Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

22.

'You don't have to—' you begin.

But he's already started. You gasp, spreading your thighs wide as he laps at you. You groan as he steadily licks you clean. You're already burning from his penetration and it's an easy thing to build you up again despite the lingering pain.

He pulls back onto his knees, his hands on his thighs, to take a breath. Thinking he's done, you sit up, but he pushes you back down again. Before you can do anything more, you shriek in surprise as he lifts your arse up from the pelts and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

What is he doing?!

Arching your neck, you cry as he presses his entire mouth against you. And there he laps and sucks and tickles that little nub of your opening that shoots waves of hot, rippling pleasure through the entire length of your body. You're panting. You're almost wheezing. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you claw them in the pelts, holding on as he lifts you higher. You gasp as he penetrates you deeper, swirling and kissing and jabbing out with his tongue.

You're making a strange noise in the back of your throat. It's not quite whining, it's not quite growling, but something in between. You stare up at the roof. It's spinning again. You're spinning. The whole world is spinning. Closing your eyes, you tighten your fists in the pelts, tightening them and tightening them until your nails bite right through the material and into your palms.

You give a little scream as you spasm against his mouth, the walls of your channel contracting around his tongue. Finally, he releases you, easing your arse back into the furs as he smacks his lips. Gripping at your throat, you revel in that wonderful throbbing feeling you're steadily becoming accustomed to. Exhausted and thoroughly pleasured, you lie sprawled on your back.

Crawling out of the shelter, he then stands. You watch in a daze as he walks over to the stream to wash himself off, his face pink and sticky with your blood, is half-erect penis swaying between his legs. He looks content, a small smile on his face, as he crouches down to splash the water through his hair.

Join him, you think to yourself. Old mud is still caked against your skin from being dragged along the ground by his now dead opponent. You could really do with a wash. But you can't move. It's almost as though that throbbing, burning centre of you keeps you anchored to the spot. Bizarrely, a tear trickles down you cheek. So this is going to be your life now: late mornings and late nights, mating and frolicking and enjoying each other's bodies.

In some small, distant part of your mind you're disappointed; you once had great dreams for yourself. Great ambitions. All now reduced to a shack on the edge of a cliff where you fuck day and night with a half-man, half-monster.

Rolling over, feeling shaken, you press your nose into the pelts, and the smell of him makes you feel better.

There could be worse things.

Crawling out of the shelter, you stagger to your feet with a gasp. It stings down there. More of your blood mixed with his hot, sticky seed trickles down your inner thigh. Clutching yourself between the legs, you hobble over. He watches you, slowing rising as you join him. With a whine, he sniffs around your neck, pushing back your hair as he gently tugs at your earlobe with his teeth. In his primal wild way, he's apologising.

You cup his cheek in response. Reaching below, he touches you, stroking you between the cheeks gently. More apology. It's surprising how much of his language isn't spoken. Taking his hands, you drag him down into the stream alongside you, gasping at the icy-cold. You begin to scratch off the caked mud. It's everywhere. How did you withstand it for so long? It's matted in your hair. You can feel it crack against the skin of your back. Some of it's caked in your groin.

He seizes your wrist, stopping you. You raise your eyebrows. He wriggles in close until the knees of his crossed legs press against yours.

Slowly, he lowers your hand to his groin.

Clean, he grunts, then reaches over to begin washing down your breasts. His penis floats in the water. His balls sit against the sandy bottom. He's so soft in your hand as you gently stroke him. How can something once so hard and destructive now be so soft and harmless? His body is fascinating. He seems to feel the same way about you. After finishing with your breasts, he sits back to stare at you between your legs. You look down at yourself. Sitting cross-legged means your opening is stretched wide and he can see everything.

Using your fingers, you open yourself wider with a giggle, teasing him, taunting him. You can't believe your own naughtiness. Dropping his chin onto his fist, he watches you with a smile. It must be comical to an outsider looking in, both of you studying each other's groins. His penis is already shifting and you watch in wonder as it slowly rises, the wrinkled skin stretching into a shine as it pokes its head above the water.

You laugh harder. You snort; you grunt and growl. The need to get close to him, to touch him, to smell him, to feel his warmth, suddenly becomes overwhelming. He opens his arms as you crawl into his lap. Thighs clamped around his waist, breasts pressed up against his chest, you embrace him.

With a gentle growl, he wraps his arms around you and presses his face into your shoulder. And there you hold each other. Pushing your face into his hair, you breathe in his scent. The icy water no longer feels cold. It doesn't feel like anything at all. All you feel is the warmth of his skin, the pounding of his heart against yours, his hot breath against your neck.

Closing your eyes, you press your lips to his ear and finally say it:

'I love you.'