Page 22 of Lessons with the Mothman

Victoria hummed as Atlas started to gently thrust, Cyril's sleepy, sated gaze growing clearer, his hands squeezing at the white globes of Atlas's ass, receiving a swat from the minotaur's tail in answer.

"Suck harder, my love, or you'll never see me satisfied," Atlas warned in a growl.

"It will take several orgasms before Cyril really drains him," I said.

Victoria's eyebrows rose, but she nodded, glancing between Atlas's spread legs. "I can imagine."

There was a pause of quiet, and then we both snorted. Victoria's hands lifted, scrubbing over her face, as if she was trying to distract herself from her interest. But her legs squeezed together, the hem of her shorts outlining the soft flesh of her thighs.

"Is this difficult for you?" I whispered.

Her hands lowered to her lap, and for the first time in over an hour, her eyes found mine. They were a little wild, pupils dilated, and her cheeks were flushed, a giddy kind of excitement brightening her expression.

"No…and yes," she answered, turning back as Atlas's grunts and moans grew more urgent.

I ignored the minotaur, leaning closer. "Tell me."

Her lips parted, lashes fluttering shut briefly as my breath teased a curl below her ear. "It's nice to feel aroused. That got difficult at one point. It's difficult not to have an outlet for it though."

Atlas's body bowed backwards, and he howled, covering the sound of my question. "Do you miss fucking?"

Victoria was quiet, almost as if she hadn't heard me, and Atlas wrestled Cyril down into the bed, straddling the naga in a kneeling position, lifting scaled hips up to his still erect cock. I relented, edging away, watching the pair. Cyril whimpered as Atlas's thumbs stretched open the swollen lips of his sheath, where his cock had retreated after finishing in Atlas's ass. Nagas were very versatile lovers, a fact which Cyril had bragged to Victoria and she now witnessed with stunned fascination. Atlas shuddered as the fat head of his cock squeezed into the tight sleeve.

"I can—" Atlas grunted and shook himself. "I can feel his little cock nudging against mine. We barely fit."

Cyril moaned, thrashing against the sheets, hands scrabbling for purchase as he rolled up as if to tuck Atlas deeper. "We always manage, darling." His tail whipped up, strangling around Atlas's throat, the minotaur bucking deeper with a shout.

Victoria's breath breezed into the furred collar around my neck, tickling at me, the air catching in my lungs.

"Yes. I miss it."

I scowledat the empty room, searching it once more, as if I might find Victoria hiding in plain sight. There were still wisps of her scent, but they were thin and faint compared to the overwhelming perfume of Cyril and Atlas.

I'd walked the couple out after they'd made their goodbyes to a seemingly calm Victoria. She'd even managed not to blush as the naga flicked his tongue over her wrist during a gallant kiss onthe hand. I'd left her here, in this room, with the soiled bed and her notes, and now it was all abandoned…

She'd run from me, from the charged moment. I planted my hands on my hips, wings flexing and chest puffing out, wondering if I was more irritated with myself for pushing her too far, or with her for skittering away.

Except her notes were here, her bag, her recorder.

So she was just…hiding somewhere. Perhaps even waiting for me to find her?

I turned on my heel, hands sliding down into my pockets. Perhaps she'd forgotten that most monsters were even more natural predators than humans. My race of fae might not have the scenting skills of a werewolf, but we had excellent hearing, and my antenna caught certain natural pheromones in the air, especially the ones Victoria would've been exuding.

I was halfway down the hall, tingling in anticipation of finding her, cornering her, catching those wild eyes with mine once more, when I heard the sound of water running and the squeak of a handle, the sound shutting off.

I leaned back against the wall across from the lavatory and waited. She didn't look surprised to see me as she stepped out, with little droplets clinging around her hairline. She'd splashed herself with cool water?

"We should talk," she murmured.

Two steps forward, now how many back? Since when had I ever been so impatient with a potential lover?

"Follow me," I offered, and I reached out my hand just to see if she would take it.

Her hand was cool and a little damp against mine, eyes sliding down to the floor, but her body remained close as I led her down the hall. I was tempted to take her back to the room we'd just been in—remind her of her arousal, of our bodies too close to one another on the bench—but instead, I chose a sunnyroom full of comfortable, casual furniture, a few books resting out on a table, the walls covered with old naturalist prints and pinned specimens. She slid away from me, my fingers loose around hers, expecting her retreat. She did so slowly and after a long pause.

"You regret accepting my offer earlier," I said.

She turned to face me, and I wanted to fist my hands at the return of her implacable calm, the unreadable woman back in place. She helped herself to a seat, curling her legs under her on a blue cushion that matched the color of the veins on her legs I'd been lusting after earlier.

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