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As Romulus reminded me, she is soft.
And so, so small.
The thought reminds me of the tight grip of her incredibly tight pussy.
And thinking about that makes my cock harden. It is hot in the castle, usually only bearable on the coldest of winter mornings.
But my consort has no fur, I consider, as my heavy footfalls land on the stairs while I make my way back to her. Is she comfortable here?
I cannot help but think of her as a prize granted by the heavens after my long toil of hardship. She is so satisfying.
The thought has my member hardening fully as I climb the stairs back to her room.
But when I push the door open, I find her not stretched out on the bed waiting for me in an alluring pose.
No.
She is… scrubbing the walls?
“What are you doing?” I bark, slamming the door shut behind me.
She jumps, obviously surprised by my appearance.
And then her eyes widen even further. “You’re covered in blood.” Her face goes white, and she takes a step back from me.
“Answer me,” I snarl. “No consort of mine will be a washerwoman.”
Her gaze moves away from my chest to my eyes, then her eyes harden with anger. A familiar emotion from her that puts me on more even footing.
“This castle is filthy. If you don’t want me to be a,” she makes the rolling-eye motion, “washerwoman, then somebody needs to be. I’m not going to live like an animal.”
Her choice of words makes my lion’s ears flick in annoyance. I charge several steps forward. “An animal like me?”
She does not scurry away, though her gaze does return to my chest. I look down to see the blood she mentioned.
I suppose things were a little… more energetic in the dungeon tonight than usual. The parasite was… rowdy before he slept.
This unexpected confrontation has deflated my cock, so I decide to try Romulus’s suggestion.
“Talk,” I bark.
My consort’s eyes go wide again. “Talk?” She laughs then she blinks, her impossibly thin eyelids fluttering as fast as a bird’s wings.
“Fine.” She drops a dirty rag in a bucket I’m not sure where she found. Then she brings her hands to her hips. My fur stiffens. I do not know much of her, but I recognize that when she does that, it is rarely good for me.
“What’s downstairs?” she asks. “In the basement.”
“Talk of something else,” I growl.
She lets out a huff. “Okaaaaay. I’m hungry. Not just for meat.”
I slam my hand on the door behind me. “Consorts should be grateful for what I provide!”
She takes a step back, and then her cheeks get red, right on the top, two little rosy spots. “Obviously, you don’t want to talk if you can’t stand anything I say!”
“Say better things,” I demand.
When she remains pointedly silent, moving her hands from her hips to cross her arms stubbornly over her chest. This hides her teats from me, and those two points of color are still high on her cheeks. My cock refills and comes back to life.
“Fine,” I growl. “We will not talk.”
I stride toward her. “I will make every part of your body hungry for my every twitch until you obey me.”
“How can you be so full of yourself?” She throws her hands in the air even as she backs warily away from me.
I grin. I like this dance. “Soon you will be full of me. So you can tell me what it feels like.”
Chapter Eighteen
HANNAH
My mouth drops open at his audacity. “Did you really just say that to me?”
I want to slap him for his insolence. So, it is inconvenient that I feel tingles between my legs, and my stomach swoops in that way that is becoming familiar whenever he gets that lusty glint in his lion’s eye.
I put up a hand to stop him. “Are you doing that to me?” Enough. I have to know if he’s… magically manipulating my body to respond to him like this.
He stops, bushy eyebrows dropping. “Doing what?”
I get frustrated. “You know what.” But he doesn’t give anything away... Either that, or his confusion is genuine.
I stomp my foot. “This!” I gesture down at myself. “When you healed me, did you—” I am so frustrated, I feel tears gathering. “Did you do something to make me—” My face heats like a boiling kettle.
“Did you do something to make me get turned on for you?” I finally blurt. “Like magically?”
His eyes widen with surprise.
And then his nostrils flare.
And then he gets that damnable grin on his face again.
“You think I magically make you gush for me?” He steps forward, but again I hold up a hand.
“Do you?” I demand.
He takes another step forward. “Because you cannot imagine gushing all on your own for a monster like me?” This question has a dangerous edge.
“I— I—” My voice, and my body, tremble.
