Page 30 of Dead Drop

"That's it," he says, rough against my ear. His fingers press harder. "Come on my cock. I want to feel you?—"

I come. Hard. My walls grip him in long clenching waves. He groans—deep and wrecked—and drives harder through it. I'm still clenching. He's still driving. I am still gasping, still moaning, and it doesn't stop. I dig my nails into the furs. He grabs my hip with one hand, pins me down, and keeps going.

He comes inside me.

The flood of heat—so much of it, pumping into me in thick pulses that land where I grip him. Each pulse is distinct. I can count them—one, two, three, four—each one hotter than the last, his cock twitching against my G-spot with every spurt. The cum fills me in stages, each pulse adding warmth and weight, the fullness expanding from my center outward until it's in my hips, in my lower back, in the ache of being so completely occupied.

His groan is long and wrecked against my hair, his whole body shuddering. His wings snap open—a reflexive flare, the membrane catching the light, a shudder that runs through the cartilage and into the wingtips. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. He buries himself to the hilt and stays there, pulsing, pouring heat into me.

My body takes it and holds it. Greedily, which is the part I can't look at yet. My walls grip him through every pulse, milking more, and the clenching is not voluntary. My body wants this. My body is taking his cum the way a parched thing takes water—without restraint, without shame, with the single-minded focus of something that has found what it needs.

The knot seals it in. Swollen thick at my cunt, locking us together. The seal is absolute. Nothing in, nothing out. His cumis mine now, hot and heavy inside me, going nowhere. My walls pulse around him.

His cock doesn't stop moving. Even knotted, even spent, it rolls inside me—slow, restless, stroking my walls in long deliberate waves. His cum is hot and thick inside me, sealed in by the knot, and his cock stirs through it. The vibration starts—from the knot into my clit, through my walls, that relentless hum.

"Breed," he says against my neck. Low. Almost a growl. His hips roll in small circles, working the knot where it's seated.

A sound leaves me. My hips jerk back against him. The vibration climbs with my clenching—I grip him and it spikes, I grip harder and it spikes again. His cock strokes inside me through every clench, finding the spot, pressing. I am moaning into the nest. The wet sounds of his cum inside me as his cock moves are obscene and I can hear every one.

"Enjoy that?" Rough. Low. Almost conversational.

I whimper something that isn't a word. My thighs are shaking. The orgasm is building from the vibration alone—the knot pressed against my clit from inside, his cock stroking my G-spot, his cum hot inside me.

He rolls us to our sides. His arms come around me from behind—his chest against my back, his tail winding around my waist—and his hands press flat against my stomach. Low. Where his cum is pooling inside me. He holds me there. His cock is still restless. Still stroking.

A breeze moves through the canopy, finding the gaps in the aerie wall. Cool air across the sweat on my chest. The light is shifting—the afternoon gold going copper, the sun dropping behind the canopy line. Somewhere below the aerie, a bird calls. A long, falling note that goes out into the ruins and doesn't come back.

I come on the vibration. My walls clench hard around his cock, around the knot, around the cum sealed inside me. Something comes out of my mouth—loud enough that the bird goes silent. He rumbles against my neck. Satisfied. His tail tightens around my waist.

The orgasm doesn't stop. It rolls, crests, recedes, crests again. His cock strokes through every wave. The vibration won't stop climbing.

I've been going for three days. I will keep going until his rut gets what it needs. He won't let me fall in the meantime.

Below us: the edge of the nest. The long drop. The decision I made. The woman who stepped off that ledge is still here, somewhere under the venom and the pleasure and the warm weight of his hands. She doesn't want to step off anything anymore. She doesn't know what she wants instead. That's its own kind of falling.

He flexes inside me hard against the spot. My breath catches. Already. Again. His hips are rolling, the knot shifting, and the next one building before the last one has finished.

Somewhere below the aerie, the bird calls again. That long, falling note that goes out into the ruins. This time, something answers it—a second voice, higher, from the far side of the canopy. The two songs braid together in the darkening air.

I come to birdsong, his cock deep inside me, his hands holding my hips, the knot vibrating against my clit. The noise tears out before I can stop it and the birds don't stop. The world goes on. The world doesn't care. There is something almost comforting about that.

I wonder if Alli noticed the wings. Whether she lay in the dark behind them and listened to the canopy the way I'm listening now. Whether she found something almost comforting about it too.

13

APEX

She's asleep.

Her weight against my chest. My cock still inside her—the knot has released but I haven't moved. She's warm around me. She holds on even in sleep. My cum is still in her and I feel it where she holds me.

Mine.

She came to me from the sky. I've been filling her for three days and I'll keep filling her. I want her full of me. I want her carrying my cum when she wakes, when she eats, when she sleeps, when I take her again. She smells like mine. She feels like mine. She is mine.

I'm hard. Her breathing is slow against my collarbone. Her ribs rise and fall and I feel each one.

Eight years alone in this territory. I held the borders. I held the work. I didn't let myself need this. Once there was something else—something past the rut, past the borders, past the season and the need. I don't find it now when I look. Only my mate. Only filling her. Only mine.