Page 89 of Claimed By the Mothman
Sig’s wings gave a subtle twitch behind him. “You are thinking of something more tender. Something more human. A shared experience.”
Her mouth curved, helplessly fond. “A date, Sig. I meant a date.”
He tilted his head. His antennae flicked forward, attentive. “The day has a date. It is May the twenty-eighth.”
“No, not like on the calendar. A date is…” She floundered for a moment. “...it’s like a companionship ritual. You go somewhere. Talk. Eat. Sometimes there’s hand-holding. And maybe kissing.”
“Ah.” His expression shifted, pleased. “For reinforcing attachment.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
He nodded once. Certain. “Then we will do that.”
Her breath caught. “Yeah?”
“And when it is complete,” he added, his voice sliding into a register that made her skin prickle, “we will return here and make good on whatIwish to do today.”
Her thighs moistened instinctively at the words. “That sounds like a plan,” she said faintly.
“You are my beloved, Nell. So I will learn your ways. All of them. Even the ones that require shoes.”
Her heart stuttered. Her throat tightened. “You might not need shoes,” she whispered.
A smile curved his lipless mouth, strange and devastating. “That makes the ritual even better, then.”
—
The water was hot. Nell tipped her head back, letting the spray pound against her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Her body was still aching from being so thoroughly used. She glanced down and saw claw marks. Faint lines—slanted, curved slightly at the ends—left by hands that had gripped her hips while she came apart. A small, devastatingly erotic bruise brushed the top of her thigh.
Nell turned away from the spray and grabbed her shower poof, lathering it with automatic, trembling hands, trying not to think about the previous night, becauseoh no, girl, if you think about it we’re never going to get out of this apartment today.
She was working the soap down her arm when she heard a soft click. A cooler breath of air wafted in as Sig stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Quietly, he stepped closer and put one clawed hand to the shower door.
Nell pointed with a foam-covered finger. “Nope,” she said in a strangled voice. “Sig. Out.”
But her brain was screamingYES.Yesto the heat curling low in her belly.Yesto the feel of his eyes on her.Yesto being the center of his orbit, even naked, soapy, and vulnerable.
“I do not mean to intrude,” he said softly. “But you are unguarded. Luminous. You shine, and it undoes me.”
Even through the fogged door, she could feel his gaze sliding over her skin, as if every droplet of water on her body had become something worth cataloguing and remembering.
His ruby-red eyes began to glow. “You are radiant in water, Nell. And I am losing the strength to watch and not touch.”
Her pulse thundered. The mark between her thighs thrummed.
“I am coming in, unless you tell me not to. Right now.”
The silence draped around them like the steam curling through the room. Nell realized he was standing there because she was naked and wet and glowing, and he was trying—trying—to be good.
And she… didn’t want him to be good.
“Sig,” she said quietly. “If you’re going to get in here, you’d better do it, and you’d better be ready to do something about it.”
She watched, barely breathing as he stepped back, smoothly undid his waistband, and dropped his pants to the floor.
With a grace that did not belong to someone of his stature, he reached for the shower door and stepped inside.
The water cascaded over his chest, his shoulders, his stomach. His fuzz dampened instantly, darkening and curling at the edges. His antennae drooped under the weight of the water.
