Page 98

“Look at me, not the bandage.”

I look at her. She’s staring down at me from up there with her mouth open and her wet hair stuck to her cheeks.

“Don’t stop. Rauk, don’t stop, I’m going to—”

Her hand lets go of my fur and grabs for something to hold on to.

It finds the thong.

The whole trough comes down on us. I did tell her. She shrieks and comes while she’s doing it, with water pouring down her belly and into my face. She’s bucking on my hands hard enough that I open my fingers to keep the claws out of her. I push my tongue back inside her and feel her squeeze it in hard pulses. I drink whatever comes, her or the trough. I don’t let up until the water’s run dry and she drags my head back by the fur.

She hangs there between the thong and my hands, panting, and then she laughs until she coughs. “Well, it works.”

I let her down slowly. She slides down the front of me, wet skin all the way down my chest, and I keep hold of her until her legs will take her. My chin’s wet with her and so is my throat, and she pulls me down by the ear and kisses it off me with her tongue in my mouth.

Then her hand goes to my belt.

I catch her wrist.

For yourself, Rauk.

I let go.

She gets the belt open one-handed. The tie on my trousers is another matter, soaked and pulled tight, and she picks at it until she runs out of patience.

“Fuck.”

I put a claw through the cord.

She watches the ends drop. “Wasteful.”

I grunt. “I have more cord.”

She pushes my trousers down off my hips. My cock comes up heavy against her wrist, dark and wet at the tip, and it jerks when the cold rain hits it.

She takes a good look at it, and I’ve nothing to hide behind now. Then she looks up at me, grinning. “You’ve been keeping that from me?”

“Yes.”

She closes her hand around me.

Nobody’s touched me there without my trousers in the way. Her hand’s cold from the water and her fingers don’t meet around me, and I stop breathing. My legs didn’t have much left in them to begin with. I put my hand on the trunk behind her, and the claws dig into the bark.

She strokes me slowly, all the way up and all the way back, watching my face while she does it. On the next stroke she turns her palm over the head, where I’m leaking, and slicks it down the length of me until her fist slides.

“Tighter?”

“Yes.” I can manage the one word.

“You can say more than yes.”

I shake my head. She tightens her grip, and I growl.

She brings her bad hand up from between us, low, where it doesn’t pull her shoulder, and cups my balls in her cold fingers.

Perkele.

I push into her fist. I try to hold still for her and can’t.