Page 39 of Feral Gods
"Perfect," I growl, the sensation threatening to undo centuries of control. "But if you continue, this will end far too quickly."
Understanding reflects on her face, and she releases me with visible reluctance. I compensate by returning my attention to her pleasure, sliding one careful finger through her folds, finding her slick and ready. When I circle her entrance, she gasps, hips rising in silent invitation.
"Please," she whispers, the simple entreaty more compelling than any elaborate seduction.
I lift her slightly, positioning myself at her entrance, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Finding only desire and trust, I begin to press forward, entering her with exquisite slowness.
The sensation is beyond description—tight, hot, perfect. I freeze halfway, giving her time to adjust to my size, fightingevery instinct that demands I claim her completely in one powerful thrust.
"Are you alright?" I manage, voice strained with the effort of restraint.
She nods, eyes closed, lower lip caught between her teeth. "Yes. More."
I withdraw slightly, then press deeper, repeating the careful motion until I'm fully seated within her. The feeling of completion, of rightness, staggers me. This small, fragile human has become essential to me in ways I never anticipated. The realization terrifies and exalts me in equal measure.
"Look at me," I request, needing to see her eyes, to confirm her pleasure equals mine.
When her gaze meets mine, the connection transcends the physical. Something passes between us—understanding, acceptance, perhaps even the beginnings of something deeper neither of us is ready to name.
I begin to move within her, establishing a rhythm both gentle and insistent. Her body responds beautifully, meeting each thrust with growing enthusiasm. When I adjust the angle slightly, she cries out, the sound pure pleasure rather than pain.
"There," she gasps, fingers digging into my shoulders. "Right there."
I maintain the position, increasing pace and pressure incrementally, watching her reactions with rapt attention. Her breathing grows more ragged, her movements more urgent, the flush on her chest and face deepening with approaching climax.
"Let go," I encourage, circling my thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves at her apex. "I have you. Let go."
The added stimulation pushes her over the edge. She comes apart beautifully, my name a broken cry on her lips, her inner walls pulsing around me in waves of pleasure. The sight, sound, and sensation of her release trigger my own, and I follow her intoecstasy with a growl that seems to emanate from the very core of my being.
For several heartbeats, we remain joined, breathing heavily, my forehead resting against hers in intimate connection. When I finally move to withdraw, concerned about crushing her with my weight, she makes a small sound of protest, arms tightening around my neck.
"Not yet," she murmurs, eyes still closed in apparent bliss. "Just... stay for a moment."
I comply gladly, shifting only enough to support my weight on my arms rather than her smaller frame. The position allows me to study her face in the aftermath of pleasure—the relaxed set of her features, the slight smile curving her lips, the peaceful expression so different from her usual watchful alertness.
"You are precious to me," I confess, the words emerging without conscious decision. "More than duty or obligation would explain."
Her eyes open slowly, finding mine with surprising directness. "And that frightens you."
Not a question but an observation—and an accurate one at that. I consider denying it, maintaining the façade of invulnerability that has served me well as a commander and protector. But she deserves truth, not pretense.
"Yes," I admit. "I was not made for tenderness or attachment. My purpose has always been protection through strength and, when necessary, violence."
"Yet here you are," she points out, one hand coming up to trace the line of my jaw with gentle exploration. "Being tender despite yourself."
The simple observation strikes deeper than she could know. Here I am indeed—commander of the elite guard, fearsome gargoyle warrior, holding this fragile human as if she's made ofthe most precious neptherium crystal, my heart exposed in ways I never anticipated.
A sudden, unwelcome thought intrudes Thane and Zephyr will return eventually. They will sense what has occurred between us. The possessive instinct that has dominated my interactions with Kaia flares anew, demanding exclusive claim over what we've shared.
She reads the change in my expression with uncanny perception. "What troubles you?"
I withdraw carefully, helping her sit upright on the stone table, already missing our connection. "The others will return soon."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something more complex—uncertainty, perhaps, or concern. "And that bothers you."
Again, not a question. I retrieve her discarded clothing, handing each piece to her with more care than such simple garments warrant.
"I am... unaccustomed to sharing what I value," I admit as she dresses, the confession inadequate to express the depth of my territorial nature.
