Page 92 of Rok's Captive
The fabric is tented obscenely, the outline of mycockclearly visible. Cock. A much better word than stem. I like it. I shall call it my cock from now on and teach my brothers, too.
My gaze shifts to hers when I get an image that almost brings me to the ground. An image of Jus-teen on her knees beneath me. Her mouth over the new bulbous head of my cock.
It is enough to make my claws dig into my palms.
But these aren’t my thoughts in the mindspace. They’rehers.
“Yeah, that’s…not really helping,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face.
I chuckle again, the sound low and rumbling, and she glares at me.
“Don’t laugh,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “This is your fault.”
Her words are sharp, but there’s no real anger in them. If anything, there’s a flicker of amusement in her tone, and for a moment, the tension between us eases.
Then she sighs, gesturing toward the floor. “Do you need to…rest or something? Recover?”
I get images of my own form resting on the stone. Of her resting beside me.
Jus-teen blinks at me before she mimes lying down, her movements exaggerated, and I realize she still doesn’t know I am getting imprints of her thoughts. She is not doing it on purpose then.
And I…do not want to tell her. Not yet.
Something tells me that if I do, all these delicious images she’s sending my way will stop.
So, instead, I lower my head and press my forehead to hers, letting the soft, trembling warmth of her skin connect with mine.
The moment our foreheads touch, it’s as if the ground beneath me shifts.
A jolt of energy surges through me and I hear her gasp, feel the slight tremor in her body as it passes through her, too.
Her hands fly to my arms, clutching at me for balance as her knees buckle slightly. A soft, breathless moan escapes her lips, and the sound strikes me like lightning, sinking deep into my chest.
“No rest,” I project, my thoughts flowing into hers like dust melding with dust. My voice in her mind is steady, but the words carry the weight of my urgency, the fire that still burns within me. “No time.We have already delayed too long.”
Her breath hitches again, her trembling growing more pronounced as my thoughts wrap around hers. I can feel the heat of her emotions—confusion, fear, curiosity—all interwoven with something else. Something warmer.
“Rok…” she whispers, the sound of my name soft but filled with trust.
My name in her mouth does things to me. Makes my claws curl. Makes my cock twitch and throb. And the thoughts bleeding from her mind—dust.
She sees me all wrong.
I know what I am. Scar tissue and survival. Claws made for gutting prey, not…whatever soft things she imagines when I touch her. But her mind keeps throwing these broken reflections at me:
—My battle-worn handsgentleon her hips
—My fangs (which have ripped out throats) making her shiver when I bite
—Some golden-eyed being she’s built from dust and hope
Worst part? Iwantto be that for her.
The realization tastes like blood in my mouth. I’ve spent cycles proving I’m the sharpest blade in the clan, and now this soft-skinned female has me aching to sheathe myself in her fantasies.
Her breath hitches when I step closer. I cansmellher pulse jump—hear the wet catch in her throat. She thinks I don’t notice how her thighs press together when I loom over her. Like she’stryingto drown in my shadow.
And then, under all that, a burning need. A fire growing. A sensation that rises and culminates in a single spot between her thighs.
