Chapter 17 #2
One hand lands between my shoulder blades, shoving my torso onto the ground, my sensitive nipples scraping against the rough forest floor. The other two hands remain on my hips, holding them up, while the last is still braced on my shoulder.
The monster nudges its hips forward, and I feel something hard and wet prodding between my legs.
My hips jerk up, nearly flying out of its hold. My pussy practically floods with heat and arousal, my cunt clenching with shameless greed.
She has a dick. She’d grown a dick.
She doesn’t give me time to regain my bearings before she finds the right angle and slides home, filling me up to the very brim. I think I black out at the feel of that first, powerful thrust.
She’s inside me. Oh my God. Genevieve is inside me.
When I come to, I’m sobbing, gasping, clenching hard around the thick, tapered length pumping hard into my pussy.
The shaft is smooth, long and not too thick, but so obviously animal it makes my lower belly clench up hot and tight with filthy need.
She’s stroking into me so good, so hard and so deep I’m crying with it.
The hand on my shoulder moves to my throat, squeezing ruthlessly, muffling my moans.
The hand on my back seems to want to bury my torso into the ground, the hands on my hips keeping them hiked up, squeezing my supple flesh so tight I wish I couldn’t heal just so I could keep the bruises.
Furry thighs connect against my ass cheeks with lewd slaps, the monster completely focused on its own pleasure, taking me, using me.
I’m growing lightheaded, my moans now barely ragged gasps tearing from my strangled throat.
That furry body leans over my back, swiping a slick, long, inhuman tongue over my bare, now healed skin.
My eyes roll back into my skull at the same time Genevieve bites, and I come so hard I feel like I’m convulsing, only held in place by the beast’s four hands. I have the vague thought that I’m going to start having a Pavlovian response to pain if we keep mixing things up.
The beast lets out a low, filthy groan that finally sounds like human Genevieve, her movements speeding up, her thighs smacking hard into the backs of mine until she comes buried deep, her hips swivelling to prolong it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her voice is a high-pitched sound, strangled in her throat, like her pleasure is too fucking much to bear. “Jesus fuck, Rosemary. Oh fuck.”
My eyes widen when I realise her dick is growing inside me, the base swelling. Oh fuck, is that a knot? What the fuck is even my life right now?
She moans raggedly as the knot locks, then grinds her hips. The swell presses against every sensitive nerve ending inside me. With each aborted thrust of her hips, it grinds against my g-spot—sends sparks of lightning shooting up from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair.
When I come again, I don’t make a sound, my vision going white. Genevieve makes another strangled sound as she flies over the edge as well, her hips hitching frantically against my ass.
“F-Fucking Christ.” Her voice shakes as she finally lets go of my neck, lifting her hand from my back. I melt into the forest floor, my breath rasping through my slightly ruined throat.
Wetness spills out of me in mini-flood when she pulls out, then quickly flips me onto my back.
She looks like a werewolf, the kind in those old, horror movies; furred all over, with a snout and pointed, tufted ears and—for whatever reason—three pairs of horns and four fucking arms. Her shaft is shrinking, disappearing into what looks like a sheath.
She yanks me closer, my back scraping painfully along the forest floor, then leans over me, her features melting into something more human, the wolf’s snout replaced with her familiar nose and lips.
Though her nose is a little too big, a little too pointed; her lips thinner, still animal; and those three sets of horns still protrude from her head.
She runs a large, hairy hand from my throat, down my exposed breasts, belly and thighs. “Rosemary …” She’s drooling even more than the first time, her saliva dripping in an endless stream from her parted lips, all her teeth serrated and sharp.
She looks wild. Desperate.
“Yes,” I whisper, arching my back in invitation. “Yes, you can—”
Claws prick painfully into my flesh. I jerk, sucking in a sharp breath at the sting as something hot and foreign floods rapidly into my bloodstream.
Then I can’t move anymore. She must’ve paralysed me again.
She’s more desperate this time around, even less contained.
She drops down, sinking messy claiming bites all over my body, slurping messily at my blood.
She tears at my skin, sheds it to ribbons—rips my chest open without finesse.
I claw at the eshé like I’d done the first time, clinging on with bleeding fingernails, using sheer will and magic to keep myself here until the very last moment, to watch when she finally loses control and rips out my heart.
When I come to a moment later, she’s completely back in her human form, as naked as I am. Her eyes hold a faint golden glow, her tongue, still long and inhuman, flicks out to lick the blood from her jaw and lips.
She drops down onto my perfectly healed but still bloody chest, pressing a reverent kiss between my heaving breasts. When her arms come around me, they’re shaking.
“I’ll find a way to suppress it,” she whispers, her voice raw. “I’ll—”
“What? No.” I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me. “You don’t have to suppress anything. Not while we’re here. Not when you’re with me.”
She still looks so terrified. “What if, one day, I kill you, and you don’t come back?”
“I will always come back,” I promise fervently. “I’ll always come back to you.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “But …”
“Were you lying when you said you’d never leave me? When you said you refuse to die, too?”
“No,” she says vehemently.
“Then listen to me.” I take her hand, pressing it between my breasts, against my fluttering heart. My drying blood makes the touch sticky. “Trust me.”
She doesn’t move, her palm pressed warmly to my chest, her gaze locked on my fingers, gently wrapped around her wrist. Whatever she senses makes her take a shuddering breath. Then another and another.
She doesn’t speak for a moment as she drops back down onto my chest, holding me tightly.
“How can you love me?” She says into my throat, underneath my jaw, trembling, trembling.
The words come out in Ibiiom, which makes them hit harder, landing in my sternum like a blow.
“How can you see me—see this—and still love me?”
“How can I not?” I whisper back, also in Ibiiom. “You were made to be loved, Genevieve.”
She lets out an anguished sound. I hold her, my hands stroking gently and firmly over her bare skin until she stops shuddering. We’re naked in the middle of a forest, covered in dirt and blood and other bodily fluids, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be but here.
She leans up on one elbow.
“I-I don’t deserve you.” Her voice is choked.
“Genevieve—”
“You make me want to live. You’ve always made me feel like I’m not—like I’m more than—” Fuck. My chest hurts at her struggle. “You make me feel like me.”
“You make me want to live, too,” I whisper. “Even back then, even when I’d been so afraid of—” It’s my turn to struggle. I swallow. “You make me want to live, too. You make me feel like me, too.”
“I love you.” Her eyes are glistening.
My eyes burn. “I love you, too.”
We kiss, desperately, fervently, like its simultaneously the first and the last time, but I take comfort in knowing its not. We kiss until we can’t breathe, and then we kiss some more, making up for every single moment we’d once let slip us by.
It’s a wondrous thing, knowing—knowing that many more moments are waiting, a precious gift sitting just out of sight.
And for what feels the first time in my life, I can’t wait for tomorrow.