10. Chapter Ten

Sylas

The moment she stands down and hands me the key, my worry evaporates in the knowledge I’m not going to have to finish frisking her. A second later, the sexual tension explodes in my body. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was aroused by my touch, but certainly that has to be wishful thinking.

Rising from where I’ve been crouched, I realize my hands are trembling from being so close to her private spaces. I want to kiss her. I want to piss on myself. Shit! Can I just have one hour on Earth where I’m not reminded that I’m far from human?

And I want to rut. Desperately.

With her key safely in my hand and her cell phone battery buried in a pile of leaves on the far side of the fence, I’m free to leave this place.

“Race you to the Quonset,” I call as I take off at a gallop, hoping to leave her intoxicating scent far behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure she’s following, then slow to allow her and Tater to catch up. It’s only when I almost stumble over a rock hidden by fallen leaves that I realize I’m not running to safety. The Quonset will, if anything, be more fraught with danger than what we just encountered.

Her arousing scent will be more concentrated. And that bed. That huge fucking bed that has been calling to me since we entered the room the first time, will be taunting me every single second.

And tonight? What then? I’ll have to ask her to tie me to the bed. Who knows what I’m capable of when I’m half asleep? Look what I almost did to her when my mind was almost clear. I was so close to ripping her jeans down and burying my face between her legs; she had to have known my intentions. That must have been why she finally relented and handed me that key. Fear. Fear of me.

Maybe I should tie her up in the Quonset, run to the soldiers at the Reject Barracks, and come clean. Let cooler heads than mine prevail. Though I want to protect her, I could be the very one who defiles her.

When I see the shimmer of the metal building up ahead, I wait for Cally to catch up to me. Shit. She’s panting. I should have run more slowly. What was I thinking?

“You and Tater go ahead and wait for me inside.” My tone is so firm she looks startled. Good. I’d rather she think I’m angry than know that I can’t wait to be out of her sight before I rip my shorts down so I can jack my cock. “Go!”

“Did I…” Her question trails off. Possibly because I pierce her with my steeliest gaze.

She jogs off. The moment the door to the hut closes, I rip my shorts down and palm myself.

Most of my life, when I was in a cage with dozens of other splicers nearby, I did my business as quickly and quietly as possible. Masturbation wasn’t allowed, although we found ways to be quiet and stealthy so we could take care of ourselves without punishment.

After we were rescued and I had my own room, I began to learn my sexual responses. I allowed myself to draw out my pleasure with soft, grazing touches that built to a crescendo.

Now? I just want to get the job done without getting caught or drawing attention.

I dip my knees, cup my balls, curl my hand around my shaft, and stroke. It feels so good my eyes flutter closed. My body’s been desperate for this since before Cally trespassed. After I got a whiff of her, laid my hands on her, the insistent biological need has increased to monumental proportions.

My strokes quicken as I envision her face. Was it real, or just wishful thinking that she looked as though she welcomed my touch as my hands slid up her jean-clad legs? In my erotic fantasy, her hazel eyes are filled with desire for me.

My breathing increases and my awareness narrows from the calling of birds in the nearby trees and the breeze on my face and the smell of the loam under my hooves. I’m aware only of my cock, my hand, and the increasingly sexual pictures of Cally that I’m creating in my head.

Without my permission, I bugle. I’ve seen dozens of videos of this behavior. Heard the astonishing, plaintiff scream of elk males in rut. How I produce the sound escapes me. One thing is certain. It can’t be controlled.

Turning my back on the hut so if Cally opens the door she won’t catch me in the middle of pleasuring myself, I quicken my pace. Beads of sweat pop on my forehead as I grasp tighter and move faster without thinking about anything other than how amazing it feels.

My muscles seize as a wave of pleasure ripples through me, culminating in a mind-numbing shudder followed by a flood of warmth that relieves the worst of my desperation. My release splatters on the fallen leaves covering the ground.

After taking one deep breath, I kick decomposing foliage over the evidence of my shame and glance toward the cabin. We’ll be sleeping there together tonight. It will be our shelter, however fraught with danger or untapped desires it may be.

It’s a good thing we have a rope.