Page 82 of Claimed By the Mothman
She cried out. He suckled gently, pulling her with a rhythm that was slow and obscene in its tenderness. The proboscis followed, curling along the underside of her breast, mirroring the motion of his tongue as it wrapped, squeezed with a subtle contraction.
Her knees buckled, and he caught her effortlessly, one clawed hand sliding to the small of her back. He raised his mouth to whisper, “You are mine to taste, to steady, tokeep.”
Nell shivered against him, clutching his shoulders to steady herself. “Then—keep going. Please.”
Sig churred, and he moved his mouth to the other breast with the same patient worship. His tongue dragged slowly across her skin, tracing the shape of her pleasure, the tremble of her surrender. His proboscis moved in a spiral, wrapping her nipple tighter, then releasing, then tightening again. It licked down the curve of her breast, and her whole body convulsed with the shock of it.
“I did not know,” he murmured, a low clack echoing under his words, “how sweet it would be to have you come undone beneath my mouth.” He drew the tip of his tongue in a slow, deliberate line down her sternum as she panted, her head thrown back. “So reactive. So ripe. Every part of you sings for me.”
Her brain broke. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Her body was molten, her nerves flooded with static and need.
“I—can’t—bed,” she whimpered. “I can’t make it.”
Her knees folded and the floor caught her in its gravity, taking him with her. They landed in the nest of tangled pillows still strewn across the floor from Goldie’s last movie night. Nell fell to her back, her legs falling open between them.
Sig bowed over her. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of the sheen between her thighs. His eyes darkened, blown wide with a desirous hunger. “You are…” He exhaled like the syllables cost him. “You are blessed ash. You are the first light through sacred smoke. You areoffering.”
Nell gave a little broken sound, reaching up for him. “Touch me again,” she whispered. “Please.”
He churred, a low, sub-harmonic thrum from deep in his chest that vibrated through her, and kissed her mouth, all tongue and teeth and breath. “As you wish.”
His mouth trailed down her throat, dragging heat in its wake. He moved down her chest, tongue circling each nipple in slow spirals, as if following a sacred rite. Down her stomach, each inch taken with aching patience, until he paused just above her navel.
“You open for me like dawn," he murmured, kissing lower, proboscis flicking lazily across her skin. “Like a flower unfurling.”
Nell’s hips bucked reflexively, her hands clenching in the pillows beneath her. She was dying. Drowning. Burning alive.
He paused at the cradle of her thighs, just above the place where she pulsed open for him. His mouth hovered, breath shaking, and she could feel how close he was to losing control.
“May I taste you where you are marked?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she choked out, holding back the urge to grab him and press him there herself. “Yes—gods,please.”
His wings shivered open just enough to frame them in shadow, and his claws dug into the pillows on either side of her hips as he anchored himself. The heat of his breath ghosted over her slick folds, and she whimpered.
His tongue pressed, slowly and deliberately, to the inside of her thigh and dragged upward. Every one of her nerves sparked and flared. Sig’s proboscis followed, flexing in the air like it could taste her arousal before it ever made contact. And then—lightly, so lightly—it touched her.
A jolt lit up her body, violent and exquisite, stealing her breath in a ragged sob. Her vision went white at the edges. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, gripping at pillows, at nothing, athim.
The proboscis moved again. A slow, sensuous stroke, spiraling around her clit in maddening, delicate ribbons, tightening just enough tofeel,loosening just enough to tease. The tip flexed, brushed the bundle of nerves in time with her pulse.
His tongue moved, laving her sex with an aching slowness that bordered on cruel. One long stroke, from dripping entrance to trembling clit, and her back arched off the pillows like her body couldn’t decide whether to flee or beg for more.
She moaned low in her throat. “Oh—fuck—Sig—”
Another lick, slower and firmer, as the proboscis joined his movements. It flicked, teasing, its movements delicate anddeep.
She sobbed his name, her thighs trying to close against the intensity, but his claws held her open, steady, until she was keening beneath him, no thought left in her body butyes, yes, more.
He pulled back, barely, and lifted his head. “I was shaped to serve this one purpose.” he intoned. “I would unmake myself for one more cry from your lips. I would burn my wings if it meant you kept moaning my name.”
His voice alone was almost enough to drag her to climax.
“Andyou,”he growled, a sound of possession as his eyes burned hotter. “You were made for this—forme.To be worshiped and to worship in return. You will break beneath me, beloved, and you will thank me for every moment of it.”
His mouth sealed to her again, his tongue flattening in a long, reverent sweep as the proboscis slid between her folds, curling into her in slow, widening strokes. It pressed gently against every trembling threshold inside her, stroking her inner walls like it was tracing the shape of her soul. He held her steady as her body tried to climb toward the brink, only to be pulled back again, just shy of release.
“Oh fuck, oh gods, Sig—yes, there, right—fuck, please—”
