27. Thivoll

27

Thivoll

Part of me knows it's not a good idea to be letting the euphoria make my decisions, but the sound she made and the smell of her on the wind is all the excuse the other part of me needs to tell that voice to shut up.

This lovely, heady feeling from my venom release would be all that much better if she was in my arms.

And so I make it happen.

It takes far less time to make it back to her than the slow stalk I made before that brief fight. I hadn't been sure if it was a ruse, but took a chance the genali were just as idiotic and unprepared as the shouting made them seem.

The frisson of pleasure I feel isn't just from the venom, but also from the satisfaction that two fewer hunters are a threat to my Ree.

Her smell is much stronger now that I'm at the base of her tree and I scramble up it, completely unconcerned with hiding my trail.

Anyone who looks at the genali I envenomated will know who I am, or at least what I am.

The little space left in my mind for those sorts of thoughts is overtaken completely when I finally reach her. She has a stranglehold on a nearby tree branch and her eyes are wide and wild. Her long indigo hair is draped all around her and I brush against it as I move from the enormous trunk of the tree to the thick branch I left her on.

I grab her with my right arm, the scales rubbing against the smooth fabric of her black suit, sending little jolts of pleasure up into my spine.

As I pull her into a standing position so I can feel more of her against me, I dig the claws of my left hand into the trunk of the tree and wrap my tail around the branch.

She's breathing rapidly and that musky scent that drives me wild is flooding the air all around us.

I lift her higher, wanting better access, wishing my hand was free so I could stroke it through her mane. She makes it possible by wrapping her legs tightly around me and pushing her back up against the trunk of the tree.

I'm momentarily distracted by how this pushes the heat of her core against my sheath. I keep myself from extruding by raw force of will.

I want to enjoy other parts of her first.

I snake my arm back out through the space left by her arched back. Down along her hip, up her stomach, between her breasts, and then grab onto her neck. I use my hand to tilt her head back and then pull my whiskers back and push my muzzle into the crook of her neck.

I take a long deep breath, the sensation of her silky hair against my whiskers almost too much to bear.

When I blow out a hot breath, she makes that same low, long moan that made me bound over to her. Her scent is overwhelming and I must know what she tastes like, so I take a long hard lick up her neck, the pounding feel of her pulse betraying her excitement.

She tastes salty and sweet and I think I've made a mistake because I won't ever get enough of it.

On the second hard lick, her moan turns into an inarticulate low keening and she tightens her legs in a rhythm that has me rocking against her.

So that's how she would like it.

I almost lose control thinking about her without a barrier between us, then my purr rattles between us and something about it must excite her because she writhes against me.

When I graze her lightly with my teeth she freezes, her body rigid before relaxing again as I bring my teeth away.

The natural reaction of a ruminate with a predator at its neck pulls me out of my venom-fueled frenzy.