Page 9 of Pleasured By the Panther
“Yes. This way.”
He guided her into a chamber that, astonishingly, looked like a café. Round tables and chairs were scattered across the mossy floor, and place settings gleamed on each one—plates and cutlery and delicate glasses waiting to be filled. It all looked so quaint—so classic. For a moment, Miranda felt almost normal, like she’d stumbled into a hidden bistro in Paris instead of a living alien ship orbiting Mars.
A Monstrum waiter approached them—a Lionus, with a tawny mane and polite golden eyes. Korrath spoke briefly in a low growl that Miranda didn’t understand. When the waiter departed, she leaned closer.
“What about the food?”
Korrath’s lips curved faintly.
“It surrounds you.”
She blinked.
“Excuse me?”
He gestured around the chamber. Only now did Miranda notice that the walls weren’t walls at all—they were trees, vines, shrubs, all woven seamlessly together, heavy with fruit and blossoms. How had she missed that before? Maybe because it was dim in here, with just the glowing blossoms for light. The ambiance was like a café at night.
“You mean… we just pick it? Pick what we want?” she asked.
“Of course.” The big Panther’s voice was warm and indulgent. “Come—I will show you which fruits are ripe.”
He led her to a nearby vine, where bulbous fruit swelled in clusters. He pressed a large, clawed thumb into one, and the skin gave with a soft hiss.
“This one is ready. It will be sweet.”
They gathered several, moving from vine to vine, and Miranda marveled at each new discovery. One fruit was the size of a grapefruit, its skin striped pink and gold, releasing a perfume like peaches and honey. Another hung in clusters like oversized blackberries, the berries glowing faintly as though lit from within. A third alien fruit resembled a pale blue pear, its skin dusted with silver, smelling faintly of vanilla and sea salt.
The last was perhaps the strangest—a thick, star-shaped blossom that exuded a sugary nectar when touched. Its petals were curling open to reveal glistening flesh the color of rubies.
Her hands were sticky with sap and juice by the time they returned to their table—arms full of strange, luscious treasures. Korrath retrieved a blade from his place setting and began slicing deftly, his claws flashing as he cut the fruits into neat wedges.
“Here.” He speared a piece of the striped fruit and held it out to her. “Taste.”
Miranda hesitated, then leaned forward and let him slip it between her lips. Her eyes widened. It was like mango and cream, melting instantly on her tongue. It left behind a tingling sweetness that made her want more immediately.
“Good?” His eyes gleamed as he watched her chew.
“Very,” she admitted, a little breathless. “That’s one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth!”
“I’m so glad you approve.” His deep voice was a velvety purr. “Here—try another.” He fed her again, this time one of the glowing blackberries. Its juice burst, tart and sharp—a rush of flavor that made her gasp. She licked a stray drop from her lip, and Korrath’s emerald gaze followed the movement, unblinking.
He kept feeding her, piece by piece, until she felt full and a little giddy from all the flavors.
“Please—no more,” she said at last. “These fruits are so sweet, I’m sure I’m eating way too much sugar.”
“But you must be kept fed,” he murmured, “so you will not lose your luscious curves.”
Miranda rolled her eyes, though heat crept up her neck.
“I don’t think I’m in any danger of getting less curvy anytime soon,” she said dryly.
“Good.” His voice deepened to a rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “I would not wish it. I love that you are an Elite.”
Her throat went tight. Did he really mean that?
Martin had complained endlessly about her weight—about how menopause made her “soft,” and how she wasn’t the woman he’d married. His words had dug into her cruelly, chipping away at her self-esteem until she’d half believed them. And here sat a huge, muscular Monstrum warrior, telling her he loved her curves as though they were a blessing.
Well, if he truly believed that curvy women—or “Elites” as the Kindred called them—were from the Goddess, then maybe he did think that, she speculated.
