the back of my neck. He has to curve that massive frame down to reach me—I feel the arc of his spine against my back, his whole body bowing just to close the distance.
The venom hits a body already drowning. Every nerve fires outward from the bite.
There's nothing left. No training, no briefing, nothing that knows anything at all. His cock inside me. The tail on my clit. The wet slap of his hips. His grunt against my neck—short, low, the sound so deep I feel it in my sternum.
He's enormous inside me. His cock keeps pressing on that spot from within, keeps finding it on every thrust. I'm moaning into what he's built. I can't stop.
He groans against my neck—long, rough, wrecked. His clawed hands haul me back against every thrust. I'm so slick around him I can hear it on every stroke.
I come again. My walls clench around him and I sob against the furs, crying out on every thrust. I'm boneless—no strength left in my legs, nothing in my thighs. It's his tail coiled around my waist and his massive clawed hands gripping my hips that are keeping me in position at all.
He groans against my skin, guttural and wrecked, and drives through it.
The knot swells.
His wings slam open—both of them, full span, the tips scraping the canopy ceiling—and he roars. It fills the aerie and goes out into the dark above the wasteland. His hips drive forward one final time, shuddering, and the knot locks.
The stretch at my cunt blooms wider, deeper, and then it's done. Sealed. He can't pull free. I can't get away.
I know it with my body because my body is the only thing still operating.
The vibration starts.
From the knot, pressing directly into my clit at my center.
The knot is right there, right against that nerve cluster from within, and the vibration hums into it: relentless, not cycling, not building toward something.
Just there. Just that warm constant hum pressing into my clit from inside my own body.
His cock throbs against my G-spot. His pulse in it—every heartbeat, his cock pressing on that spot, every beat.
I'm drooling against the furs. I'm aware of this. I can't stop it. I don't care.
He rolls his hips. Small and deliberate, working the knot where it's seated. Short, low grunts with every roll, the sound so deep I feel it in my chest.
His weight is enormous on my back. The vibration presses into my clit without pause. His cock throbs on my G-spot.
I'm moaning into the warmth of the nest and the moaning doesn't stop.
I don't stop coming.
"Mine," he says against my hair. Low. Like it's already true.
I lie in the furs and shake.
The aerie is warm. His chest is against my back. Below the edge of the nest: the drop I chose, the long fall, the correct decision.
He caught me before I got there.
I'm going to have to find a new way to be certain about things.
His wings fold around us. Both of them. The light goes. Everything goes except his warmth, his heartbeat, the vibration, the knot, the fullness of him inside me. The way I'm still shaking.
His tail wraps loosely around my ankle—not restraining, just there. The tip resting against my skin. His heartbeat thuds into my shoulder blades—slower than mine, deeper, the rhythm of something built at a different scale.
The vibration doesn't stop. It doesn't stop for the orgasm.
It doesn't stop for anything. His cock pulses against the front wall with every beat of his heart.
The hum runs through the knot into my body.
My body keeps responding, clenching, each clench feeding the next without any help from either of us.
I lie in the dark behind his wings. The furs are soft. His chest is furnace-warm against my back.
I've looked for the exit. Every angle I have.
Five miles east-northeast, my settlement is in the aftermath of the raid.
Dov is managing without a commander, which means managing on instinct and whatever's left of his authority.
The second-years are on the wall without anyone to correct their footwork when it goes wrong under pressure.
The bad generator. The supply runs that need rescheduling now that the eastern gate is breached.
The intelligence maps that were folded against my ribs are somewhere on the canopy floor fifty-three stories below.
None of that waits. All of it is happening right now without me, and the specific, blunt horror of it is that nothing I decide tonight changes any of that.
The knot holds. The venom holds. The wings hold. There's nothing I can reach tonight.
So I stop trying.
Not surrender. Triage. The difference between giving up and choosing which battles to fight right now.
I'll fight every battle this situation contains. Just not tonight. Tonight my body has been taken apart by something nothing in my training had a category for. The vibration still hums. My walls clenching around his cock in slow rhythmic pulses that I did not choose, can't stop.
Resource management. I'll conserve what I have left and fight tomorrow.
That's what I tell myself.
It's the first lie of many.