Page 100 of Claimed By the Mothman
Her lie struck him as the most exquisite offering he’d ever received. The tea had steeped too long. The temperature was wrong. By any human metric, it was a tragedy in a cup. But she honored the attempt. Somehow, that made him love her even more.
He pulled her close and folded his wings around her. She didn’t resist, but let her breath mingle with his. The hum of her body, warm and wet from the shower, soaked into his skin.
And then she sighed. “I’m going in to work today.”
Sig churred in surprise—a soft, uncertain sound that cracked at the edges.
“You do not wish to stay with me?” He kept his tone careful, modulated, as if gentleness might hide how the words struck him like a lash. “You do not wish for me to worship you the way you deserve?”
One claw dragged slowly down the curve of her back, the other slipping beneath the hem of her robe to find bare skin. His palm met the slope of her hip. He made a low sound of longing.
“I desire the taste of you on my tongue.” Sig dipped his head and unfurled said instrument, which unrolled with sinuous ease and grazed the damp curve of her shoulder. She arched into him with a gasp.
“Beloved,” he said, voice breaking open with want. “Please. Stay.”
Nell pressed into him, just for a heartbeat—her breath catching, her body softening in that telltale way he had already learned to crave. Her pulse fluttered beneath his mouth. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his waist.
Yes,he thought.Stay and let me make you forget everything else.
She sighed and stepped back. “Sig.”
His claws hesitated, still ghosting over her skin. Reluctantly, he let her go. One finger lingered at the tie of her robe, then slipped free. He looked at her like the world was ending because, in a small and tragic way, it was. His antennae drooped with despair.
She cupped his jaw and smoothed her thumb across it like she was soothing a wild thing. “We did it three times yesterday,” she said gently, her green eyes flashing with tired amusement. “And again in the middle of the night.”
“I am not yet satisfied,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “I am forsaken.” He pulled away and crossed his arms over his chest in a solemn, theatrical huff and stared mournfully at the wall.
“You’re pouting.”
“I have been denied the chance to ensure your pleasure is so profound you lose the ability to pronounce consonants.”
Nell laughed, the sound burbling from her throat like a spring water over stones. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I found strawberries,” he added bitterly. "They are ripe. I hadplans.”
As if summoned by the sheer force of overstimulation, Nell took another sip of tea and said casually, “Also? Goldie texted me. She said, and I quote:If you don’t show up to work today, I’m assuming he ate you and I’m coming over there with garden shears and removing his dick myself. No jury would convict me.”
Sig straightened to his full height, scandalized. “I would never.” His voice dropped an octave, wounded and affronted. “I did not consume you. I merely—” he gestured vaguely.“—rendered you temporarily unable to stand.”
Nell covered her mouth in an attempt he realized to keep tea from spraying everywhere.
“The Goldie,” Sig clacked, tone darkening like a thundercloud, “is a menace.”
“She’s protective,” Nell said, eyes gleaming. “And you’re being dramatic.”
“I am not dramatic,” he sniffed, wings fluffing out in protest. “I am simply devoted.”
Nell, very wisely, did not comment. But she reached up, smoothing the line between his brows with her thumb.
“I promise I’ll come home early,” she said gently. “We’ll order some food and then you can do whatever you want to me. All evening. Full worship permissions granted.”
That, at least, drew a sound from him. A low, pleased churr that started in his chest and spilled out in soft vibration. “I will wait, then. And I will make it count.”
Nell rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She kissed him and then made her way toward the bathroom, her robe fluttering around her ankles like a trailing sigh.
He watched her go and already missed her.
He stood in the kitchen long after the kettle had cooled, the citrus scent turning stale in the air. The mug sat half-finished on the counter. Her lips had touched it. That was something. A relic of her presence.
