Unnatural Instinct: Free

15.

His lips are so soft, not what you expected. And his tongue is softer still as it gently opens your mouth. It's so different to kissing Derrick. He was always so forceful, his lips hard against yours, his tongue flicking around your mouth like an eel. Once, the scrape of his stubble left a blister on your chin.

Not Lurin. For a start, he doesn't even have facial hair. His tongue massages yours gently. His breath is sweet in your mouth. He slides his hands down to your hips, where he gently grips you. Pressing your hands up against his chest, you fold into him.

After what feels like a long time, he finally releases your lips and presses his face into the nape of your neck, where he takes a breath. 'Come,' he whispers. Taking your hand, he leads you into a small clearing lit by moonlight.

You can see him now. The light turns his dark hair and skin silver and sends his eyes glittering. His wings shine too. More—they seem to glow. Now, he looks more fairy than demon. But that's not what makes your heart beat furiously. He's ready. He wants you. His desire is easy to see, so much bigger than Derrick's.

So much more ... terrifying.

Ever since you learned about Derrick's intentions, you've dreaded the day. You've dreaded the pain. The older women always liked to make the younger women fearful. The pain is supposedly unbearable. And then there's the blood. And he's so big!

He takes your face in his big, smooth hands.

'Lurin ... I'm ... I'm not sure.'

He brushes his finger against your lips. 'We'll take it slow.'

Looking away, you bite your lip.

His eyebrows rise. 'Only if you want to, of course.'

'I-I want to. With you.'

Pulling you against him, he wraps his arms around you. It's nice, just holding each other, and after a while your heart slows its nervous pounding. What's he doing? Derrick would have finished with you by now.

You look up at him. He's watching you, unmoving, expressionless, and you suddenly realise that he's waiting. He's waiting for you to make the first move. A strange thing. A woman never makes the first move.

The dread sitting deep in your chest drains away. 'Let me-let me know you.' You lift your chin, looking into his glorious, glimmering eyes. 'Let me touch you, f-first.'

He nods. Taking his hand, you draw him to the ground. Gently, you push him back so he's leaning against the tree behind him. He stretches out his long legs, then parts them so you can see him fully. Like the rest of him, the moonlight shines against his shaft. It's hard not to fix your eyes on it, but it's not where you begin.

Kneeling by his side, you touch his face, smooth your hands over his shoulders before trailing your finger down his abdomen, tracing the outline of his muscles. Leaning in, you kiss him on the lips, then on the cheek, the corner of his big jaw, the nape of his neck. You chuckle as he shivers. Like you, he's sensitive there too.

Next, you unbutton your top, or at least try to. You're so nervous your fingers slide uselessly around the buttons. After failing several times, Lurin reaches over to do it instead.

'I've never done this before,' you say, giving him a trembling smile. 'They say it's the most painful thing a woman can ever do, other than childbirth.'

He frowns. 'Lies.'

'But it will be painful, right?'

'Yes.' He continues with his unbuttoning. 'But only for a short time.'

You lick your lips anxiously. 'I'm not supposed to ... to do this.' You begin to tremble as you think of what awaits you back at the village. If they catch you and discover what you've done, there's no telling what they might do. What Derrick might do.

And what about paying the ultimate price? It's a sin. It's a sin! And with a monster! You'll go to hell for sure!

Just as he undoes the last of your buttons you pull away, wrapping your top around you with a strangled gasp. 'I can't.'

He gazes at you for several moments and you can't help but be fearful. Derrick never accepted "no".

'Okay,' he says.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. You're stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. He's strong. He's powerful. He has you in his grasp. And he won't make you ... do anything.

Instead, he pulls away and leans back against the tree. You don't move. Now that the warmth of his body is gone, you can really feel the coolness of the night. You start to shiver.

He doesn't look at you, his hands folded in his lap. He's shielding his erection and you realise that he's doing it for you, to make your more comfortable. 'I won't touch you, I promise,' he says.

'I'm-I'm sorry. It's just that ... it's complicated.'

'You don't need to explain.' He pats the spot beside him. 'Come here, though. The night is cold and you'll freeze tonight. I promise I won't touch you, if you don't want me too.'

You hesitate before shuffling in close to him. He lifts up an arm and folds it around you as you bunch up at his side. As the night passes, you remain stiff, uncertain what the future might bring, uncomfortable with the proximity of his masculine nakedness.

But soon you grow tired and begin to relax. Just as he promised, he hasn't touched you. You dare a glimpse of his face. He's resting his head against the tree, his throat outstretched. His eyes are closed, his arm heavy around your shoulder.

You watch his chest rise and fall. The wound in his side, which looked so awful when you first released him from the shelter, has improved beyond human possibility. And again you're reminded that he's much more than what he seems. You remember how he looked in the cell, all curled up in a ball, vulnerable and gravely wounded.

He could have died and you would have never have known him.

The last of his kind.

Something hot and large swells in your chest. Resting your head against his shoulder, you sigh.