Page 103 of Noctis

“You’re close,” I said.

“So are you.”

He was right. His body tightening around me threatened to drag the climax from me whether or not I was ready. “Come for me,” I demanded.

Rowan’s hand left my horn and curved around the back of my neck. “You too.”

When his body clenched, pleasure seized me with a violence I hadn’t expected. I buried myself inside him as he spilled across my hand and stomach, his cry joining my growl. My shadows convulsed around us, briefly swallowing the entire room before receding.

Still, Rowan didn’t look away.

I filled him until my body had nothing left to give, until my cum leaked from his body, and then remained above him. My red eyes dimmed, their glow settling into embers.

Rowan traced the base of one horn. “There you are.”

“I was here before.”

“Not all of you.”

I understood what he meant. Before, there had always been some concession to humanity. Now there was no pretense.

“You’re not sorry?” I asked.

“For having sex with a monster?”

“Yes.”

He considered the question for long enough that something unfamiliar and unpleasant tightened inside me. Then his lips curved. “I’m mostly sorry it took me this long to accept you for what you truly are.”

I lowered myself carefully, mindful of my horns, and rested my head against his chest. His fingers stroked the back of my neck while my tail remained curled possessively around his thigh.

“Does this mean I can fuck you with my tail next time?”

Rowan’s fingers stopped moving. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“But there will be a next time with me in this form.”

“Yes, Cal. There will be a next time.”

I closed my eyes. I might not be capable of sleep, but I wanted to know what it felt like to lie in the darkness while someone else watched over me.

Chapter Thirty-three

Rowan

Accepting Caligo for what he truly was unlocked something between us, and not just in bed. For the next two weeks, I did little beyond working on a new painting, having frequent and passionate sex with Caligo in various forms, and listening to stories about his past that were obscure enough to make my head hurt or entertaining enough that I learned how to laugh again. The pain over my mother’s death was far from gone, but it had become more of a dull throb than a searing agony.

Laura had taken to texting daily for what she called a welfare check, each message conveying her continued surprise that I was still alive. As the days wore on, it evolved from something serious into a running joke. Today’s message of Imagine if I’ve been talking to him all this time instead of you made me smile.

He’s not a big texter, I replied.

Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?

I snapped a quick picture of myself in the mirror and sent it to her. In return, I got a thumbs-up emoji. As far as I could tell, Laura had stayed sober. I hadn’t been to a meeting with her yet, but we were supposed to be going to one on Wednesday. Weirdly, I was kind of looking forward to it.

Hands settled on my shoulders from behind, pushing me down onto the sofa before beginning a massage that had my head lolling to one side. It turned out that Caligo’s strength wasn’t just useful for scaring the life out of muggers. It also made him exceptionally good at deep-tissue massage.

Without the claws, though.