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The second thing I noticed, which made a bizarre hot-cold feeling snap down my spine, was that her leg, from tiny human toes to hip, was completely bare.
I froze with something that almost felt like fear but wasn’t. The hot-cold sensation came back, more powerful this time, bleeding out from my spine into my limbs, my tail, my groin. I was not breathing normally. I could tell, could hear the uneven labour of it, but could do nothing to stop it. Just like I could do nothing but stare at my big, dark hands on Fiona’s slender leg. That gaze roved over her, completely unbidden, following the gently curved lines of her calf, her thigh, with that little red knee in the middle of it all.
Her other leg was bare too. The only part of it that was hidden was her ankle and foot with the tangled heap of the leg-coverings she called trowzers. My heart was still in my throat, though it no longer felt like a stone, but rather a brazelbird. Practically vibrating with wings that beat too fast and too hard.
In silence, my sight stars followed the paths those legs created to their inevitable conclusion, to the apex between them. Her cunt.
She had on a sort of loincloth, but a tiny one, tight to her body, moulded to the supple shape of her hips. The only other thing she wore was one of the tight human tunics, sleeveless, revealing the inky shapes on her arms and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her chest with the curves of those breasts, soft and small and plump, with hard little nubs at the centre of each that made my tongues slam against the back of my fangs so hard it felt like I’d been punched in the jaw from below.
I did not ask her how her knee felt. I did not ask her any useful sort of question at all. I looked at her, half-exposed and entirely destructive in her beauty, and, in a haze, still feeling like I’d been hit, I asked her, “Where are your clothes?”
“Well I was getting there, wasn’t I?” she said in a huff. She shook the leg that I was not holding, making the tangled trowzers rattle meaningfully around her ankle. “Plus, I am wearing some clothes! I’ve already got my top and my knickers on. This is basically what the Sea Sand women wear all day, anyway. They just wear a long sleeveless tunic and loincloth thing. So by those standards I am fully dressed!”
She was right, of course. But I was used to seeing Sea Sand females more exposed than new women. Fiona was usually bundled up some way or another, to either protect against the bright sun of the day or the cold of the night. Sometimes she just wore her tunic without her cloak, but I’d never seen her like this, with her legs bare, her cunt one slip of a stray claw away from being seen. And why in the cursed span of the Sea Sands was her loincloth so blasted small?! Sea Sand loincloths were fashioned from soft, durable dakrival hides. Hers was far thinner, the fabric looking like a mere glance could tear it.
If a glance could have torn it in that moment, it would have been mine.
“You can let go of my leg, now,” Fiona said, giving her leg an experimental jerk within my grip. Instinctively, my fingers tightened around her ankle and her thigh. The contrast between those two places made my head buzz. The delicate, hard bone of her ankle against the malleable flesh of her thigh, both spots covered in skin so soft I simultaneously worried for her and wanted her. Wanted her in a driving, wind-whipped, desperate sort of way. I wanted to feel what it would be like to stack all my hardness against all that softness. Stretch my body over hers like a blanket, like a shield, and feel how she gave way beneath me, to me. To feel cool, smooth fingers on my hide. And a hot, wet channel squeezing tightly around my –
“My leg, Dalk.”
Fiona jerked her leg again, and this time, I let her go. Perhaps she was surprised I actually listened, because her foot hit the stone with a hard thwap of sound and she inhaled sharply, like she had not anticipated the fall.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” She scrambled up into a sitting position and hiked her knee up closer to her, her little foot flat on the stone. “I didn’t think I was!”
“You weren’t a moment ago.” I knew she hadn’t been. I’d checked. But all that wiggling and pulling must have opened up a tiny scratch, made it just wide enough to weep blood. She frowned down at her knee, watching the red bead up.
It was barely a cut. Not even enough blood to well up and roll down her leg in a narrow line. It just glistened, as bright and red as axrekal poison.
And like a doomed man, I knocked her hands away from her own leg, seized her knee between my claws...
And licked it.
Tension moved through her body like a hide being unrolled. Not all at once in a great slam of shock, but slowly, wave-like, her muscles drawing tighter and tighter beneath my fingertips as I tasted her wound. It was barely a wound at all, but even just that tiny little smear of blood on my tongues was explosive, sending me headlong into delirium. It did not taste like Sea Sand blood. It tasted bright and sharp. It reminded me a little bit of some of the scents on the human ship and Valeria’s shuttle. The tang of metal so unlike ablik.
But there was not much of it. And once that little bit of blood was gone, cleaned away by my greedy tongues, there was only skin, her skin, raw at the knee, whole and smooth and sweet just beyond it where her thigh began.
She did not tell me to stop.
I told myself to stop, but it seemed to do no good. My tongues were on her, my mouth, my lips, my fangs grazing her until she made a timid little “Oh!” sound that sent my heart slamming down through my body and directly into my cock.
A new scent grew rich in the air, and I noticed with an internal groan that I’d sucked and licked my way nearly to the top of her leg. If I withdrew my mouth from her thigh and extended my tongues as far as they’d go, they’d be able to touch her cunt through that infuriatingly thin slip of fabric. Damp fabric, I realized, spying wetness there, smelling it, a convulsion of hot desire wracking my limbs. I growled without even realizing I’d done it, and Fiona gasped, which brought my gaze up to her face for the first time since I’d lost my mind and licked her. Licked her!
Her chest rose and fell with fast, shallow breaths. If I was not mistaken, the points of her breasts looked harder now, pebble-like beneath her tunic. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide-open, her cheeks flushed crimson.
She was so lovely it somehow seemed unfair. Somehow almost cruel.
My fangs grazed her skin again and her muscles lurched beneath my mouth. But still, she did not tell me to stop. She did not pull away. She panted and watched me with eyes so wide and guarded and yet also unafraid.
I was afraid. Afraid that if I did not keep going, if my tongues didn’t reach that sweet, secret place beneath her tiny loincloth, then I would die. Perhaps it was dramatic, an exaggeration brought on by blood and lust and a whole host of other feelings I could not untangle. But it felt like fact in that moment, bone-hard and certain. If I did not taste her now, I would stop breathing and die. Something vital inside me would cease working, maybe even cease to exist. My heart or my lungs or my brain. All of it, gone in an instant, leaving my body in a useless heap on the floor of this strange cave in a strange land between the thighs of a very strange female.
Ah, that’s a fine thing for a warrior, I thought with some bitterness. To be one of the great Gahn Fallo’s strongest fighters, and to be killed not by a blade, but merely killed by wanting.
Perhaps the process had already started. I could feel my heart beating, not in my chest, but in my hands and in my head and in my cock. Fiona stared and so did I, our eyes meeting above the endless stretch of her miniscule body as my tongues twitched higher, higher, so high I was certain that now, she’d pull away. Now, she’d tell me no.
If she told me to stop, I would do it.
