Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

13.

He grabs the back of your neck, and with another soft growl, presses his mouth to yours. You freeze. You don't know what to do. You don't know what he's doing. For several terrifying moments you think he's going to bite you—but there's no teeth, only his lips against yours. And then you wonder: Is this some kind of kiss? Can't be. Nobody kisses each other on the mouth; mouths are full of disease and bacteria. It's the soonest way to get sick. You jerk back in disgust but he grips your neck tighter and pulls you harder against him.

Surprisingly, you find that it's not terrible. His lips are soft and dry. But then he opens his mouth and suddenly his tongue is inside you. Like a slimy eel, it flicks against your lips and teeth and tongue. It's as though he's licking inside your mouth! Who, but an animal, uses their tongue? You desperately try to wrench out of his grasp but he's terrifically strong. Snapping your head back, you take a breath.

'Let go!'

But, of course, he doesn't listen, seizing you again as he pulls you down into the pelts. Straddling you, he pins down your hands as he continues to feast on your mouth. His tongue laps against yours. You thrash your head from side to side but all it means is that his tongue is all over your face instead: your lips, chin and nose. The stink of his saliva is everywhere. Finally, you accept how pointless it is to resist and give up with a muffled sob, sinking more deeply into the pelts beneath him. This time, when his lips meet yours, you don't fight, parting them to allow entrance to his tongue. His tongue finds yours and you reluctantly lick him back.

With a groan, he lies on top of you, releasing your wrists as he grips your face. He's slow now, and gentle. And after a while, it doesn't seem so disgusting. It's almost ... pleasant. His lips kiss yours. Your tongue meets his. It becomes almost rhythmic, slow and delicate. Your heart beats fast. Your body heats up. Every so often, he pulls away to look you in the eyes and brush his fingers through your hair, making affectionate noises in his throat as he does.

Then he's kissing you again, his hard body hot against yours. And soon, you're lost in his mouth and smell and taste and touch. You moan as he nuzzles at your neck. You moan again as he sucks at the tip of your shoulder, knotting your fingers through his hair as you grab his head. He starts to rock against you and you rock with him, spreading your thighs, enjoying the way that hot hardness between his legs slides along your opening. You're wet. You can feel yourself sticking against him.

You ache to have it inside you—that ugly, disgusting thing. But he doesn't do it and you're grateful and frustrated at the same time.

He pulls away, straddling your hips, stretching himself out with a growl. His hair falls down his back. He pushes his chest out. He's still wet from the stream and water trickles down his thick throat and pools between the bones in his shoulders. More drips from his fringe and pools in your bellybutton. Half sitting up you reach out to grab his hips. He pauses, lowering his eyes to yours in surprise. You're surprised too. What made you do that? You're not sure and you don't care. All you know is that your mouth is burning and your hips are aching.

You tilt your face towards him. 'More.'

He raises his eyebrows, but smiles. Taking your face, he lowers his lips back to yours. He pushes you back down and you wrap your arms around his shoulders as you clench his hips with your thighs.

You're lost. You're defeated. You're no longer you. All you are is feeling and emotion and instinct. You gasp. You groan. You whimper. All thought that this might be wrong fades away. It's someone else's mind. Someone else's cares.

His lips are soft and his tongue makes your whole mouth burn. Needing him closer, you wrap your thighs around his waist and thrust yourself against him. He pulls his mouth back with a start. You lay beneath him, panting, hand braced against the muscles of his hard chest. His eyes are dark and he's panting too.

'More,' you say. 'More.'

He pulls back onto his knees, considers you a moment, before reaching between your legs with his hand. His simple touch makes you jump. It almost seems to burn against your skin. You gasp as he eases a finger inside. You half sit up but he pushes you back.

'Good,' he grunts. 'Play.'

'Play,' you nod, still gasping.

He pushes deeper and you give a little yelp. You can't work out whether it's pleasurable or painful, and yet you want more. Then he starts stroking you with his thumb, in a spot just above where he's inserted his finger. You grow quiet, staring up at the ceiling, no longer confused about the sensation. It's pleasurable. Definitely pleasurable. It's like nothing you've ever felt before. Back home, the only reason to touch yourself down there is to clean yourself—nothing more.

This is ... this is unexpected.

You suck in a breath, fisting your hands into the pelts. Not only is he stroking you but moving his finger in and out of you at the same time. The two sensations together is something you can't describe. It sets your whole body on fire. It makes you curl your toes. It makes you pant like you're running at a sprint.

The pleasure increases until your gasping, until your breasts heave and the thatch ceiling starts to spin. You close your eyes, hands fisting tighter and tighter into the pelts. 'Oh, oh, oh, oh! OH!'

You suck in a breath and hold it as your body shudders. Something deep down in the pit of your pelvis seems to clamp down, tighten, then roll, and you open your eyes with a gasp. He's still inside you, moving with the rolling, moving with the hot liquid pleasure.

It's finally over and you drop your thighs into the pelts. You stare up at him in disbelief. A bead of sweat trickles between your breasts. 'What was that?'

'Fun. Play. Good,' he says, withdrawing his finger. He looks at it—it's bloodied and sticky—and wipes it on his leg.

'Is that how it's going to feel, when you ... when you do it?'

'Good. Fun. Play.' He points at himself between the legs. 'Play.'

'Oh,' you say. Now, it appears, he wants you to play with him.

You sit up, bracing your back against the wall. 'I don't know what to do.'

On his knees, he shuffles in close to you, much like he did before when he made you touch him. He grabs himself in the middle of his shaft and slowly rubs himself up and down. 'Good.'

He goes to seize your wrist but you pull away and reach for him yourself.