The disuse of the season was evident in the musty smell of Room 3. Raven kept the lights off, closed the curtains, and moved at once to the air conditioner mounted in the wall. It started up noisy as a ‘67 Chevy, but it did start up, and it worked pretty fast, howling glacial air into the little room. Kane waved a hand before the vent as he closed the door and looked impressed.
“Nice,” he said, and gave Raven a stinging slap to her hip that held no hostility at all. “Let’s wash up, human.”
She led him to the little bathroom and flipped on the light there, reasoning that the only window here faced the woods and she wasn’t likely to attract any attention. The bathroom wasn’t the smallest she’d ever seen in a motel, but it was plenty crowded with the two of them in it, and she stripped off her shirt selfconsciously, hoping he would maybe realize there was no way she could crawl through the narrow window and so leave her alone.
No such luck. Kane shrugged out of his overcoat and dropped it indifferently on the floor, then unfastened the black band hugging his arm and set it on the counter next to the sink. He rubbed at the pale flesh that exposed with a grimace of pleasure, and then started working his way out of his pants. Raven’s shoulders slumped. He wasn’t going anywhere, and since he was deliberately blocking the door, neither was she. Privacy was a thing of the ancient past, at least for now. Blushing, she sat on the toilet and urinated for what felt like forever, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Been a while since I used something like that, either,” was his only comment. “Ah, civilization.”
Raven flushed and stood up, stepping into the bathtub to finish undressing behind the curtain.
“Cool water,” he told her. The sound of piss emptying at male capacity was drowned out when Raven turned on the tap. He raised his voice to say, “Gods, I already feel better,” and then slapped the flusher, briefly flooding her with scalding water.
Then the shower curtain was pulled back and he joined her in her hiding place. The water struck him in the chest and came off him in rivers of red-brown dust. Raven unwrapped the little bar of hotel soap and passed it to him. He turned it over in his claws and handed it back to her, and then leaned back against the tiled wall at the foot of the tub and looked expectant.
Yeah, okay. Raven soaped up a washcloth and started wiping him down, beginning with his face. He closed his eyes for one deep breath, and let it out in a low growl. He was still smiling, but there was no cruelty in it now. It was the smile of someone half-asleep and already dreaming. An innocent smile, on the face of the man who still had dried flecks of brown blood under his claws.
Raven washed him, scrubbing gentle as a geisha down his arm to each finger, cleaning each claw—first the left hand, then the right. She rubbed broad circles over his chest, and in short up and downs across his hard stomach. His eyes remained shut, his breath even. He turned around when she paused to re-lather her washcloth, presenting her with his bare back and leaning into his folded arms.
“Warmer,” he muttered. “A little.”
She adjusted the temperature and the angle of the spray, and then began to rub his shoulders with soap. His growl smacked of sensuality. Raven worked the taut muscles of his back, soothing and smoothing him beneath her hands. And he relaxed, gradually and not completely, but he did relax.
Raven knelt, kneading at his hips and buttocks where her own hurt the worst after the long car ride, and he groaned appreciatively into his arms. His thighs flexed as she massaged and cleaned them, spreading just a little for her to work. She went all the way to his feet, and when she’d washed his talons, he turned again.
She worked her way back up his powerful legs and when she reached his hips, her hands working in lather alongside his huge, hanging organ, he reached out to comb a single claw through her hair.
He didn’t speak. She didn’t need commands.
She encircled him with her soapy cloth and stroked, down, around and up again. Water sluiced over her, wiping him clean to be lathered again. She could feel him stirring, stiffening in her grip; she could see his abdomen ripple, see his thighs tighten. She leaned up on her knees and licked just once at the rising head of him with the very point of her tongue. He leaned back into the tiles again. His hand stayed light and playful in her hair.
Raven moved her washcloth to his stomach, to the V-shaped plain above his base, and rubbed in tiny circles, the same circles she now licked all down the underlength of him. She tasted the place his balls should be, and then danced a trail back to his glans. She closed her lips on him and sucked slow and hard as she lashed her tongue atop his sensitive tip.
“Sang chi’ay,” he whispered, and pulled at her head, but not insistently.
She went willingly anyway, letting him pull her along his cock, angling up to open her throat for him. The washcloth on his belly pushed as her other hand gripped his base and squeezed. He thrust slowly, drawing himself almost completely out of her before pumping into her mouth again. His three fingers flexed and relaxed on her head, flexed and relaxed.
She ran the soap through her fingers and wrapped her hands around his shaft, twining and tickling as she coated him with slick foam. Then she began to milk, steady and gentle and strong, rapidly lashing at him with the tip of her tongue only and sometimes pausing either to suck once or to blow a stream of air or water at his glans.
“Up,” Kane said hoarsely. “Up now.” His claws clenched painfully in her hair, pulling her faster when she didn’t rise fast enough, and then he pushed her into the long wall and lifted her, pulling her legs around his hips.
She didn’t have time to brace herself, but it wasn’t as bad as she remembered. The soap helped. He stroked up inside her all the way, forceful but not brutal, urgent but still calm. She hung her weight on his shoulders and tried not to feel what he did to the rest of her. He took what he needed from her with constant, indifferent motions, his taut stomach slapping wetly at hers with every swift thrust. It’d probably be over soon. That was something at least.
Then he pulled her thighs up, tilting her hips, penetrating even deeper, and suddenly the swollen friction of him was in a whole new place, one that sparked violently in unwelcome response to his movements. It startled a gasp from her, an instinctive tightening of her arms, and God help her, he noticed. His laughter was deep and nearly soundless, a rumble that passed from his body to her bones, melting humiliation into every pore of her.
She twisted her face away, but couldn’t unfeel his touch and now he was slowing, stroking at her with exquisite deliberation. She felt herself whimper, and then heard herself beg. “Please…just…No, please, no…just finish, please, just—”
His hands rubbed slickly around to her ass, pulling her even tighter, positioning her for an even fuller fit. His cock scoured her, massing at her from her pussy clear to her throat, and her traitor body seized on him and flooded with heat. She began to fight futilely, trying to squirm up and off him, but of course, succeeded only in adding to his rhythm. “I don’t want to!” Raven cried, but she knew what was coming. “Oh God, no!”
“No?” Kane gasped. He sent a tight succession of short, sharp thrusts against her, each one yanking her a little closer to that hateful climax. “This doesn’t feel like no to me.” He started to say more, and then hissed in breath as she came and let it out in a strangled, “Chok, Raven! Ah, gods! Ah, chok-se en erashe!” His body locked up tight and he unleashed an awful, strained groan and bucked twice into her with bruising force, cumming in shudders.