Page 92 of Claimed By the Mothman
“You are everything. My ruin. My reason. My beloved—mine.” He kissed her throat and drove into her harder, fuller, further, until shesplintered.
“Sig—” Her body locked down around him like a vice.
His hips rolled as he broke into clicks and Harbinger-tongue. “Yes,” he groaned, voice fraying. “Shine for me. Shake. Give me all of you—”
Nell’s second orgasm hit like a thunderclap—blistering, brutal,instant.Her entire body seized, limbs locking, spine arching, mouth falling open as she wailed.
His wings flaring wide, Sig drove into her one last time, a keening trill breaking from his throat. His cock pulsed deep within her and Nell felt his release flooding through her, filling. His claspers locked tight, arms crushing her to him, every muscle drawn taut as he trembled through it. He knotted and she came undone again, one last wrenching climax that cracked her open like a fault line. Her head fell back. Her breath stuttered out in a single, broken moan.
It was divine. It was devastating. It was—
“Ow,” she croaked.
Sig stilled. “Was that good pain or wrong pain?” he asked, instantly grave. The concern in his voice was hilariousand holy all at once.
“Bit of both,” Nell wheezed.
Sig made a horrified clicking sound. “I deeply regret the shower dial incident. I have failed you. May the gods smite me where I stand.”
“You’re still inside me. Please don’t get smote.”
“…Fair,” he muttered. “Permission to reposition?”
“Granted.”
He peeled them away from the wall carefully. Still very, very knotted.
And she giggled—actually giggled—as he twisted and sat on the shower bench with over-serious precision.
“My back’s gonna file a formal complaint.” She drew a deep breath, which turned into a gasp, and then a hiss of pain. “At least the multiple orgasms softened the blow.”
“I am relieved.” A pause. Then, with a churr of promise: “But next time, we use the bed.”
Her head thunked gently against his shoulder. “Excellent idea.”
They stayed like that. Trembling. Locked. Wrapped in steam and aftershock. The water beat down around them, but his wings arched out in a loose canopy, shielding them and giving her space to breathe even as the heat pressed in.
He grunted with effort and made a small flex. The claspers at her hips reluctantly, but gently, unhooked.
Her eyes flew up to his. “You were able to control it this time?”
He drew a deep breath and lifted one hand to brush a soaked strand of hair from her face. “Barely,” he admitted. “It took focus, but I knew we had plans.”
“So considerate of you. Detaching your weird bug dick so we can go on a date. How modern.”
He chittered affectionately and kissed her, slow and deep and melting. “Let us get you clean now. Before I forget myself again.”
She smiled, utterly undone. “Deal.”
—
Nell pulled on a simple sundress and slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable sandals. She was finishing drying her hair when Sig emerged from the other room, dressed in a black button-up shirt and slacks. The shirt gleamed faintly like polished obsidian and was sinfullytailored. It should have looked absurd over the monstrous architecture of his wings, but instead, it looked regal. Like it had been designed by a cult of high-fashion Harbinger worshipers.
“Wait,” she said, eyes narrowing as she quickly finger-combed her hair and twisted it back with a clip. “How does that even work? With the wings?”
He turned obligingly, presenting his back, The shirt was bisected cleanly down the spine and secured at the shoulders and lower back with neat, nearly invisible hooks. Between them, his wings flared outward like draped fabric.
Intrigued, Nell stepped forward and raised her fingers to brush the lower clasp, where fabric met skin. She lightly traced the base of his wing, and Sig shivered.
