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I squeeze my legs tightly together, my pulse pounding as if it's focused right behind my clit.
Mhal releases my fingers and licks my palm, his gaze locking onto me again. I whimper, because his eyes are completely golden and the look he's giving me is making me think he wants to devour more than just my fingers. His lips slide over my hand and down to my wrist, and he continues to watch me even as he brushes his mouth over the inside of my arm. He tugs me forward, until I'm forced to move closer to him. I crawl forward on my knees, and my thigh brushes against his.
Because I'm becoming a shameless, fascinated hussy from some finger-licking, I look down, studying his body. He's big. Really big. Granted, I'm a virgin, so I don't know what size is appropriate and what is too much, but Mhal looks like he leans toward “too much.” His cock is thick and long, and the head seems very prominent, his scales densely packed together along the shaft.
And he's very, very erect. The tip is wet, too, which is surprising to me. I've seen lots of dicks in books and guys showing me theirs to be funny (I swear the After is sometimes like a big frat party) but I've never seen one with a wet tip.
I…kind of want to touch it. Is he wet because he's aroused, like I am?
His cock twitches, and as I watch, another droplet appears on the tip and slides down the side of the head. I look up at Mhal, surprised, and he's watching me with that heated look in his eyes. He leans in again and his mouth, hot and wet, licks at the inside of my elbow.
I whimper, shocked. I never thought the inside of my elbow could be erotic, but when he puts his mouth there, it makes heat pulse between my thighs.
Mhal makes a sound, almost like a purring. He lets go of my arm and reaches—slowly—for my cheek. His gaze is locked on mine, and it feels like a test. Is he trying to see how I'll react to his touch?
Remaining still, I barely breathe as he very carefully settles his palm against my cheek.
It feels like it did in the dream. I know him, even if he doesn't know me, and the realization makes tears prick at my eyes. "Mhal," I whisper, and turn slightly to kiss the inside of his palm. He keeps watching me, waiting, and it occurs to me that maybe he doesn't know what a kiss is. I dart my tongue out, licking his skin.
He lets out a deep, aching groan.
"Mhal," I say again as he lifts his hand from my cheek. "Mhal, it's me. Jenny. You know me now, don't you?"
If he does, it's not a high priority for him to talk about it. Right now he seems focused on other things. He presses the back of my hand to the blankets, and then puts his hand on my shoulder, indicating I should lie back. I do, and immediately he puts his hands on my legs, bending them again, until I'm in the exact same position I was before when I was touching myself—on my back with my knees bent.
And he looks down at me, waiting and expectant.
A hot flush covers my face. He wants to watch me touch myself? I now have a very attentive audience, and I can't pretend I'm alone. That changes everything.
I bite my lip, tentatively sliding my hand between my thighs again and watching his face, just in case I've misinterpreted. Mhal pushes my knees apart, leaning in as if to watch. Oh god. I don't think my private parts have ever been so scrutinized. My breathing has quickened, and I feel insanely tense as I cup my pussy and gather the courage to touch myself again.
My fingers skim lightly over my clit—
Mhal bats my hand aside, pushing my thighs farther apart.
"Um, what—"
His big hand covers my mound, his skin almost abrasively hot. I gasp in surprise, squirming. I wasn't expecting that. I thought he was just going to watch.
Mhal looks up at me, his clawed fingers resting over my pussy. He pushes my folds apart, then lifts his hand, staring at his claws thoughtfully. They look utterly dangerous, but for some reason, I'm not afraid of them. He'll be careful. He's always careful in my dreams.
As I watch, he lifts his claws to his lips and bites them down to the quick.
"Or, okay, you'll do that," I murmur, distracted as he snaps each one off until they're harmless. He puts his hand on my skin again, and this time, when his thumb strokes over the seam of my pussy, he looks pleased.
I moan, squirming under his grasp. His touch feels good, his skin incredibly warm against mine—but it's not enough.
