I wade deeper, and the water is the perfect temperature. Not cold enough to shock, not warm enough to be unpleasant. Just cool enough to soothe sun-scorched skin. The bottom slopes gradually—no sharp edges, no hidden drops. Designed for safety. Designed to lure someone exactly like me.
When the water reaches my thighs, I have to stop. The mineral content makes it tingle against my skin, and where I'm oversensitive, it's almost too much. But I force myself deeper, gasping as the coolness reaches my core. The relief makes me clench involuntarily.
I duck under completely, letting it wash the accumulated filth from my hair, behind my ears, between my breasts. My hands run over my body underwater, cataloguing damage. Scraped knees from falling. Bruised ribs from scrambling through rocks. Thorn scratches across my back. And between my legs, tissue swollen and sensitive from constant need.
Under the water, I spread my legs slightly, letting the coolness soothe that relentless ache. Just that small relief makes me sigh with something approaching contentment.
“Enjoying yourself, little female?”
I don't startle. Some part of me knew he was here. Has been waiting for this.
He stands at the pool's edge like he materialized from the stone itself. Probably did—those crimson scales would blend perfectly with the volcanic rock when he's still. He's not trying to hide his body's response to my presence. The obvious signs of arousal create suggestions beneath those leather wrappings.
“It's adequate.”
“Adequate.” He tilts his head at that impossible angle. “Your scent suggests you find it more than adequate. You've been soaking in my pheromones for several minutes now.”
“Your—” I look at the water with new understanding. “The entire pool?”
“I've been marking this territory for years. Every surface you've touched, every breath you've taken since entering this oasis, is saturated with my scent markers. The water especially.”
The implication makes my stomach flip. I'm bathing in water he's claimed. Marked. My skin has been absorbing his pheromones through every pore.
Should disgust me. Instead, my core clenches hard enough to hurt, my body responding despite my mind's protests. His nostrils flare immediately, those yellow-orange eyes darkening.
“The tonic has made you wonderfully receptive. You're responding even faster than anticipated.”
“Go to hell.”
“I'd rather educate you. Eventually. But first, you need to understand what your body is telling you.”
He wades into the pool still dressed. The leather darkens immediately, clinging to muscles that shouldn't exist on any humanoid frame. Each movement shows different muscle groups flexing. His abdomen is segmented with scales that move independently, creating a hypnotic ripple effect.
He stops just out of reach, but his body heat radiates through the water. Alien metabolism burning hotter than human, turning him into a furnace. The water between us actually warms from his presence.
“Three days you've been running.” He circles me slowly, predator sizing up prey. “Three nights you've been trying to find relief that won't come.”
Heat floods my face because he's right. Every night, desperate attempts that bring me close but never over the edge. My body refuses to respond fully to anything but the specific stimulation it's been programmed to crave.
“Your body knows what it needs. Only I can provide it.”
His hand shoots out faster than thought, grips my throat. Not choking, just possessing. His palm covers my entire throat, fingers wrapping around to the back of my neck. His thumb finds my pulse—no, pulses. Pressing against rhythms that shouldn't exist.
“Two hearts already. Nearly three. Your body is changing to survive here. To accept what I'm going to give you.”
His other hand moves under the water. I think he's going to touch me where I need it most. But his hand hovers inches from my core, close enough to feel the heat but not making contact. The water current from his hand's movement creates the ghost of a touch that makes me whimper.
“Ask me.”
“No.”
“Ask me to touch you. Your body is screaming for it.”
He's right. My hips are trying to move forward without my permission, seeking contact. My muscles clench repeatedly, trying to grasp something that isn't there. But I won't beg. Not yet.
“Then I'll make you ask.”
MARA
