Chapter 11 #3
“Yes,” I grated out, my hips meeting hers one final time before I held her still and undulated my body to grind inside her.
Pleasure built, racing up my spine and tightening my body as my seed pouch and sartras throbbed.
“But you must scream for me first, my love. Let me see you take your pleasure as a good mate should.”
Her whimpers became wails as she circled her hips in rhythm with my churning coils. My vision narrowed further as my release neared, and still she whimpered and moaned and didn’t come undone.
“Hazel,” I thundered, my voice filling the cavern as my rings stretched her wide and she wailed. I rubbed my thumb across her swollen nub. “My mate. Scream for me now.”
As her channel clenched and fluttered around my sartra, her body went rigid and she let her head fall back as she screamed.
Yes.
Pleasure whited out my vision as my sartras loosed torrents of hot spend inside my mate and into the pool. I was filling her, filling every space inside her, stretching her more and more.
A cloud of spend formed and grew in the water above my lower sartra, only to be carried away by the current and disappear through a fissure in the rock.
Someday, if Hazel didn’t ask me about it first, I’d dare to suggest what other pleasures I might provide with my lower sartra.
On the night of our first mating, I’d suspected she’d thought about it but opted not to suggest such a thing.
I found it likely I wouldn’t need to be the one who broached the subject.
For one so inexperienced, she’d enjoyed our shared pleasures so far, and lost many of her inhibitions already.
Which satisfied me greatly, as pleasing my mate ranked very highly on my list of priorities.
Hazel lay on my chest, breathless and limp and utterly sated. I pressed kisses to her hair and stroked her back as she continued to flutter and clench around my still-pulsing sartra. Her lower abdomen bulged with my swollen rings and all the seed I gave her.
Some seed escaped past my rings and was visible in the water. I narrowed my eyes at the little trail of spend. Whether or not she drank her tea, that seed belonged in my mate.
I slipped one hand between us and spread my fingers on either side of my sartra until the little stream tapered off.
“What are you doing?” Hazel murmured.
“Making sure my seed stays where it’s supposed to.” I bent and kissed her hair again. “I know you drink your tea, but I am a newly mated male, and apparently some of my instincts do not care about tea.”
She chuckled. “I will continue to drink my tea every morning, shelshan, but I am a newly mated female. I like your breeding rings very much and I like your seed inside me, so you may do as you please.”
When I felt some spend escape, I used my fingertips to push it back inside my mate and accidentally brushed her overly sensitive nub, making her gasp and quiver.
I grimaced. “I am sorry.”
Her laugh was breathy and it felt good against my scales. “Shh,” she said. “I’m listening to your hearts.”
Goddesses, I am blessed.
I caressed her warm skin and scales tenderly. Would I ever tire of touching them or any other part of my shelshi? It seemed unlikely. Unfathomable, even.
For a while, as Hazel dozed, I lost myself in a reverie of imagining our future.
“Winter will be coming soon,” she said softly some time later. “We’ll need to fill our stores with enough food and drink to last til spring, in case there’s a lot of snow and Aluc can’t make it to the cave. And if I can’t leave either…”
I stroked her hair. “We will have plenty of food stored,” I promised.
I would never let my mate go hungry or thirsty.
The very thought made me feel ill. “And Aluc can always make it to the cave,” I reassured her.
“He is a wizard’s apprentice, remember? What sort of wizard would Stosior be if he couldn’t make a simple spell that allows his apprentice easy passage through snow?
In fact, I think even Aluc can make the spell himself these days. ”
“Maybe he’d teach it to me,” she murmured sleepily. “I could use something like that.”
I imagined my lovely, magical shelshi making potions and spells in our caves or in the garden and my insides grew even warmer. “Maybe he would.”
Lovingly, I caressed Hazel’s back until she let out a little sigh, and then a tiny snore that made my hearts fill with unaccountable joy.
My breeding rings seemed to be easing much more slowly after this mating than our first, as if they knew somehow that Hazel had undergone her metamorphosis and could now conceive a clutch.
There will be no basilings made today, I informed my sartras sternly, though the words had no apparent effect on my stubborn rings.
But perhaps someday, if she so chose, I would be very pleased to put a clutch of basilings into my mate’s womb—especially if they looked like her. Lovely coral and lavender colors, perhaps blended with my crimson and black…
Goddesses, my rings would never ease at this rate.
I groaned aloud and forced my thoughts away from basilings to planning for our winter needs instead.