Page 68 of Tharn's Hunt
His touch trails down my jaw, down the sensitive column of my neck, to the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammers. Everywhere he touches, my body comes alive, hypersensitive and trembling. I should be afraid. His claws are sharp, dangerous, but his touch is impossibly gentle, reverent even.
"Tharn," I whisper, his name catching in my throat as his hand slides around my waist, pulling me closer.
"You are mine," he says, his voice rougher now, filled with a hunger that sends a jolt of heat straight to my core. "And I am yours."
My breath catches as his body presses against mine, solid and impossibly warm. My heart pounds, a frantic rhythm that echoes in my ears, and I suddenly notice the glow at his waist.
Oh.
I can’t look away.
The light beneath his skin is blindingly bright there, obscuring the details of what I see, but even through the glow, I can make out...enough.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. My blood roars in my ears, and a desperate part of me wants to see more, to know exactly what I’m dealing with.
But then he steps closer, and the glow intensifies, and when he presses against me, I forget how to think at all.
His claws skim over my thighs, light as a whisper, and I gasp, my body arching instinctively toward him. His touch leaves trails of fire in its wake, and I’m burning now, consumed by a need I don’t even know how to describe.
"You are mine," he growls, his voice vibrating through me as his hand slides higher, impossibly gentle yet so commanding it makes my knees weak.
"Say it," he urges, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Say you are mine."
"I’m yours," I gasp as his fingers find the most sensitive part of me, teasing with a touch so light it almost drives me mad. "I’m yours, Tharn."
The sound he makes is a raw, satisfied snarl. His hands are on my hips, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. He hikes my legs, wrapping them around his waist, and my world tilts. I am open to him, vulnerable, my core aching and needy.
I feel the blunt, hot pressure of his tip against me, just before he thrusts forward, filling me in one powerful motion.
I cry out, clinging to him as pleasure and pain mix in a way that’s almost unbearable. He’s so big, stretching me in a way that feels like too much, but at the same time, it’s exactly what I need.
The glow between us flares impossibly bright, and I lose myself completely.
"Mine," he growls one last time, and then I'm shattering, coming apart in his arms as waves of ecstasy crash over me. Golden and perfect and endless.
I wake with a gasp,my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of what was definitely not just a normal dream. My skin is flushed and damp with sweat, my heart racing like I've run a marathon, and there's an ache between my thighs that has nothing to do with my recent illness.
Oh…my God.
I lie perfectly still, trying to calm my breathing, trying to make sense of what just happened. It was a dream. Just a dream. A very vivid, very... specific kind of dream about Tharn, but still just a dream.
Right?
Except it felt so real. His touch, his voice in my head, the golden light that connected us. The sensations were too intense, too detailed to be just my imagination.
But that's ridiculous. Aliens don't invade your dreams and give you the best orgasm of your life. That's not a thing that happens in reality, even in a reality where aliens exist and your sister can talk to them telepathically.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the lingering images, the ghost-sensation of his hands on my body, his mouth on mine. It doesn't work. If anything, closing my eyes just makes the memories more vivid.
I need to get a grip. It was just a dream, brought on by stress, and nearly dying, and finding out my sister can communicate psychically with aliens. Perfectly normal under the circumstances. Nothing to freak out about.
Except...
Except Justine said she was having dreams too.
Fuuuuuuck.
I crack one eye open, scanning the cave for Tharn. He's still there, on the far side, but he's not pacing anymore. He's sitting with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out, his arms resting on them. And he's watching me.
