Kerris #2
"Five," he said, counting as another orgasm tore through me. "You've been starving for three days. I can feel how hungry you are."
I couldn't speak. Could only moan, cry, shake in his grip while he played my body like an instrument he'd been practicing his whole life. He knew exactly where to touch, exactly how hard, exactly when to ease off and when to push harder.
Six. My voice broke on a scream that echoed off the bone walls.
Seven. I was sobbing now, tears streaming down my face, pleasure and relief and desperate need all tangled together.
"Please," I managed. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" His voice was rough, strained. I could feel his cock against my thigh, leaking fluid, twitching with his own need. He was aroused too, had been for days probably, watching me suffer. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Inside me. Please, I need you inside me."
His fingers stilled. I whimpered at the loss of movement, my inner walls clamping down on him, trying to keep him there.
"Not yet," he said.
"Why?" It came out as a wail. "You want me. I can feel how much you want me. Why won't you—"
"Because wanting isn't enough." He pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging against my sensitive walls, making me shudder. "You need to understand what you're asking for."
I felt it then. His cock. Pressing against my thigh, having emerged from behind his armor plates. Hot and hard and massive, slick with something that might have been preparation fluid. The head nudged against my entrance, right where his fingers had been, and I moaned at the sensation.
Yes. Finally. Finally he would fill me, would give me what I'd been aching for, would—
He rubbed the head of his cock through my folds. Gathered my wetness on his length. Pressed just the tip against my entrance, just enough to stretch me slightly, just enough to let me feel how big he was.
"This is what you're asking for," he said. "When you're ready, when you truly understand, I'll give you every inch."
Then he stepped back.
Left me slumped against the wall, empty and ruined and so desperate I couldn't see straight.
"What—" I couldn't form words. Could barely stand. "Why did you stop?"
He stood three feet away, his cock jutting out from his body, massive and ridged and dripping with fluid. His amber eyes watched me with satisfaction.
"Because you're not ready."
"I am ready!" The words came out as a scream. "I'm so fucking ready I can't think! I need you to—"
"You need me to fuck you," he finished. "To fill you. To breed you." He tilted his head. "But you don't want it yet. Not really. You want relief. That's not the same thing."
I pushed off the wall, meaning to go to him, to grab him, to force him to finish what he'd started. My legs wouldn't hold me. I collapsed to my knees, shaking, and he watched me fall without moving to help.
"When you come to me," he said, "it won't be because the tonic made you. It won't be because you're desperate for relief. It will be because you understand what I'm offering, and you want it."
"What are you offering?"
"Structure," he said. "Permanence. A home that doesn't collapse."
The masonry I'd built around that wound cracked.
Hairline fracture spreading through the mortar.
He couldn't know. There was no way he could know about the family that had crumbled around me, about the brother who'd collapsed my future, about the parents who'd chosen him over me so many times I'd lost count.
I knew what structural failure looked like.
I'd seen it in buildings and bridges and relationships that couldn't hold weight they were never designed to carry.
I'd seen it in my family, in the foundation that had crumbled under Jonah's failures and my parents' choices.
I'd felt it in my own life, the slow collapse of everything I'd tried to build on sand that kept shifting.
A home that doesn't collapse.
He was just saying words. Trying to manipulate me the way he'd manipulated my biology.
But the words fit anyway.
"I don't need a home," I protested. My voice was hard, brittle, defensive. "I need to survive thirty days and never see my family again."
He studied me for a moment, those amber eyes seeing too much.
"There's a storm coming," he said finally. "Two days. Maybe less. The storms here strip flesh from skeleton."
The wind. The dust patterns. The strange pressure in the air. I'd noticed but hadn't understood.
"You'll need better shelter than hollow vertebrae," he continued. "My Keep. At the skull formation. Twenty cycles of building. It will hold against any storm."
Twenty cycles. Twenty years of constructing something permanent while I'd spent fifteen years building things for other people, things that hadn't lasted, relationships that had crumbled, a life that had collapsed under the weight of my family's failures.
"Why are you helping me?"
"I'm not helping you," he said. "I'm herding you. The storm will do what the tonic hasn't. You'll come to my Keep because the alternative is death. And once you're there, once you've seen what I've built..." He turned to leave. "You'll understand what I'm offering."
"And if I don't want it?"
He paused. Looked back at me over his massive shoulder.
"Then you'll leave when the portal opens. Unchanged. Unsatisfied. Alive." His eyes dropped to my body, naked and dripping and still shaking from the orgasms he'd given me. "But you won't leave. None of them do."
"You said I was different."
"You are." A smile crossed his alien features, brief and sharp. "That's why you'll choose to stay."
He walked away. Eight feet of bone-armored alien, leaving me kneeling on stone, empty and aching and more confused than I'd ever been.
I couldn't get up. Couldn't make my legs work. I knelt there for ten minutes, maybe longer, my body still shuddering with aftershocks from the orgasms he'd given me. Seven orgasms. Seven. More pleasure than I'd experienced in years, and it hadn't been enough. Hadn't been close to enough.
Because he hadn't filled me. Hadn't given me the one thing my body truly craved.
I could still feel the ghost of his cock against my entrance. That single moment when he'd pressed just the tip inside, let me feel the stretch, shown me exactly what he could give me if I asked properly.
If I surrendered. If I chose.
My pussy clenched at the memory, and fresh wetness leaked out of me. I was worse now than before. The orgasms had taken the edge off the desperate need, but they'd also taught my body exactly how good it could feel. Now it wanted more. Now it had a taste of what it was missing.
I forced myself to stand and walked to the spring on shaking legs. Drank more water despite knowing it would trigger another response. Let the waves crash through me, each one a reminder of what he could give me if I asked properly.
My reflection in the water was a stranger. Flushed. Wrecked. My lips were swollen, bitten raw. My nipples were still hard, dark with blood, visibly aching. Between my legs, everything was wet and puffy and desperate.
I looked like a woman who'd been fucked within an inch of her life.
But I hadn't been fucked at all. That was the whole point.
The storm was coming. I could feel it in the air now, the pressure building, the wind shifting. I had maybe two days to find shelter or die.
His shelter. His Keep. His territory.
I gathered my ruined clothes. Put them on even though the fabric against my oversensitive skin was torture. Carved my three lines into the stone by the spring.
Proof I'd been here. Proof I'd survived. Proof I hadn't completely broken.
Yet.
I started walking toward the skull on the horizon. Every step made my pants drag against my swollen clit. Every movement reminded me of what he'd done to me, what he hadn't done, what I'd begged him to do.
My body had already decided. My mind was still fighting.
But I was walking toward him anyway.
And I couldn't tell anymore if I was running to survive or running toward surrender.