Page 74 of Florescentia

He slid his hand down my sternum, then cupped my breast. The tongue traced along my nipple, flicking it before I felt the suction again. In doing so, I felt the grazing of the teeth, but no bite.

A breathy moan escaped me, my face growing hot. I could no longer hide my rapid breathing, my chest rising and falling, the only movement I was allowed in the entrapment. I dropped my iris, my head tilting back.

A tendril took the flower, dragged the petals up my leg, dusting my hips, then finally to brush against my other nipple.

“You are so disgustingly puny,” he said in my ear, “a single sand in a sea of possibilities, most likely to be lost, forgotten, overtaken.”

“And yet it is significant enough to irritate oysters into making pearls,” I said, swallowing, “or annoy much larger creatures who devour it.”

“Are you a pearl,” he said, his tone teasing, “beautiful, delicate, and useless?”

His hand cupped between my legs. I nearly jumped.

The tongue laved, twisting and lapping at my opening. I could hear the wet, lewd noises. I could feel it. Yet I couldn’t see a thing. It was all lost in the dark with the shadow slowly beginning to cover my body.

There was an overwhelming jolt, like everything suddenly was turning slow. A helpless drain, like bloodletting on an empty stomach. The feeling was euphoric, lightheaded, the state between closing your eyes and finally succumbing to sleep.

The tongue prodded me, beginning to go inside. It was so warm, impossibly slick. My back arched, my head sloping into the shadow, a shoulder forming for my convenience, and I could see the three eyes on me, watching.

I closed my eyes, rolling my hips against the pressure of the hand. A moan, but I was too much in a daze to be embarrassed. Please the nightmare, and you’d have safe dreams.

The tongue slipped deep inside, I could feel it pulsing before retreating. It curled and twisted as I leaned into it, finding a rhythm. The large hand had a firm grip, its claws digging into my skin, possibly even piercing.

A low, vibrational noise came from the beast. I could feel it in place of my heartbeat, the throbbing of my desire.

At a steady pace, he moved his hand in tandem with my hips, piercing me deeper and deeper while letting me be as forceful as I wanted with my thrusts, taking whatever was offered. The feelings began to bloom, then they festered. The sensations within my body tightened into an impossible endless knot, taut and nearly tangible.

Then came a release. A cool breeze on a hot day, the first taste of water while parched, one sweet thing in a time of rations. I felt like I was melting. My consciousness waned, I saw stars clouding my vision, little twinklings until they closed in on those three marquises, the beast watching me fade.

Something like this should have been scary, but the raw power suddenly given to me, rushing through my body—I didn’t care. I was at ease, at peace.

The last thing I saw were those glowing eyes in a sea of stars, then a gentle caress of darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Eclipse

Her body wilted in my arms.

The weight redistributed, causing her to nearly drop to the floor. I had to hold her from her waist as her head sloped to the side.

The markings on her skin dimmed, and her eyes closed now. Even through her eyelids, I could see the light rings around her irises fade.

Her energy spent quickly, a burn so bright and ferocious. The light inside her was rich and overwhelming, like the feeling of sharp elation. I couldn’t hold a mortal form like that, not without breaking it. It was hard enough shaping myself like a puppet to communicate with her.

She made my skin . . . crawl. More than that, it wanted to flee away from her and consume her all at once. A predicament.

Her soul quieted, her consciousness dulled. Humans do this often, I remembered. They left their bodies for half their lives; their energy was just so strong they couldn’t handle being fully conscious at all hours of the day. Such strong beings in weak bodies. Sleep, they called it.

Gathering the limbs in my arms, I hooked my appendage under her knees, then the other under her shoulders.

It was much harder having form. To take shape in a way that would make sense. Movement, breathing, expression, tone—it was all so overwhelming. I supposed if you did it enough, it would become automatic. Each claw gripped the soft body. This existence was something to get used to. The more time I spent like this, the easier it was. Just like how the more time I spent in a human skin, the more easily I could understand them. Learning to walk in another’s shoes was just that—relearning to walk.

I placed her down on the long cushioned seat, though the deadweight made her fall harder than I’d thought. Carefully, I pulled her by her arms, rotating her so she lay on her back, her head falling to the side. I grabbed her face on either side, shifting it so it was on top of one of the pillows.

Red spots flared where my claws had been when I removed my hands. Scratches along her hips, waist, now her face. Blood began to drip, bruises forming.

Is that from me?