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When I came down, Demos flipped me around, which forced me to get on my hands and knees. He pounded into me from behind, his hands touching me everywhere—my breasts, my stomach, my sex. I cried out, moaning in ecstasy at this new position. I thought I would surely lose my mind, because nothing could possibly feel this good.
As I was peaking once again, ready to ride that wave of sweeping pleasure, Demos pulled out of me. Spurts of his hot seed rained on my back as he let out a deep groan. The sound of his release was almost worth the loss of him.
Panting, I dropped my head to the bed of furs, collapsing in a heap. Demos rubbed my back, spreading his seed into my skin. Yes, my instinct purred. I wanted to see him, watch him do such a sensual act, but I couldn’t move.
After a few moments, I was on my back, his hand at my nape, holding my head up.
“Drink.”
Something touched my lips. It was a flask of water, smooth and sweet, and I drank deeply. When I finished, he fed me some smoked meat and some kind of mushy fruit, and then some more liquid, this one sharp and familiar. I could barely hold my eyes open as I reluctantly swallowed. He finally let me go. I snuggled into the furs and was asleep in seconds.
Chapter 18
Sierra
Days turned into nights, each blurring into an endless stream. I all knew was Demos. His touch, his taking me, over and over. There were even times when I was blind, seeing nothing, when I could only rely on his voice, his scent, my hands. My body no longer belonged to me. I existed only as craving.
I grew to know Demos’ body like my own. I knew every part of him. I pleasured him, knew his taste, knew what made him groan, knew what made him curse. At the same time, my body was teaching me what I liked. I pleasured myself, discovered what could take me over the edge. It was an education my body had chosen for me.
There were moments when I remembered him begging me to eat, to drink. But I wanted nothing to do with those things—he’d have to force me, which he did, cursing in a litany of foreign words. I’d fight him, spitting out anything that wasn’t him, until he made that sound. A special sound. A vibration that spoke my body’s language. Only then would I obey him.
Sometimes I was left alone, which I hated more than anything. I would become lost, with no anchor, floating in a void of sensation that couldn’t be sated. But he’d return, and it was like the sun rising on an endless night.
Slowly, tiny windows of awareness would open. I would wonder where I was, how I got here, and why I felt so horrid. Shame would fill me in those moments.
Dreams became vivid stories that played out before my eyes, and I’d awaken, engulfed in heat, trapped in a net of endless desire. Woodland creatures would appear at my side, staring at me. Once, a white owl, its feathers gleaming with moonlight, spoke to me, telling me to sleep. Moments of Demos talking to me, using words I couldn’t comprehend, the melodic foreign tongue slipping from his lips like drops of dew. Then the windows would close once more, and I’d be a wild creature again, with Demos as my prey, wanting... always wanting.
All I knew, all I consisted of, was need. Demos was my food, my air, my every thought. Until the next window opened.
One of those windows opened a crack. It was dawn. All around me was the commingled scent of us. I stretched, languid, filled with tingling warmth. My hand reached out above my head, and I felt silky skin. So smooth. I rolled onto my stomach and raised my head. I was in between Demos’ legs, his inner thighs covered in a blanket of my hair. I raised up onto my elbows, saw his sleeping face. One arm was at his side, his other curled against his stomach.
I moved my hair out of the way and dragged my tongue up the delicate skin of his inner thigh and to the heavy, furred sack under his manhood. I gently suckled him at the juncture of his left thigh. His silky curls tickled my chin.
His hand went to my head, massaging my scalp in lazy clutches. He made a sound that went straight to my sex and made my breasts come to life. He wasn’t quite awake yet, but something else was waking. While I watched, his manhood seemed to dance, filling with girth. I knew taking it into my mouth would make it grow. I licked the head of it, then pulled away, examining it in whole, fascinated at its peculiar beauty.
“Mmm,” he said, causing me to look up at him. His eyes opened. They were hooded, his lips parted. His scent swirled a seductive dance around me.
I petted his sack and felt it toughen. I wondered what it was. Was it like the bullocks on a horse?
“Yes,” he rasped out. “And that is my cock.”
I hadn’t spoken aloud. Maybe he was reading my mind.
“You are speaking aloud, Sierra.”
“Cock. So that’s what that means.”
No longer interested in words, I took him into my mouth. I heard the thump as his head fell back onto the furs.
“Sierra…” he said on a sigh.
Cock. It was my new favorite word, and I said it over and over again as I made it mine.
More little windows passed, each time opening for a few minutes before leaving again.
It was during one of those windows that I heard a woman’s voice. It was rich, mesmerizing, filling reality with power. Something about it told my mind to be careful, but my thoughts were still so chaotic it was like chasing fireflies—I couldn’t grasp them.
“She should be coming out of it soon,” the woman said. “Come up to the house when it’s time.”
