Chapter Nineteen
Dahlia
Despite my efforts to regulate it, my breathing turns erratic. The pitch black of the caves robs my vision, the weight of being deep in the heart of the mountain bears down on me, and the silence is so loud it’s deafening. Just like that damn avalanche.
I’m back, trapped in the snow, wondering just how I am going to die. Debating the merits of suffocation versus hypothermia. Praying to anyone that will listen to save me. Wondering if I should bother to fight or just give in after all.
Just as panic threatens to consume me, the soft caress of velvet fingertips run lightly over my body. Long, smooth, unhurried strokes which pull my attention to the motion. The feeling of someone tracing my outline, drawing me here in this world bit by bit, grounds me.
I turn my mind away from my frantic thoughts and lose myself in sensation. The crushing weight of the mountain gives way to the featherlight touch of his hands skating over my flesh. Painting me until I can visualize myself as an oil on canvas, a study in curves and shadows.
I am real, and I am here. I'm alive, not dying. The long, steady strokes come up and over my face, and I remember how I like the way the sunlight reflects off my hair. My eyes twinkle with mischief, my face is so expressive that no, I can’t hide my annoyance behind a poker face but also, I can’t hide my joy either and that’s a gift to share with the world.
Tears prick my eyes as his gentle touch reflects my face back to me once again and I see, I am beautiful—flawed and imperfect but stunning in my true self. His hand runs over my mouth, and I smile.
The pleasant sensation is replaced by shock when he clamps his hand over my mouth and nose. Panic once squeezes my heart in its icy grip while my body rides the high of his other hand trailing down my breasts and the slope of my belly to trace over my sex.
Fear constricts my chest as the thought of suffocating to death rises back to the forefront of my mind.
Any second now and he’ll lift his hand; I just know it.
But instead, its heavy weight remains while the other works its way between my folds.
Instinctively I spread my thighs, eyes searching for his face to read his motivation.
But I can see nothing in the consuming darkness, hear nothing above my own frantic movements as I begin to struggle, the pounding of my heart as fear kicks in vibrating my entire body. I buck instinctively, heart racing, my lungs screaming for air. I need air!
He plunges two large fingers inside of me, and I try to suck in a breath at the invasion, at the glorious stretch of being filled by him, but I can’t.
Reaching up with both hands I futilely claw at his massive one covering my face, but his only reaction is to thrust his fingers in and out of me faster, deeper.
Despite my frantic struggle, a new sound greets my ears. The obscene noise of my shameless, slick arousal flooding over his fingers. Each thrust curls deeper, stroking me like he’s sculpting me from the inside out. Like he’s claiming me from within.
I try to twist my hips, to wrench free, but the darkness makes it impossible to tell which way is up, which way is out. All I know is him. Surrounded by snow and pine, darkness and delight consuming me.
His breath is steady, controlled, as if my body’s rebellion doesn’t matter. As if he already knows how this ends.
As if I do, too.
My pussy clenches as he spreads me wider, rough fingertips dragging over my sensitive flesh, forcing me to feel every stroke, every invasion. Heat pools deep in my belly like a gathering storm.
He thrusts in again, deeper this time, harder, hitting something devastating. My back bows, my vision erupts into stars and I gasp—but no air comes.
The oxygen deprivation turns every sensation, every feeling, razor-sharp. My skin tingles, my thighs quake, my blood pounds against my skull. My mind screams that I need air, I need escape—
But my body? My traitorous, starving, desperate body?
It needs this.
A whimper breaks free, and he makes a sound—a low, pleased growl, reverberating into the earth and against my spine like an earthquake.
I claw at his hand and arm, my nails raking over his skin, but he only tightens his grip, as if to remind me—there is no running from this. From him. From what I am becoming in his hands.
His thumb presses down, circling my clit, a slow, agonizing drag that makes my toes curl. My body jerks—instinct, panic, pleasure too sharp to bear.
I writhe in his hold, trapped between torment and release, between fear and something far more dangerous.
His fingers stroke deeper, curving just right—so right—so devastatingly, impossibly right. The tension coils tight, razor-thin and fraying, every nerve crackling like a live wire.
The lack of air sends my body into freefall. Everything spins, shatters, reforms. A million stars burst into my vision, and I just know I am going to pass out. I am going to die. I am going to—
I come.
The violent orgasm overwhelms me, splintering my fear into oblivion.
It slams through me like an avalanche, tearing the last mote of breath from my lungs, wringing me out until I have nothing left.
A silent scream rips through my throat, raw and soundless, swallowed by the darkness, by his hand, by the universe itself. It’s too much—too much—
I jerk in his hold, my body spasming, muscles locking tight before going completely, utterly boneless.
The moment my body breaks, he finally releases me. Air floods my lungs. My vision explodes with light, white-hot and flickering, my entire world drenched in sensation.
The first breath I take is not relief. It’s possession. Because I know, in the marrow of my bones, in the echo of my own shattered scream, that I will never escape him now.
That I will never want to.
He didn’t just make me come—he unmade me. Tore me apart and put me back together. And now? Now I don’t think I can go back to who I was before. I don’t think that I want to. Dahlia Wilde really did die in that avalanche. She is gone, lost to the cold, to the dark.
I am reborn of shadows and darkness. Of the heart of the mountain. This new version sees everything with freshly opened eyes.
The darkness isn’t truly black at all—it’s a thousand shifting shades of grey.
Every contour of the stone floor beneath me presses against my skin, sharp and unyielding.
The air flows over my body, brushing against every fine hair, carrying with it the rich scent of the cave, and the snow and pine scent of the Yeti’s primal musk mingled with my own heated arousal.
What I first mistook for sensory deprivation is, in fact, an overwhelming cascade of sensation. With a sudden burst of understanding, I sit up and gulp down a deep, sweet lungful of air. My chest heaving, I feel a grin stretch across my face, wild and unrestrained.
I am worth fighting for.
But in the back of my mind, something new takes root, something undeniable. I came here searching for a plant. But in this cave, with this creature, I think I’ve found something else entirely. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave it behind.
I turn my head and set my sights unerringly on the Yeti’s face and can see an answering smile blooming. Meeting his beautiful silver gaze, I launch myself at him.
He catches me in his arms and rolls to his back, allowing me to straddle him.
My thighs tremble as I settle over the expanse of his chest, the hard ridges of his muscles teasing against my slick flesh.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me, sliding me over him, every inch a deliberate torment.
Each ridge, each dip, teasing at my sensitive flesh.
Heat pools low in my belly as he moves me higher. I realize, too late, what he’s doing. A sharp inhale breaks the silence as he buries his face between my thighs and breathes me in. I try to hover, to hold myself above him, but I can’t fight the iron grip pulling me closer.
Silver eyes flare up at me as he growls out, “You couldn’t drown me if you tried. I was made to breathe you in.”
My breath stutters, anticipation crackling over my skin like lightning before a storm. I bite my lip, wanting, waiting, until his mouth finally claims me.
I gasp as he drags his tongue through my folds, deliberate and slow, tasting me like something sacred. His groan vibrates against my clit, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure through me. I choke on a moan as his lips close around me, as he feasts on me with a hunger that borders on reverence.
He doesn’t just devour me—I feel him savoring me, like he’s memorizing every shudder, every breathless sound I make as he laps at my arousal and explores every inch of me with his teeth and tongue and lips.
I reach down, threading my fingers into his thick white hair, marveling at the silk-soft strands tangling around my fingers. I fist the locks, gripping tight for leverage as pleasure pools in my belly, but all it does is spur him on.
A growl rumbles against my core, a primal sound of satisfaction that makes my stomach clench. He delves deeper, his tongue spearing into me with devastating precision, stretching me open, wrecking me. My thighs shake as heat radiates from my belly and out through my limbs.
I ride his face, rocking into him, chasing the crest of something unstoppable.
His sharp teeth just graze against me, a wicked contrast to the heat of his tongue, and I cry out, my body tightening, chasing the pleasure his skillful mouth promises.
When I dare to look down, his silver eyes are open, locked onto mine.
Dark. Starving. Possessive.
I lift and drop my hips, fucking his tongue, gasping as it snakes ever deeper, until the tip is caressing some undiscovered spot inside of me.
He helps guide me with his hands, taking over my weight completely as I lose myself to chasing pleasure.
My arms shake as I use my grip on his hair to support my weight.
I don’t want this feeling to end, I want to live in this moment of bliss for all time but when my hardened clit brushes against his sharp teeth—I explode like a supernova.
Pleasure detonates through me, so raw it strips me bare, leaves every muscle trembling in the aftermath.
My movements are jerky and uncoordinated as I writhe above him, barely conscious of the hands steadying me, of the mouth that refuses to stop, drawing out every last pulse of my release until I am nothing but breathless, spent, undone.
I gasp as he lazily laps at my oversensitive flesh, as if he just can’t stop himself from continuing to feast on me. His large mouth practically engulfs my entire sex as he licks every inch of me clean.
As my orgasm fades away, I’m flooded with the desire to touch him. The curiosity to explore the body of a mythical but very real creature takes hold of my brain. I want to trace every hard line of his body with my fingers, taste every texture with my tongue.
I try to tell myself it’s the scientific part of me wanting to research the unknown.
But the truth is ever since he notched his enormous cock at my entrance and filled me with his release, I’ve been thinking about how to fit him inside of me.
I need to get a better idea of what I am working with.
More data for my hypothesis. The latter being, make it fit.
Breathless, I whisper, “Please, let me touch you.”
The Migoi lifts me effortlessly from his face, setting me down beside him. My legs are weak, trembling, my skin still flushed from the way he just unraveled me.
For a moment, I think he will let me—think he will allow my hands to roam over the body that just drove me to madness. My fingers twitch with the need to explore, to return the pleasure he gave me.
But instead, he stands, towering over me, and shakes his head.
“There is nothing I would love more,” he murmurs, voice dark and rough, thick with restraint. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, teasing, yet reverent. A promise. A warning. “This was just for you.”
With a smile he pulls me by the hand after him. I try to keep up but even with my improved perception, my smaller steps over the unfamiliar and uneven cavern floors are no match for his sure and steady stride.
Noticing this, he scoops me back up against his hot, velvety skin. I can’t help but let out a small noise of contentment at how good he feels pressed against me. In no time, we are passing the pool with its glowing waters and making our way back to the bed next to the fire.
He sets me down gently and passes me a water jug. I had no idea how thirsty I was, and after I chug the sweet cool liquid, I find him holding out a small basket full of fruits, seeds, and nuts.
As I sit and eat, I watch him walk around the cave, straightening some things and folding my now dry clothes. He spins my boots around next to the fire, getting them to dry thoroughly.
I watch him and realize soon my gear will be dry and I’ll be able to go, head back to the guesthouse and continue my search for the elusive plant I had returned for.
I should be thrilled; this is my whole purpose after all.
But I can’t deny the thought of leaving this magnificent Migoi has my dedication to my purpose wavering.
He was supposed to be a distraction. A stolen moment. But now, I can’t ignore the dangerous ache blooming in my chest. The kind that says stay. Make this your forever home.
Despite just meeting, he sees me more clearly than Ben ever did in all our years together.
With him, I feel safer and more cherished than I have since my mother was alive.
I want to hide away from time, and genetics, hell hide away from the whole world here in these caves.
After everything that has happened, don’t I deserve a break?
I decide I’ll give myself one more day in this suspended reality. Just one more day of this delicious pleasure we’ve been discovering and the chance to explore the fantasies that have been unfulfilled until now.
With a full belly, I lie down in the mountain of furs, full and warm and content in a way I didn’t know I needed.
The Migoi hums low under his breath as he tidies, something ancient and rhythmic in the sound.
The softly crackling fire mixes with it to make the perfect, relaxing background soundtrack.
He returns to my side, lowering himself behind me where he curls his massive body around mine like a living shield. His heat seeps into my skin as his breath ghosts over the back of my neck.
I let myself sink into his arms, into this strange little world we’ve carved out of stone and ice. It feels so comfortable, so warm and safe. Home, pulses again in my heart, more sensation than thought.
Gods help me—I don’t want to go. Tomorrow, I’ll start thinking again. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what I have to do. How to not just leave, but tell him that I must.
But tonight, I belong to him.