Page 34 of Moth to Her Flame

“I resent that.” Volt’s thunderous laugh belies his words. “My puns are electrifying.” He ruffles his feathers until they make electric crackling noises.

The easy banter, the way she fits so naturally into our weird dynamic—it’s everything I never dared hope for. Her initial fear has melted into genuine affection for these outcasts who’ve become her protectors. My wings stiffen slightly, unable to contain my joy.

Although it’s not safe for my thoughts to drift in the wrong direction, I can’t help but picture us together years from now, laughing and joking. I force that thought to the far recesses of my mind, where I stash it next to images of a little mothbaby that looks like a miniature Chelsea with beautiful wings.

My antennae perk with fresh energy as I catch her stealing glances at me between conversations. The way she watches my hands when I gesture, how her breath catches slightly when my probe emerges—these small tells make my wings ripple with energy.

Then I notice her fidgeting with something under the table. A folded piece of paper appears in her hand as she stands.

“Need to prep for tonight’s show.” Her cheeks flush slightly as she passes me the note. “I need some time to get ready.”

The ruff on the back of my neck stands on end as I nod, watching her retreat down the crystal-lit corridor. Every instinct screams to follow, but her request for space holds me back.

In my room, the note unfolds to reveal her hurried scrawl:

Dare I reveal a fantasy I’ve nursed since I began Nocturnal Transmissions in my isolated mountain cabin? During my show, someone slips inside my studio and eases up behind me. Strong arms wrap around me, but never where listeners might hear movement. Gentle kisses on my neck, fingers in my hair. Making it deliciously difficult to maintain my professional voice. Whispering sweet things between segments. Making me burn while I force myself to stay in control…

My wings unfurl, exploding with golden light, their glow reflecting off the crystal walls. Heat floods my system as I read the words again and again. My antennae quiver with anticipation… and arousal. No matter how many times I parse through the words, searching for the punchline of a joke, it’s clear this isn’t just serious; it’s an invitation.

My entire body thrums with need. The mere thought of touching her that way makes my nectar probe emerge unconsciously, seeking sweetness it can’t have. Yet. The waiting will be exquisite torture.

Hours pass like centuries before her show begins. Her voice drifts over speakers Dante installed through the mountain’s passages: “Good evening, truth seekers…”

After waiting another hour, I ease into her broadcasting room, silent as a shadow. She’s facing her equipment, red hair cascading down her back, beckoning. My wings curl forward, creating a private cocoon of soft golden light around us.

Her breath catches as I brush those glorious strands aside, exposing her neck. My lips find her pulse point, lingering there as she introduces a new topic. Her voice remains steady as her skin flushes and heats beneath my mouth.

“Line one, you’re live with Nocturna…”

While she handles the call, my fingers weave through her hair, massaging her scalp with feather-light touches. A slight shiver runs through her at my touch, though her voice remains perfectly steady. Professional to the core, my brilliant radio host.

During a commercial break, I keep her facing forward with gentle hands on her shoulders. “So smart,” I whisper against her ear, discovering that my breath ghosting across her skin causes her to quiver. “So brave. Taking on corporate giants, protecting truth-seekers.”

A small sound escapes her as I nip her earlobe. “Riven…”

“Shh.” My wings tighten around us. “Show’s about to resume. Wouldn’t want your listeners to know what’s happening here, in the dark…”

She begins her next segment perfectly composed, but I catch the slight breathiness in her voice as I trail kisses down her neck. Each subtle reaction is a victory, a gift, a promise.

Slowly, gently, I tug her t-shirt to expose more of her neck and shoulder. While her caller babbles on about contrails, I nip herskin, then lick, then nip again until she clicks off her mic and gasps.

“Mercy, Riven. I…”

“Apologies,” I say as I tuck her shirt back where it belongs. I’ll never tell her that, despite my apology, I feel no guilt at all.

Between callers, I murmur praise against her skin. “Beautiful. Incredible. I used to listen to you in the dark, imagining you, Chelsea. Picturing what you might look like. Imagine my surprise…” I turn her so my probe can brush against the seam of her lips, then finish my sentence, “when you turned out to be ten times more beautiful than anything my mind could conjure on its own.”

She can’t muffle her sigh as she reaches to unmute the mic. When I notice her voice becoming so breathy her callers might notice, I stop my kisses and slide my hands through her silken locks until she regains her steady breathing.

But I don’t give her too long to recover. Soon I’m at it again, my hands drifting to her shoulders, kneading gently. The small sounds she tries to suppress drive me wild as she uses the mute button on her mic more frequently.

After each respite, I attack her again with even more fervor. When my probe traces the shell of her ear, it draws a full-body shiver that she quickly masks as she takes the next incoming call.

“Such control,” I murmur against her neck, letting my breath tease her sensitive skin. “So composed while I get more turned on with every tick of the clock.”

I’m not a complete monster. I wait until she starts an ad for Sasquatch’s Trail Mix, “big enough to satisfy even the most legendary appetites,” before stepping close enough that my cock grazes her back. She hisses as her body arches. Does this mean she needs me to back off, or that she wants me closer?

Hours pass in this exquisite dance of professional control and intimate surrender. My wings never stop glowing, painting her skin with liquid gold as I worship her neck, her ears, the sensitive spot behind her jaw that makes her grip the soundboard tighter and tip her head to expose more skin for me to lave and love and tickle with my probe.

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