Jonohkada

CHAPTER 19

The fabric store’s door bells clang discordantly.

“HELLO!” Mick screeches rudely.

But even more rude is what he”s doing as he calls out to me. His tiny, ineffectual wings are wrapped around Hannah.

He”s hugging her.

They”re hugging in the middle of the day.

My steps grind to a halt. Garment bags slide from my hands.

The sounds of traffic mute as the door swings closed behind me.

“Jonoh!” Hannah says in surprise.

I know from escorting her to work this morning that she’s wearing white knee-high boots and she is clad in an overall dress patterned with blocks of brown, black, and cream color, styled with what is called a V neckline. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black sweater underneath of her dress, the collar of which is high and turned over, a turtleneck, it is called here. A plain silver necklace with a small round pendant hangs perfectly framed in the dipped neckline of her dress, although mostly it’s hardly visible. Currently, most of her person is hidden behind her plain black apron.

And a glowing pink-white cockatoo.

She’s standing near the store’s entrance, beside the cashier’s stand. And Mick is giving me the evilest of triumphant looks as he snuggles himself around her like a feathered parasite.

Hannah reaches up and strokes a light touch over his crest, causing the soft-looking feathers to flatten. Wedging his head under her chin, he sends me the smuggest of smug stares.

I stiffen. It is enough that I have to witness my rival clasping my mate with avidity before I leave her in the mornings. Now to walk in on him cuddling her in the middle of the day? This is too much.

I throw down the last of the Gryfala’s garment bags I was strangling.

“Jonoh?” Hannah asks uncertainly.

“LOVE YOU!” Mick cackles. And then he crawls up her sweater and taps his top mandible against her cheek as he makes the obscenest kissing noise I have ever been forced to hear.

My wing talons slice through the top of my cloak. I will wingslap my opponent into the next lunar phase—

“Are you okay?” Hannah is exclaiming. “Why did you leave work? Julie is freaking out! She couldn’t find you anywhere and you aren”t answering your phone. What’s going—”

I’ve reached her. I dive for her, wrapping my arms around her.

Mick, on her shoulder, is now pressed to my chest. He bites me.

“OWW!” I protest.

“Mick, no bite!” Hannah chides. She returns my hug with a quick squeeze, then attempts to pull back enough to look up at me.

I don’t let her go.

Very uncertainly now, Hannah asks, “Jonoh? Are you okay?”

“NO,” I tell her, clutching her harder.

Mick screeches an interruption, not content that I’m stealing Hannah’s attention and forcing him into a hug. Nor is he pleased that I”m interrupting their sordid private hugging session, I”m sure.

Fishing a hand up between us, Hannah covers Mick’s reaper’s blade of a beak. “Shhh,” she chides him gently. “Let Jonoh talk to me.”

My molars clamp together and grind with an audible squeak. Just like a first mate, having to be reminded that the lower ranked mates deserve quality time too.

Except, Mick isn’t another hob, or even an intractable Rakhii. He’s a parsimonious little parrot. It’s galling.

To my great relief, when Hannah pulls out of my arms, she moves to Mick’s cage and puts him away in a rush. She even draws a cover over his cage, giving us privacy from his beady, calculating eyes. Then she turns to me. “Explain.”

“I was forced to go to the dry cleaners by a mock-Gryfala who ordered me to ignore Julie!” I reply in a rush.

Hannah’s eyes are wide. “What?” Then her eyes widen even more—in regret. “Oh, Jonoh, I didn’t mean to make you tell me. It’s just the way we say—it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem,” I say tensely, running a hand through my hair.

“This is definitely a problem,” Hannah breathes, disagreeing softly. “Crap! You had to obey this lady even though you were at work?”

“Yes. I was compelled to do what the mock-Gryfala commanded me to do.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hannah says, staring up at me, simply horror-struck. “How do you live like this? This is really dangerous! What if she’d told you to jump off a bridge?”

“I have wings,” I point out miserably.

Hannah shocks me by reaching up and grabbing fistfuls of the shoulder panels of my cloak. She stares firmly into my eyes, as if she’s attempting to mesmerize me. “What if I give you the order that you can only listen to me or Julie from now on?” Her eyes soften. “Will that work?”

I stare down at her face, mesmerized indeed. “What if a kindhearted person asks me for help? I need to be able to listen to them.”

Hannah growls, making my body stir.

I shake myself. It”s a struggle to rein my libido in. It’s something to do with having Hannah near me after I’ve been excessively affected by stress and emotion. “Unfortunately, a blanket order does not stand in the face of a mock-Gryfala giving me fresh orders. This female is extremely dominant,” I share. “But I should be able to return to work and deliver her things—then, Creator willing, avoid her.”

The look in Hannah’s eyes is almost heartsbreaking. She pets my chest, causing every synapse in my brain to overheat. “This is a bad situation. On your planet, how do guys avoid getting completely controlled by every Gryfala you encounter?”

“Well, we have a detrimentally smaller female-to-male ratio on our planet, and Gryfala work constantly. They keep large harems, the members of which tend to repel unclaimed males in an effort not to have their princess’s eye wander and thereby add yet another new member. Between all these factors, it’s not terribly often that the average bachelor hob is commandeered.”

With a very concerned-looking frown line between her brows, Hannah asks, “But it happens? The hobs in the harem get commandeered by other Gryfala?”

I shake my head. “Usually not harem-kept males. They are claimed. It is considered a breach of etiquette at best and an act of war at worst if a female attempts to order a male from another Gryfala’s harem.”

“So… what you’re saying is, claimed hobs are protected from being bossed around?”

I grimace. “I’m afraid not. Claimed hobs aren’t arrogated by other Gryfala’s as a courtesy. This is where having a Rakhii is helpful,” I murmur thoughtfully. “They are under no true compunction to obey any Gryfala and can get rather aggressive when defending the rookery”s hobs from another princess”s attack.”

Hannah grabs my hands, her entire being brightening with hope. “So if we had a—”

I squeeze her fingers. “A Rakhii couldn’t go to work with me. They look nothing like a human. Even if they could, by some great concealment, pass for human, the very quality I would want one for—their aptitude for not being willing to obey orders from anyone in authority—will be detrimental, because they wouldn’t obey me either.” More than likely, I’d lose my insubordinate shield when he wandered off to find a human female he found abduction-worthy.

Hannah sighs.

I would likely sigh with her, if she weren’t still holding my hands. I find I’m not feeling nearly as harassed when Hannah is touching me. I wish she would touch me all day.

“I wish I could bring you with me to work,” I tell her.

She smiles. But then her smile fades, a contemplative expression taking over her face. Then, a determined one.

Regretfully, I step back from Hannah—although I can’t make myself release her hands. “I expect the mock-Gryfala will become more unreasonable and autocratic if I don’t return to her soon, bearing her delivery ofclothing items. I must leave.”

Still wearing a contemplative expression, Hannah stares into my eyes for a moment. Then she takes a step into my arms, places our laced hands on my chest, and rises to the tips of her toes. And she… looks at me.

I goggle down at her.

Her lips curve up and her eyes fill with mirth, mingled with some self-consciousness. “You’re going to have to bend down so I can reach.”

“Reach what?” I ask, dazed.

Her cheeks flush with color. “Your mouth. I’m here to kiss it,” she informs me.

She didn’t order me to kiss her. Not a part of me would have complained if she did.

But I find myself grateful she didn’t. Bolstered that Hannah is so considerate of my power of preference, slowly, entirely of my own accord, I lower my head until my lips hover over hers.

I kiss her.

Hannah’s fingers, still knitted with mine on my chest, dig into my pectorals like Saphkarra’s claws.

I growl.

Hannah shivers.

My wings heat. My whole body heats. Judging by the discomfort in my nether region, she has instantly given one of my organs spontaneous fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva.

I’m about to devour her when Hannah pulls away from me and, lips looking both freshly kissed and yet still so very kissable, announces, “I claim you, Jonohkada.”

My hearts stop. I look down at her in wonder.

She smiles up at me. “I claim you. If that woman tries to get you to do anything else, tell that bossy bitch no.”

I stare at her, aghast. Because now I have to tell her no.

Hannah’s eyes widen. “Sorry! I mean tell her no if she tells you to do something you don’t want to do. Stand up for yourself and say no.”

I swallow, terrified.

Hannah frees her hand from where we are finger laced and rubs my chest sympathetically.

My eyes glaze.

“I get it,” Hannah says commiseratingly. “Being assertive and telling someone no is… it’s hard for me to do too…” she trails off. Her hand has gone frozen, because my gaze is locked on her hand as it presses over my hearts.

“Jonoh?” she asks.

My eyes lock with hers. I stare down at her, absolutely lost for her.

Mick screeches in horror. “Hugggg meeeeee!”

He’s peeking at us from the bottom of his cage, the side of his scaly and feathered face pressed to the bars at a gap in his cage’s cover.

“I’ll hug you in a minute, Mick,” Hannah tells my challenger breathlessly, her widened eyes intoxicatingly locked on my face.

Lip curling up in a snarl, I lower my mouth to hers and growl, “I’m going to kiss you until you forget—” my puny rival’s name “—any other males exist.”

I hungrily take her mouth.

Our lips slide luxuriously. My hands come up to cup behind her neck.

Without thought, I move forward, forcing Hannah a step back. Then another, and another—until I back her against the wall near the fabric counter.

She gasps, her breaths puffing against my lips.

My tongue takes advantage, licking past her lips and touching her tongue.

Hannah stiffens. I start to pull back, concerned—but she catches me by the collar of my shirt—and then her tongue breaches my mouth, and suddenly she kisses me back with passion.

When we break apart, Hannah is panting and staring up at me, her gaze rapt with wonder.

Sacrificing one thousandth of an Earthen second of glorious eye contact with my mate, I send Mick a victorious—and shamefully, malignantly pleased—look of triumph.

“Mick needs a huggggg,” Mick whimpers, beaten.

I suck in air through my nostrils, making my chest swell so broadly that when I turn back to Hannah, it’s to find she’s distracted. She moves one of her hands from where she’s gripping my arm and drags it across my cloth-covered pectorals with such a naked look of admiration on her face that she nearly gives my hearts a seizure.

I need more.

Bending my knees, I wrap my arms around her thighs and lift her, aggressively bringing her up so I can carry her. If I could clasp her with my wings, my hands would be free to touch her. To touch her everywhere… a voice whispers in my head. I shake myself violently to silence it. The voice is technically absolutely correct. But wing clasping Hannah before we are ready would absolutely be wrong. I’m thankful the temptation is bound up in my cloak.

Blindly I walk her to the nearest wall and press her against it, pinning her with my hips.

The moment my groin presses into her stomach, Hannah moans and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Her legs are restless. They seem to be trying to climb my legs, but without success. With a flash, I realize her apron’s somewhat bulky fabric is preventing her. Grabbing her around the waist with one arm and sliding my other arm behind her shoulders, I stare into her enchanting eyes as my fingers slide over her neck.

She shivers.

I still, and my pupils must expand because her face comes into even sharper focus. I wasn’t trying to tease this reaction out of her, but I’m not sorry that I have. My fingers graze over her neck again, deliberately this time, enjoying one more of her shivers against me before I catch the loop of her apron and lift it.

Obligingly she bends her neck so that I can lift it over her head.

I move to drop it between us, but Hannah leans back until only the fingertips of one hand are on my upper arm and she points above her shoulder. “The hook for it is here,” she pants.

And so it is. I reach beside her to hang it up neatly. Then I turn my full focus back to Hannah. Hungrily, I kiss her.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders again and her beautiful boot-clad leg obligingly rises, climbing me, this time with success.

Instinctively, I catch it and drag it up my hip—and my pelvis shoves against her, making her moan against my mouth.

Deep within my chest, I begin to purr.

And this time my purr is a mating purr. It does the exact opposite of putting Hannah to sleep.

Hannah tangles a fist in my hair and growls, yanking me closer, taking over the kiss with authority.

My wings punch against the wall on either side of her head, making her jump.

They”ve escaped. And if she hadn”t been startled, I wouldn”t have been pulled from my hormone-raging stupor in time to catch them and stop them from curling around her.

With effort, I fold them tightly closed, hidden once more in the ragged remains of my cloak. Ragged because they tore free in order to get around Hannah. And they so nearly succeeded—

My breath stops. Because one of my wings did succeed. One managed to rub a streak of yellow dust across her shoulder. Thankfully it touched the dark fabric of her turtleneck and not her skin, but that’s far too close for safety. I frantically swipe it from her with my hand and help her slide safely down my person before I trip back from her.

“Sorry,” I start to say… when I follow Hannah’s frown. She’s staring at her fingertips, which are covered in…

Yellow sparkle.

My wingpowder.

At some point before I pulled them away, she touched my wing membrane.

I should think, Oh no.

But instincts roar to life inside me.

Seeing my wing powder on Hannah”s skin sets my blood on fire.

Hannah, though, experiences another reaction. At least initially. Braced against the wall, she throws back her head and laughs, giddy. She’s being hit with a rush of elation. It”s an effect of the chemical rush from my wing’s powder.

In a moment, she’ll surpass me in the intensity with which she needs to mate and reach her mating peak. Among other things, in reaction to my wing powder, hormones are flooding her body, pleasurable for now.

However, if she isn’t serviced, her levels won’t return to baseline. She’ll progress with unbelievable speed into what’s essentially estrogen toxicity. She’ll experience painful swelling, severe cramping in her reproductive organs, mammary pain, nausea, a crippling migraine—but that won’t be the worst of it. Within a frightfully short period of time, she could begin having strokes until she dies.

But I would never leave her to suffer that fate.

I take her face in my hands. “I need to lock the store. I will return in a moment.”

Predictably, a feverish excitement is already coloring Hannah’s eyes and affecting her body. She closes her hands over my wrists. “Can’t you stay?” she pleads. Then she gets distracted by my arms. Tugging one close, she kisses my forearm.

Groaning, I catch her by the back of her neck and walk her next to me, hurriedly urging her to the front of the store, to the aluminum framed glass door.

Feverish with need, she continues to nuzzle me wherever we touch.

Feeling myself responding to Hannah’s enticing scent and activity, I swiftly scan the locking mechanism. Mercifully, it’s a simple pivot pin lever. I snap it sideways. There is a clunk as the bolt drives into place.

“Secured,” I declare. I turn to Hannah, who is rubbing her cheek over my knuckles. She glances up at me from under her lashes and begins drawing my hand invitingly down her chest.

Without further ado, I pick her up and begin walking past the rows of fabric bolts, moving quickly for the rear of the store.

Making a surprisingly effective purring noise, she runs her hands along my shoulders, kisses my neck, making sweat break out across my skin. My reservations about getting too physically involved with Hannah before I feel emotionally safe with her are nearly obliterated.

She is managing to override all my concerns with stunning ability.

“Is there a company allotted rest and ration consumption area here?” I ask desperately. “Or a closet?”

“Break room’s in the back,” she pants between lip presses to my throat.

I rush us to the back of the store.

It’s a cramped room, made smaller by the round table and assorted molded frame and metal blend chairs in an unfortunate shade of brown and brown-green. Avocado, I believe the color is called.

Hannah’s hand presses to the patagium of my wing, caressing it as she takes more of its marking, and I no longer care what color the chairs are. Hastily I set her on the table, then catch the table as it tilts.

When I attempt to release it, it doesn”t steady. Rather, it wobbles, making me frown fiercely at its laminated top.

Hannah’s laugh is delighted. “It’s okay. This is how all breakroom tables are made. I don’t think they actually tip over,” she claims, and her thighs squeeze my hips, limiting my brain’s ability to reason. “They all just wobble.” Her hands clutch my shoulders, then slide up the sides of my neck before sinking into my hair.

I’m not sure if I can trust her judgment at the moment. Her eyes have darkened deliciously, her pupils expanding to an unnatural degree. It’s the effect of her intense arousal. She would no doubt encourage me to mate with her even if we topple to the floor. But as she drags her inflaming touch from the sides of my head down the back of my neck, and then grabs the base of each of my wings, I’m rapidly inclined to join her in this risk.

Ripping off the cloak portion of my sweater, I throw it down at Hannah’s back for her comfort.

“Oooh, thank you,” she says, and raises herself up enough to slide the heavy knit garment under herself. “The table was cold. And not the kind of hard I’m looking for.” Her eyes lock suggestively on the hardness she is looking for and she licks her lips.

I jerk the hem of her dress above her thighs, inhaling sharply at the sight of her cloth covered mound.

One of her hands moves between us and greedily palms the ridge of my erection through my trousers, making me suck in a breath. She slides her hand around to my posterior—

She pinches a handful of my hindflesh.

Growling, I drag her to the edge of the table—then sternly grab the cogdamned table to keep it from rocking. With my other hand I catch one of her thighs and tug it, spreading her more openly to my gaze.

Her undergarment is white with lateral black stripes, and all of it is covered with small pink shapes, what humans call hearts. The anatomical inaccuracy when compared to an actual heart organ matters not; for human beings, this shape represents love.

I drop to my knees on the battered tile floor and risk releasing the table in favor of gripping her hips. Due to what I can only suspect is a loose bolt or poorly structured legs, the table lists forward but thankfully not enough to unseat her as I make room for my shoulders between her knees and lower my face until I can breathe her in. I growl.

Hannah stops breathing.

I move in even closer, exhaling over her mound.

Hannah pants my name, “Jonoh.”

I growl again. I nose her cloth-covered sex. She smells divine.

She twitches and grabs my head. “Jonoh!”

Hungry to feel more of her, I move to her delectable thighs. Upon them I place heated, open-mouthed kisses.

She’s squirming. Gone as I am in rut, I don’t at first notice that her excited twisting has turned to discomfited writhing, not until she cries, “Jonoh, it hurts.”

I freeze. Blinking, I come back to myself. “Crite!”

My wingpowder’s effect on her system won’t allow us more time. I need to bring her to culmination with all efficiency—and haste. Hands covering the fronts of her thighs, I nearly have my mouth poised over her to lick her to a culmination through her panties when she grabs me by the hair and demands, “No, not your mouth! I want you! Please, Jonoh,” she sobs.

I gain my feet in a rush and begin fumbling at my belt, then the placket of my trousers.

To my distress, Hannah whimpers in pain.

Cursing softly, I tell her, “Sincerest apologies, veetling. I’ll hurry.” Stifling a groan as my phallus is freed from its confines, which had become unbearably uncomfortable, I catch Hannah’s knee and position myself between her shifting legs.

My phallus nodules, located behind my glans on either side, are so activated I only need to administer one rough pull over my shaft to spread their pre-fluid.

With all celerity—and all care—I push her hands out of the way where she’s attempting to ineffectually cup herself. An orgasm would relieve her suffering, but now that she is beginning to feel pain, servicing herself is understandably becoming the furthest activity from her mind. Thankfully I’m here, and I will service her. Hannah begins petting my shoulders, my neck, my chest, encouraging and needing. I hook my finger in her black-edged leg band and drag the heart-dotted panel of her panties aside.

I suck in a breath, both feeling her closely shorn mound with the knuckle of my finger, and seeing it. Not to mention smelling her. As her arousal taunts my senses, I have to swallow a snarl.

Hannah makes a pained noise and her body contracts forward. I catch her, and castigate myself for making her wait even a moment longer than she must. I slide my hand down her side to the voluptuous flare of her hip. I latch onto it, my fingers digging into her flesh, anchoring her in place.

The table judders under the pressure and tips further, requiring me to catch it yet again, irritating me. Irritating Hannah too. She makes a snarling noise. Then she writhes, whimpering.

From his cage at the front of the store, Mick makes an ear-splitting parrot screech, then screams, “Hug meeee!”

“SHUT UP, Mick!” Hannah shouts, shocking me.

No doubt shocking Mick too. He falls silent.

I don’t have three hands so I choose to let go of the table and I run my thumb down her seam, gently probing to acquaint myself with her pertinent anatomy, ignoring the way she suddenly tries to push me away. “It will feel better in a moment,” I promise her. And I suck in another harsh breath as I bring myself to her entrance. Her flesh, plump and slick and over-ready due to my wingpowder’s aphrodisiac effect, beckons welcomingly. My phallus is flushed and gleaming, and is harder than ever as I position for entry, wedging my engorged crown at her nether mouth and angle forward to penetrate.

She squirms as I advance, forcing her body to swallow me.

A roar rushes up my throat. I manage to keep it trapped, but only barely. Because Hannah isn’t just slick. She’s soaked.

And hot—so hot! And so tight. Smoother and softer than anything I could ever have dreamed, didn’t have the references to accurately imagine.

Eyes dark, face flushed, she stares between our bodies, watching raptly as I succeed in sheathing myself inside her.

I have to squeeze my eyes shut. The visual of Hannah staring at me the way she’s staring is a test of my control that I will not survive. My phallus is clamoring for me to thrust, but I must marshal myself. Besides, it’s impossible not to bask in the exquisite grip of her, if only for a moment. I have to grab onto the table to steady myself.

Her hands slap onto my arms. Her nails, blunted as they are, dig into my flesh, desperate. “Come on!” she demands. “Fuck me!”

An order. I can’t deny her. My pelvis snaps back, a rapid withdrawal—then with a shove I slam into her silken heat.

Hoarsely I shout.

So does Hannah.

Like a machine, my hips pull back, and following Hannah’s imperative, I pound myself forward.

Hannah’s cry is full of heady thrill.

I haul back from her yet again, baring my fangs as her inner muscles flutter around my length like the sleekest, most enticing fist. Opening my wings behind me, I take her hip in my hand, snap my wings shut, and plow into her. The feet of the table screech.

So does Hannah. “Yes!” she cries. Her hands catch either side of the table, bracing herself.

As if feeling left out, my wings dip down, the smooth curve of each talon drawing over her thumbs. Without further prompting, she abandons her hold on the table and grips the talons of my wings like a set of supportive hands.

Hunkering over her, I take up a punishing rhythm. I keep to it until I become aware that the panel of Hannah’s panties is sawing against the side of my shaft. I rear back to deal with them—and I only mean to yank them to the side—but caught up as I am, I grab onto her panties and snap them off of her, making her gasp. She gasps again with my next shove into her body. And the next. Her breasts, lamentably still contained in a binding garment and hidden behind her sweater, jiggle enticingly each time I slam into her.

I keep surging into her, my grip on her hip tight, and even begin to roughly tug her into my every thrust. Unprepared for the erotic sucking and slapping sounds our bodies make as we collide, forcefully and rapid, I hiss.

Her hands yank on my wing talons. “Deeper,” she orders, her eyes feverish.

Obeying, I drive my arms under her knees and shove her legs over my shoulders, causing her to feel even tighter to me, like she’s strangling my phallus. Tension sears through my midsection. I forge into her deep.

But then her dress slips down over my hand on her hip and I take just a moment to shove it back up. As I do, my angle inside of her changes—and she cries out.

“There! Oh! Like that! Don’t stop!” she cries. “Not—till—I—come!”

I do as she bids. Tight, punching thrusts that are clearly hitting one of her pleasure spots.

Her legs flail, the heel of one of her boots catching on the base of my wing. She braces against it, the tread biting into me as her eyes screw shut and her mouth drops open and her skin flushes, mesmerizing me. Her inner muscles ripple. And the compression—

I nearly swallow my tongue.

Her hands are clamped around my talons as her whole body stiffens and begins to shake.

She clenches around my phallus so hard I go blind.

Her thighs trembling around me, she falls limp.

Vision flickering, chest heaving, every fiber of my being is demanding that I find release. I begin pumping into her, riding her hard, entering her with enough power to make the table legs squeak and slide, forcing me to follow her aggressively. I snarl and clutch onto her, desperate to relieve the ache in my pounding erection.

The part of me that operates with softer emotions adores that she’s holding my talons. But the instinct-driven part of me is in control at the moment, and knows I’m going to need my wings for leverage. Gently my wings shake her loose until she frees them. With twin slicing thunks, they puncture the laminate top of the table on either side of her.

This has the benefit of anchoring the table top in place, keeping it from its accursed wobbling. Clearly I should have done this from the beginning.

I abandon my hand’s hold on the table and catch Hannah fast by the back of her neck, crushing her mane. She draws my other hand off of her hip and, gripping my wrist, brings it up to her mouth. To the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. To me, it’s obvious she’s going to kiss it.

Hannah closes her mouth over my skin and nips me.

Fire fills my stomach and races down my thighs. All my control is abandoned. I ram into her once more, twice, and shockwaves hit me, causing me to hunch over her, slack-jawed. I grind against her hard enough to make her cry out—and I freeze there, locked in place as my phallus bucks in her sex’s milking grip, spewing seed so hot I may as well be shooting liquid fire.

In response to the bathing her insides are receiving, Hannah moans and arches her back, making me bare my fangs and plunge into her deeper. Feeding her pulse after pulse of seed, making my stomach tighten and my testicles clench.

Her white booted ankles clamp to the sides of my neck, pleasurably asphyxiating me.

My phallus gives a final throb, then kicks, spitting the last of my spend into her heated grip. I shiver over her. As my body relaxes, she strokes my shoulders, my wing talons where they’re still sunk into the table, my back. Her nails graze up the back of my neck before her fingers affectionately thread through my hair.

Reeling, I blink, trying to regain my ability to see. At first I can only make out colors, not details, and I distractedly note that my wing powder is smeared across her sweater, the black fabric liberally streaked with pearly yellow luster.

Both of us gasping for breath, my muscles twitching concerningly, I force myself to rise off of her, and pull out. Her mouth falls open and her head falls back, making me believe it feels as exquisite for her as it does for me.

My erection is still substantial, not fully sated. But I fear I could breed her for days and not flag. As we don’t have the luxury to indulge ourselves in each other’s bodies for days, I must leave her. I force myself back into the prison of my trousers. Shaking with effort, I gently lower her legs until her knees are comfortably draped over my supporting arms, and I straighten to my full height. Chest heaving, I lower my attention from her face to the area I reluctantly relinquished.

The lips of her sex, furred with trimmed hairs, are swollen and slick. Her opening is obscured, plugged with glittering white, drooling cream. The folds of her sex glisten with a thinner splash of sparkling gel.

My spend.

And very suddenly, I don’t feel like myself. Reaching for her, my fingers catch the scintillating material oozing out of her core before I push it back inside of her.

Hannah sucks in a breath, her thigh muscles tensing. Her back arches again, thrusting her covered breasts up, making me want to strip her naked so I can make their acquaintance.

I push my spend higher in her tight channel, until she makes a choking sound.

Staring into her eyes, I withdraw my fingers. And while she watches, I bring them to my mouth and drag my tongue over them.

Hannah’s mouth falls open. “S-shit! That’s dirty!” she gasps.

When I’ve wetted my fingers with my saliva, I bring them between her legs to her clitoris, and begin to circle it. Within a gratifying number of Earthen minutes, Hannah is experiencing another orgasm, and as she cries out, I cover her mouth with mine.

When we break our kiss it’s only because we must breathe oxygen before our animation is permanently suspended. As I take in her mane, which looks as if she was held down by a male in a mating frenzy, I consider how unbelievably perfect she is and how blessed I am that she is my mate.

“You’re purring,” Hannah slurs.

Somehow, I drag my eyes away from the sight of what I’ve done to her to find her eyelids heavy, her lips red and puffy, and her mane in its absolute waterfall of tangles.

I slide my hands under her back and jerk her up against my chest, making her gasp.

My talons yank free of the table—

Crash!

Hannah jumps in my arms as the table’s top clatters to the floor. My wings slap around us, cocooning us in near darkness, only a little of the company allotted rest and ration consumption area’s artificial light seeping through my wing’s patagium, making it glow amber.

“Jonoh!” Hannah says, for the first time sounding alarmed. “Tell me this won”t—I mean, can you explain how your wings work? Will wrapping me up like this start the sex fever all over again?”

I want to reassure her that it won’t. There is a gratifyingly lengthy refractory period following a wingpowder-induced excitation and culmination wherein a hob’s excitable wing membranes can clasp his female to full satisfaction without her being stimulated into a frenzied need to mate. The couple can have intercourse as much as they like, but the female won’t be chemically compelled to do so in the subsequent interactions.

I want to tell her all of this—but I can’t speak.

I nuzzle the side of her throat, enjoying how she plants her hands on my chest and rubs up and down rather than attempting to push me away. The nuzzling becomes kissing. Explorative, languorous kissing. With my wings supporting her, my hands have some freedom to travel her body.

At length, she pulls away an increment, shaking herself. Then, voice reluctant, she prompts, “Jonoh? I have to get back to work, and so do you.”

I hear her words… But I can’t let her go.

“Jonoh? You need—erm, do you want to… oh, I don’t know—maybe set me down someday?”

I growl and hold her more tightly.

“Oh my gosh. That was so hot.” She leans back further and I readjust my grip on her to be accommodating as she fumbles for her cell phone, which, unbelievably, somehow wasn”t dislodged from her pocket, which is situated over her upper thigh. The pleasantly amber darkness of my wings ensconcing us becomes lucent as she activates her device. After a moment of maddened swiping, she croaks, “Julie? There’s a slight problem. I have Jonoh. He’s safe. But, um, Jonoh turned into a possessive beast. No! I like it, don’t make him stop. I’ve never had a guy care this much. Gosh no, he’s not dangerous, it’s Jonoh. I just wanted to let you know he”s okay. He”s here because a woman at your office ordered him to run errands for her. Yeah, oh shit is right. Lots happened, we”ll tell you about it later. I”m sending him back to you as soon as I can talk sense into him, all right?”

I bury my face in her shoulder and grip her more possessively. Likewise, my wings shift, tightening their shield around us.

This prompts an incredibly attractive sound from Hannah. Something between a moan and feminine human cooing. Evidently it’s an involuntary response—and an intimate one—because she sounds somewhat embarrassed as she hurriedly says, “Sorry, Julie. Sorry. Uh, I gotta go. Bye.”

Hannah carefully slides her device back into her pocket, bathing us in the amber darkness of my wings once more. Then she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly. She holds me like this until my heartsbeat slow and my body relaxes. Perhaps this is the precise effect she was waiting for, because after a few moments more, she says, “Jonoh?”

When I don’t respond, her voice takes on an amused but firm edge. “I hate to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. Jonoh, please set me down.”

A snarl tears out of my chest—and then I flinch. More sluggishly than I’ve perhaps ever followed a direct order, I manage to sulkily fold my wings closed. And then, with every fiber of willpower in me, I force myself to return Hannah to her own two feet.

Biting her lip, she turns her head and plants a kiss along my jaw.

My wings creep halfway around her in response.

“Nuh-uh,” she warns them, snickering.

I’m hunched over her, my face still buried in her shoulder. I have no intention of letting her go until she makes me.

Sadly, she makes me. “Jonoh. I’m sorry, but I have to do this too. Let me go.”

With a groan, I obey.

“That was really good,” Hannah says encouragingly, patting my arm and smiling into my sullen face.

A growl rumbles in my chest, making her eyes widen.

She stops patting my arm, but then something occurs to her. She peels her hand off of me, a furrow knitting her brow. “You are so sweaty.” She meets my gaze, a degree of worry in her eyes. “Do you want to run to the apartment and shower?”

And wash the traces of Hannah off of my body? Mutely I shake my head.

“Okay…” Hannah says. Then she looks down at herself and shimmies in place, nearly earning my wings clamped around her again. “I definitely need to do some cleanup before I have your glittery baby-making syrup running down my legs, but I can make do here in the washroom.”

My eyes narrow, fixing on the apex of her thighs, hidden once more behind her dress.

“I have to wash,” Hannah says gently. “But your instinct is sexy. Very caveman.”

I grunt.

She laughs. “Okay, let me do that real quick.” She takes a step back from me, seeming disconcerted when I follow. Eyeing me more warily than before, she takes another step back, and another, and eventually we reach the washroom’s threshold where Hannah hesitates. Contritely, she tells me, “Stay.”

Then she enters it alone. She lets the door swing shut, separating us.

After completing her ablutions in private, she opens the door, looking unsurprised to find me where she left me, guarding the door. She smiles at me. “All done.”

Swallowing thickly, I manage, “You need to wash my wingmarkings from the fabric of your clothes.”

“Oh.” Hannah looks down at herself, dismayed. “It looks really cool. I was hoping to leave it.” Her eyes go round and she looks up at me sharply. “Will it put me into heat again while you’re not here?”

I shake my head. “You will have many hours before you’re affected by my marks again. Likely not before you’re abed.” My eyes heat at the mental visual.

Hannah points her finger at my nose. “Hold that thought—” She claps her hand over her mouth, then drops her hand, waving it wildly between us. “I take that back, do whatever you like with that thought. Don’t obsess over the idea of me in bed for the rest of the day unless you want to.”

I nod to let her know her recanting of this order will suffice. And then I make myself move past her into the utilitarian cleansing unit and make the best effort I can force myself to in the way of cleaning my wing markings off of my own clothing. I retrieve my cloak and likewise make an effort to salvage it.

Perhaps sensing my need to keep her close, Hannah doesn’t leave me while I undergo this process. When the task is complete, we leave the rest and ration consumption area, making our way for the front of the store. With her leading, because while I can’t make myself take steps toward leaving her yet, I will follow her.

“Sorry I yelled at you, Mick,” Hannah calls remorsefully. “I appreciate you giving us privacy though.”

Mick screeches in reply and my eyes snap to his cage.

“Jonoh?” Hannah pats me on my chest.

I give her my full attention.

Searching my eyes, she says, “I don’t want you to be jealous of Mick. If you can imagine it, humans sort of adopt animals as surrogate children. And Mick is like that for me. I know that to you, he doesn’t look like a baby, he looks like a bird. But he’s like my kid, Jonoh.”

I go still. I’m struck by the similarity of this claim to a conversation that Gracie and her mate had. Several conversations, actually. Wherein Gracie told Dohrein repeatedly that I was not his rival because she saw me as an adopted offspring. Uttering virtually the same statement as Hannah has just uttered, she would assure him, He’s like my kid, Dohrein.

The parallel is too obvious for me to miss, too strong in similarity to disregard. Mick is to Hannah what I was to Gracie. I see why Dohrein was so adamant that I leave our planet to find a mate. I had been too close to his. Gracie mothered me, yes, but I was also her confidant when that honor should have been her mate’s alone.

The realization stuns me, and fills me with regret.

It was never my intention, but my proximity and involvement caused unfortunate, unnecessary friction. I would not have appreciated anyone taking the role I played in their life with Hannah. It’s bad enough that I feel as if I’m competing with a parrot.

Whereas Dohrein was competing with an actual male of the same species. I was a threat.

I owe him an apology. One I’ll make in person when I return home. With my mate.

For now, I need to return to work.

Hannah takes me by my arms and tugs me down until she can take my face in her hands. “All right, I wish I could tell you to return to work and report to Julie first, and to speak to no one else until you get to her, but that could cause you more trouble if you run into problems.”

“It would.” I memorize every feature of her face, my hearts aching that I have to leave her.

She stares back at me as if she might know how I feel. She clears her throat. “Then… okay, be safe—wow, not that that’s a command. Well, I guess it is.” She gives me a playful smile. “Get your handsome ass back to work safely, you hear me?”

Having her fingers gripping onto me while she stares into my eyes, so present, is a most wonderful feeling. “I feel warmed that you”ve complimented my posterior.”

She chuckles and leans in until she’s the barest increment from my mouth. “I can’t wait until tonight when I get to see your posterior. Can I tell you a secret?”

Throat gone dry, I nod emphatically.

Grinning wickedly, Hannah cants her head, her lips grazing the side of my face until she reaches the shell of my ear. Into my incredibly sensitive ear, she whispers, “I want to bite it.”

Several times I’ve overheard females in the colony instructing other females to bite their mate if they wish to send his bliss into the stratosphere because the males of both species on my planet consider passionate bites an expression of love.

Because it seemed as if females have to be instructed to do this, I gathered that it isn’t instinctive. In fact, I’ve uncharitably wondered if Rakhii weren’t shamelessly demanding that their mates give them love bites, thereby causing females to bite out of a sense of duty.

The only thing more incredible than the fact that Hannah has declared her desire to bite me—that she’s self-determined that she wants to—is the fact that I manage not to spontaneously explode in my trousers.

Hannah kisses my ear.

I sink my fangs into my lower lip, my eyes crossing.

Smiling smugly, Hannah pulls away. Then she pats me on my rump cheek and says, “Have a great rest of your shift, Jonoh.”