“Why?”
“Your wounds need tending. The suit is ruined. And I want to see what's mine.”
That last part makes me clench around nothing. I peel off what's left of the suit, letting it fall in strips. Standing naked before him while he remains clothed in his natural scales feels like power imbalance. Feels right.
He circles me slowly, not touching. Just observing. His golden eyes track every mark he's left. Every bruise. Every scratch from the stones.
“You're leaking,” he observes.
I am. Can feel it on my thighs. The wetness that never stops now, worse since yesterday's seven orgasms that satisfied nothing.
“You left me empty.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when I finally fill you, I want you to remember exactly how empty you were without me.”
He moves to the supplies, pulls out a jar of something that smells medicinal. Returns to stand behind me, close enough I feel his heat but still not touching.
“This will sting.”
The salve does sting. But his fingers on my skin burn worse. He tends each scrape with careful precision, and I have to lock my knees to keep from pressing back against him. He starts with my shoulders. Down my arms. My scraped palms that make me hiss when he applies the medicine.
“Sensitive?”
“Everything's sensitive.”
“Good.”
His hands move to my back. Lower. When he reaches my hips, I can't help the small sound that escapes.
“Already desperate? I've barely touched you.”
“You made me come seven times yesterday then left me with nothing inside me. My body hasn't stopped screaming since.”
“Tell me what it's screaming.”
“You know.”
His hand slides around to my stomach. Not going lower. Just resting there, possessive.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“My body wants you to fill me. Breed me. Claim me. Ruin me for anyone else.” The words pour out without thought. “It wantsyour cocks inside me until I can't remember what empty feels like.”
“Cocks. Plural. You remember.”
“Hard to forget when they're all I can think about.”
His hand moves lower. Still not where I need it. Just tracing the crease where thigh meets hip.
“You're dripping on my floor.”
I look down. He's right. There's actually a small puddle forming between my feet.
“That's your fault.”
