Page 90 of Claimed By the Mothman
This shower stall is not built for cryptid courtship,she thought nonsensically as he loomed above her.
Nell tilted her head back, and as she watched, she couldswearthe space expanded, like Greymarket Towers was watching, approving, and making room.
Sig looked down at her. “I dreamed of this,” he murmured. “Of you. Warm and glowing. Your scent on the steam. The way you would look at me, wet and wondering.”
Nell cleared her throat awkwardly. The water was running directly into her eyes. “Um—”
She was supposed to be the seductress now. But she was blinking through shampoo and trying not to pass out from arousal.Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
“You’re probably, uh…needing to be refreshed a bit,” she said, lifting her shower poof like it was an offering. “After, you know. Last night.”
She winced.Smooth.“Would you, um … mind if I—” She swallowed. “Cleaned you off?”
He clicked low in his throat. “As you wish,” he said, his voice all heat and promise. “But then it will bemyturn, beloved.”
Nell nodded, tossed her wet hair back from her face with shaky determination, and stepped in close, raising the poof and pressed it gently to the center of his chest. She moved slowly, deliberately, tracing the poof across the fuzz that covered his sternum, catching against the chitin where it met skin in subtle seams.
She worked her way lower. Down the center of his stomach. Circling his navel. Then drifting along the vee of his hips. As she passed it lightly over his lower abdomen, his claspers stirred. They extended just slightly, quivering and grasping at the air.
He gave a rumbling click that shivered through her bones. “That…” he said, breath catching, “...tickles.”
A thrill ran through her—hot, deep, and wicked. She grinned and dropped the poof.
“Then maybe,” she murmured, voice husky, “I should use something else.”
Slowly, she sank to her knees, letting the water plaster her hair to her shoulders in dripping strands. She reached up and let her fingertips trail lightly along the inside of his thighs. He parted his legs slightly to give her room, and a ripple of anticipation moved across his stomach.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured. A bead of water dripped from her nose.
Nell wiped it away with the back of her hand, made a face, and sighed. “Okay, look—shower sex is sexy in theory, but steam is basically plotting against me,” she muttered, blinking as more water ran directly into her eyes. “I’m over here trying to be seductive, but I’m getting ambushed by condensation.”
Sig tilted his head, antennae twitching. “Are you under siege?”
“No,” she said, and coughed as a bead of water trickled down her throat.. “Just—damp and flustered and really horny right now.”
He churred in understanding.
“And yet,” she added, her tone dropping to something low and charged, “If you’re not turned off by that, I still plan on getting exactly what I want.”
Her hands brushed along the subtle seam just below Sig’s pelvis. He made a low, startled sound.
She did it again, slower this time and then leaned in to press her lips against it, letting her breath whisper down the center of him. His claspers extended with a sudden, needy twitch, grasping reflexively for something to hold.
Beneath her mouth, his length began to emerge, dark, thick, and pulsing with heat. It slid free from the sheath in increments, longer, fuller, until it arched toward her with unmistakable intent.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. “Don’t move.”
The head of him was slick, flushed darker than the base, with a faint shimmer where the heat was most concentrated. She let her lips brush against it without taking him in. Just a kiss.
One clawed hand reached out, hovered beside her cheek, then pulled back as if afraid his touch would break her concentration.
Nell’s tongue flickered out and she licked the length of him, long and slow, from base to tip. Heshuddered, knees buckling slightly, his wings twitching where they curled tight against the stall.
“Gods,” he breathed, his voice glitching at the edges. “You are worshipping me.”
She smiled, dragged her tongue against his length in a long, slow, flick, and then opened her mouth and took the tip of him in. Then deeper. Inch by inch, until her lips met the ridge of his sheath and her hands gripped the backs of his thighs to steady herself.
Sig clicked low and sharp, tangling a hand in her hair. Nell hummed around him, tongue working slowly, purposefully. Every move of her tongue was devotion. Every press of her lips a vow. Her jaw ached and she didn’t care. The stretch, the taste, the weight of him in her mouth—it made her feel drunk with power, with reverence, withlove.
