Page 62 of Held

“You just want to fuck me deeper,” she said breathily. “The more you stretch me, the more ridges you can fit inside.”

Wick made a noise against her belly. He would not take her shirt off—she hadn’t throughout the last few days, except to take a freezing snow bath—but he did push up the fabric, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“That is part of it,” he admitted. “But mostly I just missed how you taste.”

With that, he moved down and pushed her legs apart. He rubbed her skin, something he had started doing when he noticed her shivering on the second day. His hands were some of the least burned parts of his body, but she could feel the puckered edge of a burn on a few fingers.

If it pained him, he showed no sign of it. He nuzzled her thigh and pressed his tongue to the sweat gathering there.

“I missed how you squeeze around my tongue,” he continued. “There is nothing like it. I do not often hunger for food, but I hunger for this.”

Briar wanted to make a joke about how she shouldn’t have hunted for so many rabbits over the past few days. But then Wick’s tongue ran over her folds, and the words trailed off into a moan.

After, Wick bundled her in that fur robe and held her close.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, as he often did.

Briar propped her chin on his chest and smiled. “Only the good kind, big boy.”

He frowned. “I still do not understand what you mean.”

Briar rubbed her eyes. It was hard to think after she’d just had her brains fucked out like she’d been wanting for days. She liked riding Wick, but there was nothing quite like being held down and fucked.

And shedidlike the inevitable pain that came with fucking a Skullstalker—the impossible stretching, the pressure, fangs nicking her lip and claws pressing into her skin. But more than that, she liked that he wanted to make sure she liked it. Call her a soft touch, but she enjoyed it when men preferred not to hurt her, even if she wanted them to.

“Like when I bite your lip,” she explained. “It’s painful, but it’s nice. As long as it’s something you want, it’s good.”

Wick grunted. His tail wrapped around her leg distractedly. “You will tell me if it is too much?”

“I always do,” Briar soothed.

Wick nodded and shifted carefully onto his side, keeping her tucked against him. “Sleep well, my sweet thief.”

The nickname made something dangerously soft curl in her chest.

“Back at you, big boy,” she whispered.

She pulled the fur robe tighter around her, wishing she could feel Wick’s arms more. But he was cold, and they were on a mountain, which meant she was stuck tucking something warm between them while she slept.

Wick shifted and grunted in pain.

Briar was suddenly wide awake. “What is it? Let me see.”

“I am fine,” he insisted. “Sleep.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll sleep.”

Wick sighed, a sound she was sure he had picked up from her. “Itisnothing. I simply put pressure on my wings.”

Wing, Briar corrected silently, her stomach twisting into guilty knots.

She sat up. “Let me look at it. I should have stopped to steal more bandages when I was in that village. Void take them. They owe usmuchmore than bandages.”

“Briar,” Wick consoled.

Briar shushed him and crawled around the nest until she could see his back. It was mostly unscarred; his wings had protected him from most of the net.

The wing stub looked better than yesterday. Skin was already growing over the bone, shiny and pink. Whatever had hurt Wick, it wasn’t anything that Briar needed to check.

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