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"Okay. You've made your point," she grumbled, turning away from me.
"What point is that, babe? That you can't stop fantasizing about my fingers, and tongue, and cock?"
"Please stop," she whimpered with her back to me. "We can't. Don't tease," she added.
"Not teasing," I told her after slipping on my fresh pants, grabbing my tee, and moving behind her, letting my lips nearly brush her ear when I spoke again. "It's a promise."
"What is?"
"That you'll have my fingers and my tongue again. Then, when you've had your fill of those, you can beg me for my cock," I told her, pressing my hips forward so my hard cock pressed into her ass cheek. "And you will beg, Nova," I warned her. On a low whimper, she leaned back into me, her head resting in the crook of my neck.
There was a strange feeling in my gut right then, something new. And nothing was fucking new after so many years being on this human plane. And yet, there was no denying it was there. Or that I couldn't recognize it.
It was strong, whatever it was.
And I had this overwhelming realization that it wasn't going anywhere. That, if anything, it was only going to grow.
What the fuck was that about?
Chapter Nine
Nova
I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
I knew we must have been getting a good amount of distance between my master and us, because my meds had clearly worn out, but the pain didn't have me in a ball screaming. Yet.
But the pain on my butt and thighs? Oh, that was a whole different story.
I felt like someone had taken a bat to the muscles up and down them. I guess the heavy dose of drugs on the first leg of the trip had truly numbed the misery that was straddling a bike—and a man—for hours and hours and hours.
But I had no right to complain.
This man was risking everything for me.
I could handle some sore legs. And an ass that felt like I'd ridden a marathon on a seat built of nails.
"Are you crying?" Drex asked, tone horrified at the prospect when he'd finally pulled up to a hotel as the sun was starting to go down.
How long was that on the bike?
Ten hours?
Eleven?
I had no idea.
But my body was all-too-aware of the passing of the time and miles.
I hadn't even realized I'd been crying until he pointed it out. But as soon as he did, I could hear the awful sniffling sound I made as he pulled forward away from me, putting down the kickstand, and climbing off to look at me.
"The enthrallment?" he asked, reaching for the backpack.
"No," I sniffled, reaching up to wipe my wet cheeks.
"What then?" he asked, completely immobilized, it seemed, by feminine tears.
"It hurts," I whimpered pathetically, hating myself for it.
"You just said—"
"Not that. Well, a little that," I admitted. "It's my thighs. And butt. And now my lower back a little," I admitted, the idea of moving filling me with dread.
"Fuck," Drex said, snorting. "I thought it was serious."
"It is," I insisted. "I feel like I'm bruised to the bone."
"It was a rough ride," Drex agreed, finding a little bit of a heart. "And you don't have much between your bones and skin yet," he added, reaching for me, putting his hands under my underarms, lifting me up off the bike, then letting me mostly dangle with just my tiptoes touching the ground, letting the pins and needles overtake me. "It'll pass," he assured me as I leaned forward, pressing my face into his neck, smelling the overly man-smelling body wash from the club still clinging to his skin.
"How come your butt doesn't hurt?" I grumbled.
"Muscles," he suggested. "You know, the ones you were eye-fucking earlier," he added, trying to lighten me up.
But I wanted to wallow.
"More like a lifetime of riding that stupid thing," I grumbled.
"Sure that helped," he agreed, putting more of my weight down on my feet, making more pins and needles assault me. "I just gotta get us a room," he said, tone apologetic. "Then we can get you off your feet. I can rub your ass if you want," he added. I was pretty sure he was only partially joking. And I wasn't sure I would turn down a butt rub if he was offering it.
"Okay. I can walk," I assured him. "I might look like a baby deer doing it, but I can walk," I told him.
"We'll toughen you up," he assured me, dropping an arm across my shoulders, pulling me into his side as he walked us down the lot toward the front doors of the hotel.
"Well, I've stayed in worse," he admitted a few minutes later after we'd made our way to our room. One with a breathtaking view of the dumpsters. But we had no reservations. And, apparently—irony of all ironies—there was a sci-fi and fantasy convention in town. We had to take what we could get.
