Page 82 of Tharn's Hunt
"First, it'd have to be thick," I say, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Like, really thick, the kind of thickness that makes your breath catch when it first slides in but leaves you desperate for more. Girthy enough to feel like it's stretching you just right."
Justine's eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.
"And ridges," I continue, warming to my topic despite the heat in my cheeks. "There'd have to be ridges. The kind that tease every inch of you as it moves, brushing against places you didn't even know could feel that good."
I'm getting carried away now, describing what is essentially my fantasy penis to mysister. But I can't seem to stop.
"And then... then there'd be the part for your clit," I add, my voice barely audible. "Because let's be honest, human anatomy? Not always great at multitasking. Something soft but firm, perfectly curved to press against just the right spot. Something that could move when you did, never losing that perfect pressure, even if things got... enthusiastic."
Justine stares at me for a long moment, then bursts into laughter, the sound echoing across the desert.
"What?" I demand, embarrassment warring with my indignation. "It's a legitimate design improvement!"
"I'm not laughing at your design," she gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm laughing because you just described Rok's... equipment. Everything except for the…clit thing."
I stop dead in my tracks, horror washing over me. "No," I whisper. "No way."
"Yes way," she confirms, still giggling. "Which means..."
My gaze automatically snaps to Tharn, who's looking at us, his expression curious and slightly concerned. As our eyes meet, I swear I can feel his awareness brush against my mind, a whisper of presence that makes me wonder if he's caught any of my thoughts.
Oh god, please no.
"It means nothing," I insist, starting to walk again, faster this time. "It's just a coincidence. A weird, freaky coincidence."
"Uh-huh," Justine says, clearly not buying it. "Just like it's a coincidence that I dreamed about Rok for days before anything actually happened between us. Vivid dreams about?—"
"I do not need to hear about your sex dreams involving my apparent brother-in-law," I interrupt hastily. Because let’s just call this what it is. No one is coming to rescue us. We’re stuck here. And the way I’ve seen my sister look at Rok, I don’t think she’d choose to leave even if the Xyma did miraculously come back to save us.
Justine's expression turns smug. "I didn't say they were sex dreams. But interesting that your mind went there immediately."
I shoot her my best "I'm so annoyed with you" scowl, but the effect is probably ruined by the dawning horror that's making my eyes go wide. How can there be any real anger when her words have confirmed my worst fear—that the dreams I've beenhaving aren't just dreams. That they're somehow connected to the bond, to Tharn, to whatever is happening between us.
"Just one more day," Justine says, her voice gentler now. "We'll reach the clan caves tomorrow. Things will be easier there."
Will they, though? Somehow, I doubt it. Not when every step takes me closer to a future I never asked for but can't seem to escape. Not when my body betrays me at every turn, responding to Tharn in ways that make it increasingly difficult to deny what's happening between us.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Tharn increases his pace, walking closely behind us now. His amber eyes find mine immediately, intense and questioning, and I wonder again if he's sensed any of my thoughts, any of the confusion and desire warring within me.
"Tharn," I greet him, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Everything okay at the rear?"
He tilts his head at me then lifts his hand, his massive fingers fumbling into the shape I taught him. The thumbs-up. It’s absurdly off-kilter, his claw-tipped thumb jutting off to the side.
Oh no.
It’s the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen.
I offer him a small smile, trying to ignore the way my heart beats faster now. "Good. That's... good."
We fall into step together, a slightly awkward trio as Justine picks up her pace to catch up with Rok.
I steal a glance at him as we walk—and immediately regret it.
Becausefuck, Tharn is...
Strands of his copper-red hair catch the sunlight, clinging to the sharp planes of his face. Damn, that jawline could cut glass. And the way his muscles move beneath his golden skin—each flex and shift so fluid, so unfairly predatory—makes my mouth go dry.
But it's his hands that undo me. Those broad palms, the lethal claws currently retracted... imagining what they'd feel like dragging down my bare skin?—
