Page 88 of Florescentia

I tipped my head back. He held it to the side as he tasted my skin, the sounds of kisses right by my ear and down my neck.

“We shouldn’t,” I breathed, but even I knew the declaration was a stalling tactic.

His hands moved down my waist, but I felt the needlelike points of claws. I buried my fingers in his hair as he kissed over my collarbone, then my breast. One of his hands cupped the other, squeezing. He knelt before me, not even a moment of hesitation in doing so.

“You shouldn’t,” he corrected, his voice changed. There was such a hunger that I didn’t realize it wasn’t something from my imagination. “Let me break the rules for you,” he offered, a long, monstrous tongue slipping from his mouth. I could see the hints of sharp teeth, and his eyes, when he looked up at me from between my breasts, were glazed over and white.

A shudder ripped through my spine, the reminder of what thing was touching me, savoring me, so eager to touch me in this moment. It wasn’t a man; it was something much worse.

But that wouldn’t stop me from indulging.

Not with such a temptation.

I touched his face, moving the curl of black hair from his forehead as I gripped the locks.

“Not with that face,” I whispered.

His lip twitched, a hint of a smirk before the black marking spread, covering his body as he grew, his limbs becoming more monstrous, more beastly, while keeping the vague shape of something humanoid, a sick perversion of a man.

He stepped back, lingering.

I turned my back to him to approach the sofa.

The nightgown ribbon wrapped around my fingers as I pulled gently at the knot. I could sense him near, like when the hairs at the back of your neck rise when someone is staring.

His shadow cast over me as the form grew, blocking the light from the biolamps on the wall. It had to be over seven feet tall. The form shifted, and limbs appeared and went as it settled on something.

Something wet by my leg.

I looked down; something moved by my ankle.

It was pink like a tongue, a few tips as if it was split multiple times at the end. It brushed over my leg, then around my calf. Not long before it was hidden beneath my skirt. It moved upward, the position shifting under the fabric, the bulge moving up.

It brushed against my inner thigh.

A low, rumbling noise came from behind me. It was intense enough to feel it vibrate through my chest.

A pair of claws positioned themselves on my hips; I watched them gently take hold.

Then I was pushed over the sofa, and I grasped the backing.

He pulled the ankle of one of my legs, straightening it, as the other knee dug into the cushions.

I shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. It was like I’d been confronted with a living nightmare. But instead of fear, I was overpowered with the thrill of morbid curiosity.

The wet tongue wiped between my legs, sending such a violent chill, it was like I was hypothermic all over again.

“Be still or I’ll stop,” Altair said, the rumble still present in his voice.

I pressed my forehead into the back of the sofa, looking down to get a peek between my legs.

The shadow moved, the sheer nightgown casting a puppet show for me to work with my imagination.

It was like an octopus’s arm, curling and positioning its tapered point forward. The shadow neared, then I felt it between my legs. The hot tongue prodded at my . . . fuck.

It went inside, slow and shallow, before pulling out. I was shaking, the slick texture like nothing I’d felt. It was hot too. Like a bed warmer. Tenderly, it slipped in and out, a bit of wetness dripping down my leg as it built a lubricant.

Then it went in and didn’t come out. It just kept going, deeper and deeper, until I could feel it pushing within me. With a careful pressure, it pushed down, then up, beginning a circular motion while it was inside me.