Her gaze darts back to my stem, then away again just as quickly. When I clench it tighter, she takes a step backward, holding her hands up as if in surrender. “I’m just…gonna give you some privacy.”
She turns and moves to the other side of the chamber, her back to me, but I can still feel her presence like a flame in the dark.
I should stop.
I should release myself. Force my new stem away. Do something to regain control. But I can’t. For one, I no longer have a pouch to put it away.
My claw remains fisted around it, twitching as I watch her. The sight of her—her bare arms, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, the curve of her hips even beneath her strange coverings—fuels the fire in me.
I don’t understand these sensations, this hunger. All I know is that I cannot shift her from my mind. Cannot shift the memory of her wet slit, soft and glistening, the taste of her essence still haunting me.
She turns slightly, glancing back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as she realizes I’m still watching her—still holding myself.
“Um…” She clears her throat, her voice rising with nervous energy. “Is there…any chance you can, uh, put that back?” She gestures vaguely toward my crotch, her cheeks blazing.
The question confuses me at first, but her thoughts—completely unfiltered—reach me, projecting an image of my pouch from before. The image is faint, fuzzy, but clear enough for me to understand her meaning.
It makes me laugh.
The sound is low and rough, rumbling from deep within my chest, and her eyes snap to mine, startled.
She blinks, her brows furrowing, and I watch as realization dawns. “Oh my God,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re laughing at me.”
I rise to my feet, towering over her, and her gaze drops instinctively.
Her breath catches as her eyes land on my stem once more, jutting forward like a weapon, and her face flames red again. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch the way her pupils dilate, the subtle quickening of her breath. Not before I catch the thought.
Dust.
An image of my stem sliding through her wet slit.
The image is so sudden, so startling, I almost fall to my knees. Another pulse of heat goes through me, making my stem twitch hard. Is that how we are to join? I’d never considered using my stem in such a way with my brothers. But then again, I’ve never had these urges before. Not until her.
And now that I know this new purpose…what she needs…
Oh, the thought.
A grunt escapes my throat as I fist my new stem harder.
“Rok,” she says, her voice sharp, but there’s a tremor in it that betrays her. She makes a sound in her throat, forcing her gaze back to my face. “Focus, okay? Can you…can you put it away or not?”
I shake my head the way she does. “No,” I say simply. One of her words. Awkward but clear.
Her hands fly into the air. “Of course not. Suddenly grow a big fat raging cock after scaring me to death that you’re dying, and then tell me that weapon of pussy destruction cannot be disarmed.”
Pussy?
What is a pussy?
The images are coming too fast. I can hardly make sense of what these vocalizations mean. But then there’s the image of her slit again, warm and wet and dripping. Sheathed over my stem.
I groan.
Her pussy. Yes.
She plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “Okay, fine. I’ll fix this. Just…stay there.”
She turns in a slow circle, scanning the chamber, her expression thoughtful. I tilt my head, curious despite the need coursing through me and culminating in my rigid shaft.
“Right,” she mutters to herself, as if coming to a decision. “I know what to do.”
Before I can ask—or think—what she means, she reaches for her leg coverings.
She strips them off in one quick motion, leaving her legs bare, and I feel my body react instantly.
The sight of her exposed skin, the smooth curves of her thighs, the way the light catches on her soft flesh—it’s almost too much.
My stem…my cock—as she called it—hardens further, the ache intensifying, and I let out a low growl, unable to suppress the sound.
She doesn’t notice.
Or if she does, she ignores it.
Instead, she picks up a jagged-edged stone and uses it to tear the hide of her coverings into two flat panels. Soon, she’s only wearing half of it, her legs deliciously bare.
“These might…” She pauses, glancing at me nervously. “These might help.”
She approaches slowly, the makeshift hide in hand, her gaze determinedly fixed on my face.
When she reaches me, her hands tremble slightly as she presses the fabric against my lap, tying it in place with quick, efficient movements.
Her nearness is electric.
Her touch is even more so.
I can feel the heat of her hands through the thin fabric, can smell the faint, intoxicating scent of her skin.
Her fingers brush against me accidentally—light, fleeting—and it takes everything in me not to groan aloud.
“Okay,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “That should—” She stops abruptly, her gaze flickering downward, and her face reddens again.
The fabric is tented obscenely, the outline of my cock clearly visible. Cock. A much better word than stem. I like it. I shall call it my cock from now on and teach my brothers, too.
My gaze shifts to hers when I get an image that almost brings me to the ground. An image of Jus-teen on her knees beneath me. Her mouth over the new bulbous head of my cock.
It is enough to make my claws dig into my palms.
But these aren’t my thoughts in the mindspace. They’re hers.
“Yeah, that’s…not really helping,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face.
I chuckle again, the sound low and rumbling, and she glares at me.
“Don’t laugh,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “This is your fault.”
Her words are sharp, but there’s no real anger in them. If anything, there’s a flicker of amusement in her tone, and for a moment, the tension between us eases.
Then she sighs, gesturing toward the floor. “Do you need to…rest or something? Recover?”
I get images of my own form resting on the stone. Of her resting beside me.
Jus-teen blinks at me before she mimes lying down, her movements exaggerated, and I realize she still doesn’t know I am getting imprints of her thoughts. She is not doing it on purpose then.
And I…do not want to tell her. Not yet.
Something tells me that if I do, all these delicious images she’s sending my way will stop.
So, instead, I lower my head and press my forehead to hers, letting the soft, trembling warmth of her skin connect with mine.
The moment our foreheads touch, it’s as if the ground beneath me shifts.
A jolt of energy surges through me and I hear her gasp, feel the slight tremor in her body as it passes through her, too.
Her hands fly to my arms, clutching at me for balance as her knees buckle slightly. A soft, breathless moan escapes her lips, and the sound strikes me like lightning, sinking deep into my chest.
“No rest,” I project, my thoughts flowing into hers like dust melding with dust. My voice in her mind is steady, but the words carry the weight of my urgency, the fire that still burns within me. “No time. We have already delayed too long.”
Her breath hitches again, her trembling growing more pronounced as my thoughts wrap around hers. I can feel the heat of her emotions—confusion, fear, curiosity—all interwoven with something else. Something warmer.