Page 79 of Claimed By the Mothman
Wings—the low thunder of them, their impossible hush. The way he’d carried her. His hands, clawed and impossibly gentle, touching her face reverently. His eyes, watching her speak like he was memorizing her. She chased it. Wanted it.Wanted him.
Her hips lifted from the floor with a cracked cry. Her hands were desperate now, circling, thrusting furiously, trying to fill the space where he should be. Her body bucked against the phantom weight of him, trying to meet each invisible thrust, each wave of resonance that pulsed through her.
“Sig,” she gasped.
Another orgasm hit and she sobbed as she crested again, her thighs jerking, her core clenching, her whole body slick with sweat and wet andruin.
Her skin shimmered. Her vision blurred. The kitchen dissolved around her. There was no air, no time, but only the bond.
She collapsed, boneless and gasping, limbs slack against the cool tile. Her chest heaved in shallow, broken breaths. Every inch of her body shook.
The mark between her thighs pulsed again, slower, but still unsatisfied. Like she had been given just a drop of water while she was dying slowly of thirst.
Nell let out a ragged breath and curled a hand against her sternum like she could press something back in. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. The ache was still there. Worse, now that the edge had dulled. More real now that her defenses were down.
“I want you.” The truth fell from her in a broken whisper.
Not because of the resonance or because of some mothman-shaped magic stitched between their bodies. She wanted him because he made feel seen in a way that she’d not experienced before, and opened something inside her.
“I want you,” she whispered again, into the bond, into the walls and the tile of Greymarket, hoping—and fearing—the response.
Chapter 16
The ache in Sig’s chest wouldn’t let him sleep.
Instead, he went to his workbench.
The tools were familiar, worn smooth by claw and habit. Their edges glinted in low light. The scent of cut wood, old varnish, and oiled metal filled the apartment like a comfort spell. It was the only place he still trusted his hands.
He told himself it was just to keep busy, just something to do until the night passed him by.
But the figure in his hands had unfurled unconsciously and now had her tilt of chin. Her posture. The curve of her shoulders. She was in his hands now, and it made the even ache worse.
One claw slowly traced the unfinished line of her back. Even in wood, touching this part of her, nearly undid him.
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the want. After a moment, he reached for a fine blade to trace the lines of her hair.
A pulse hit him, hot and bright and ruthless, and he dropped the blade with a gasp. The sensation cracked through him, and he stumbled to standing, his chair toppling behind him. He grasped the edge of the worktable, and the wood cracked beneath his palm with a vicious groan.
Her scent—the scent of her arousal—was in his nostrils, everywhere, wrapping around him like steam. The mark on his abdomen blazed with heat, and his antennae snapped forward, searching the air forher.
She was touching herself. He knew it, only because his body had already answered before his mind caught up. His length had slipped free of its sheath—thick, dark with blood, flushed almost black with want.
Sig grunted, low and hoarse and wrecked. Without thought, he wrenched his trousers open, wrapped a hand around himself, and began to stroke, roughly, desperately, frantically.
The bond sizzled between them. The air shimmered. Sig let his head fall back—and felt her move beneath him.
Her hand. Her rhythm. The trembling stutter of her thighs. The soft, shattered whimpers she didn’t even know she was making. Every flick of her fingers lit up his skin like fire. Every gasp dropped like a stone into his gut. Every circle of her clit was a spark against his soul.
He pumped faster. His wings trembled and arched wide, twitching with the desperate need to fly to her. A clacking trill ripped from his throat, ragged and low. His whole body screamed:Go to her.Take her.Finish it.
The scent of her slick was everywhere now, filling his lungs, coating his skin, soaking into the bond.And when her pleasure crested and broke over her, it tore through him like a meteor crashing to Earth.
He roared, shattering through his apartment and making the walls tremble. Dust drifted from the ceiling like ash. His wings flapped in his own release as his seed spilled from him in a savage pulse.
Another wave of her pleasure crashed through the bond. She was coming again, and he felt every breath of it, and gods help him, he wanted her to keep going, keep fracturing, for her to fall apart with his name on her lips.
Desperately, Sig wrapped his hand around his cock again. The skin was almost too sensitive to touch, but he needed this. Needed to ride the pleasure together with her, as the half-formed bond quivered and keened between them.
