“Yeah, mostly.” He lets out a laugh, and I listen to him speak about our plans, about our future together. It all makes my heart so happy.
He said he loves me, and I said it back. A commitment, a promise to one another.
He is my VySytheh. I would like to mark him if he is ready for it.
If his body will accept it.
I think because he loves me, it may.
On the drive home, it is nearly impossible for me to keep my hands to myself. So I do not. I reach over and stroke Dante’s ears, his neck, his chest, over his cock, which is hard in his pants.
He groans and doesn’t stop me, but I do not allow myself to go too far while he is operating this dangerous machine. Even if the safety strap would assist in saving him. But I want him, and the moment we are in the parking lot of the apartment, I send those feelings to him through our bond. It is growing stronger with each moment I am with him.
It feels deeper now that we love each other.
Something has ignited within me, an ancient, primitive spark that I do not want to be extinguished.
So, I allow him to feel exactly how I want him. How I want to breed him, to take him. As soon as we step inside, he is shucking his clothes, revealing all of his soft, glorious skin. He is even more beautiful than the lake, than the colorful sunset in the earthen sky.
He peers back at me, and his eyes drop to my hand, which is twisting away the fabric lining my waist.
“Cielo,” he says, his voice begging, needy.
I follow him to the bedroom, watching as he picks something out of a small ceramic container and places it between his lips. He does it slowly, tempting, seductive. He knows what he is doing as he swallows it.
And I smell as he exhales. It lingers on his breath, a slow coiling of need making his body arch up toward me.
Oyen.
He wants me to breed him, to make him fat with an egg.
To make him mine.
He groans, his arms reaching out for me, his cock hard and swollen between his legs. I pull him into me, grinding against his body, my cock pushing out from its sheath, wet and dripping. He is begging now, my name on his lips, tears wetting his cheeks.
It is like a prayer to the ancient gods, making that small spark swell, bursting alight.
“Cielo.Cielo. Take me. Make me yours.”
He reaches out and pulls my mouth to his neck, my fangs skimming over his tender skin.
“Fuck me,” he moans. “Fuck me. I need it.”
I lift him into my arms, easily slotting my cock at his hole and pushing inside. My body rocks up into his, the squelch of my natural lubricant meeting his soft skin. I fit perfectly inside. It is the most wonderful feeling being sheathed by him, cradled, milked.
I thrust up into him, his small cock spurting cum as he releases between us. He cannot take the pleasure. I can feel it building inside of him. The oyen is making him greedy, ravenous. And it is not over. There is more. I want more.
I want all of him.
“Take me. Fuck, Cielo,” he moans, arching his neck toward me, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. “Harder. Harder!”
It is tempting to rut into him as I mark him. We have spoken of this, and we both want it. But still I resist.
Do I do this? My body says yes, but still I worry.
Am I enough? Will he want me forever?
“Do it. Mark me,”he sends through our connection. And then comes the feeling of assuredness, of complete surrender. It makes my ears flutter and my tail whip around him, holding him tightly.
