Page 187 of Tracked and Taken

“Good girl.”

Naked under me by 1917. Flushed. Mark dark. Cunt shining when I push her knees apart and look. Three months and I still have to take a breath before I put my hands on her or I am going to mount her without the rest of what she needs.

She needs the rest.

Her hands at my collar. Her teeth at my lower lip. I let her strip the shirt. I take the trousers myself. I am hard enough that the ridges are a problem against the fabric and a worse problem when the fabric is gone. Her eyes drop. She reaches. I catch her wrist.

“Not yet.”

“Tael—“

“I am going to take you apart first. Then you can have it. Hands on the headboard.”

She puts her hands on the headboard.

I reward that with my mouth on the mark and my tail up the inside of her thigh in the same second. The tail finds how wet she is and does not pretend to be polite about it. It paints her. Circles her clit. She jerks. I pin her hip with one hand and keep the tail moving, small, mean, exact.

“Stay.”

“I am—staying—“

“You are lifting. Stay.”

She stays. Barely. The tail pushes into her, slow, thick, the tip first and then more, and the sound she makes is the sound I have been carrying since the doorway. I fuck her with it while I suck her nipple and the purr pours into her ribs and her knuckles go white on the headboard.

She climbs fast. Three months has taught her body the map. I feel the lock starting through the bond, that bright, helpless pull.

I still the tail. Buried. Not moving.

She sobs.

“Please.”

“Please what.”

“Please move. Please let me come. Tael—I have been thinking about this since the lift—“

“I know. I could smell you in the corridor.” I kiss the mark. The tail does not move. “Ask again when you can say it without shaking.”

She shakes harder.

I wait until the edge drops. Then I start again. Deeper. The tail curls against the spot that makes her vision go. My mouth on her other breast. My thumb on her clit now, just enough, and she lasts less than the first time.

“Please—I’m going to—please don’t stop—“

I stop.

She almost hits me. What she does instead is worse. She turns her face into her arm and says, wrecked:

“Please, I’ll be good. I’ll keep my hands where you put them. Please put your mouth on me. Please let your good girl come.”

The words land in my spine.

“There she is.”

I put my mouth on her.

I am not gentle. I lick her open and I suck her clit and the tail fucks into her in a rhythm that does not match my tongue on purpose. The bond dumps her taste into me and her want into me and the fact that she is holding the headboard because I told her to. I take her to the edge and I hold her there with my mouth just off her, breathing on her, tail still.