Page 36 of Bianca and the Monsters

In his frantic pounding of my body, I understand the difference between sex and a rut.

This is a rut.

I’m his oxygen.

I’m his beating heart.

I’m his home.

And I love it all.

His clawed right hand moves between the bars and my painfully erect breast. He drags the sharp tip of one claw over my beaded nipple, before clenching it between two claws. I squeak in response. Tension coils within me at this reminder of how much control he has over me. With just two claws pinching the nexus of so much sensation, he owns me.

When his claws squeeze just a little tighter, I gasp raggedly and, like a door appearing in a room made of walls, I’m able to find a kind of surrender I’ve never allowed. He’s immobilized me. I’m completely under his power and something clicks inside me. I don’t just need to be heard. I don’t just need to be cared for. I don’t just need a partner. I need to be trusted in order to trust.

Archie, whether he wanted to or not, is trusting me to believe in him, and his trust is opening parts of me that I’d locked down so deliberately, I forgot they existed.

Archie’s deep—slightly crazed—chuckling surprises me. Then he snarls beside my ear, “Mine.”

“Yours,” I pant, and he slams his cock inside me in an abrupt jerk. Those decadent tusks rub me in a way that burns so perfectly, I climax in an explosion of lights and wonder. And then I black out, giddy drunk on this perfection.

I’m only out for a few seconds, during which his fever to claim me only grows. He’s railing me so fiercely my orgasms just keep on coming, like a field of flowers all pollinating in one mighty cloud.

Five? Ten? Who cares? I always hated math. All I know is that I’m not holding myself up at this point. I’m not even sure I’m still in my body. But I know he is. Because dang, his cock is a freaking theme park, every pounding thrust another ride I didn’t have to stand in line for.

His roar, guttural and wild, when he finally claims his own climax rattles me to my bones. It’s the truest expression of conquest and satisfaction I’ve ever heard or even imagined.

I feel the wetness of us dripping down my legs and it feels dirty in the most perfect way.

Archie leaves me in a sudden movement that causes me to cry out at the loss of that sublime fullness. He ignores my protest and carries me to the mattress. A second later, I’m lying on my back and he’s kneeling between my bent legs. His snarl returns, his lips pressing on the two tusks that rise from his bottom teeth and cover his mouth.

His eyes spark with smug intent as he leans and latches hold of my clit, swiftly proving that his lower tusks have some competition. These tusks serve an infinitely wonderful purpose, by applying pressure to my engorged folds and holding them open for his epically thick, long tongue to work me like I’ve never been worked.

My mewling cries are totally justified. I can’t stop myself from rocking against him, basically grinding on his tusks, while his hot tongue delves deeply inside me. The sounds I make would cause porn stars to blush and I don’t even care. I think I’m getting the hang of this whole rutting thing.

Carefree sexual abandon with absolutely no consequences. Did Nico say this was required quarterly because weekly seems more in line with my thinking?

After eating me out like I’m an all-you-can-eat taco buffet and delivering half a dozen sweat- and scream-inducing orgasms, Archie grips me and flips me over onto my hands and knees. He applies pressure to my back and then neck, growling until I submit and rest my face on the mattress. I feel his massive hands gripping me just before he rams inside me again.

My head is light. My body is soothed, once again filled by him. He’s driving into me and I feel like I couldn’t hold onto a single worry for all the world. My mind. My heart. My soul. They’re all washed clean. Ruts aren’t dirty—well, theyaredeliciously dirty, but they are also cleansing. Healing even. Certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Why were they outlawed? I’ll have to remember to ask, though I’ll probably forget.

I don’t know when I fall into a strange sleep, but I know Archie doesn’t stop and I don’t mind at all. And truly, experiencing climaxes in a floaty dreamscape totally rocks my world.

I’m safe with him. Safe in the fervor of his need. Safe as the center of his world.

I don’t know how many hours pass. I don’t know if days pass. I don’t know anything because this lovely haze has freed me from every concern I’ve ever had, every doubt I’ve ever known, about myself and my life. About everything.

This is bliss.

I was rutted by one of my monsters and I’ll never be the same.

Chapter27

Archie

Waking, finally clear of the rut-induced fever, shame seeks purchase within me, and if not for the broad smile and sparkling eyes of my beloved, it would have destroyed me.

Bianca’s nose scrunches adorably in one of my favorite expressions. “Iloveruts. Can we go again?”

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