Page 47 of The Tenth Muse

A Long Missed Mare

Fyrn

Her tail swishesand her back hoof stomps, but cradled as she is, Tana can’t sidle away. She won’t fall. She is exactly where I want her, exactly where I need her.

“Relax,” I whisper against her cheek, kissing my way down to her throat. “I have you. Just enjoy it.”

I can change my shape at will, and the pollen helps her relax. The sap that makes everything easier doesn’t flow quickly anymore—even for her—but it does flow.

And now, it mixes with her wetness, dripping down my arm as it works in and out of her.

My wooden flesh drinks it in like the sweetest dew and it makes me shiver. The leaf-like branches of my hair rustle together and I stretch a little further for her. My body is no longer anything like the creatures I so often mimic to make others feel comfortable.

She might tell me she’s not afraid of this form, but it is one that has made many an intruder run away screaming. She doesn’t need to see it. She only needs to come.

The soft panting and low moans are sweet and I savor them, letting them bless my ears the way the sight of her blesses my eyes, but I want more.

Ialwayswant more with her—moreforher.

Tana’s body trembles as she clenches down on my knot.

“Did you miss me the way I have missed you?” I ask her, as I ease myself back and marvel at the way her body tries to keep me.

Her reply is breathy as she shakes her head, mane fluttering. “I missed you more.”

“Impossible.” I push my fist deeper inside of her, filling her until there’s no space left, until her whimpers turn to whinnies and she begs me for more even as she squirms and tries to pull away.

Her body tries to pull me even deeper.

It has known me for decades.

I have witnessed her scars. I know the way it changed after she had her foal. I have loved it in every shape and size, because it’shers.

I collect pretty things, and she is the prettiest being I’ve ever encountered. But her beauty is fueled by her freedom. She is not a part of my collection. Tana has never been my possession. She is a gift, yes, but she comes back because she wants to.

I let her leave, because I love her too much to trap her here.

Her body squeezes tight on my hand and she jerks within my hold. Her skin flickers as she bears down even more.

“Come for me, love.” I tell her. “Let me soak you in.”

She whimpers, head turning, lips questing … I kiss her and her fingers wrap around the edges of my face, pulling me closer to her than I already am.

Another impossibility.

She kisses me like it’s her only hope for relief, and I want to give it to her.

When her whole body goes rigid, her pussy tries to crush my knotted fist, and it takes my breath away.

Her cries echo off my cheeks and birds and bees flee from their voyeuristic perches.

It is my favorite sound.

Watching her face shift through the stages of ecstasy, I start to ease my extra limbs back into myself.

I could watch her come until the world burns in the final days.

I would hold her as we both burn with it.

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