Lament of the Traitor King (Complete)

Chapter 46 - Companions in Lost Paradise

Ash said nothing, only watching as Netta stood. His irises moved, darting in response to quick movement, stilling as she took pause.  His gaze scorched, seemed to weigh her down as Netta began to take her clothes off.

It was only as she was pulling her shirt off that Ash spoke, his voice a husked, thick tone that was inhuman. "You don't need to do that, I can help -"

Netta snapped at him as she reached down, got out of her snow boots, kicking them away in brisk, angry movements.  "I want to." She wished that she could stop shaking in response to the cold. She did not want to look vulnerable, now of all times. Yet everything she did, attempts at establishing her power over herself at the very least, seemed only to make it worse.

He said nothing and Netta could see Ash out of the edge of her periphery, sitting up slightly.  He rose softly, like a cobra, swaying ever so softly in preparation to flee.  Or strike.

It was as Netta paused, slipping her panties off, she finally looked over at him. She felt her heart threaten to beat out of her chest.

His mouth hung open, Ash's tongue almost seeming to possess a will of its own. It rolled, writhed, dancing between the lines of his lips, thick, heavy.

Netta almost stopped, no matter how her anger and fear mixed with the emotions that his pheromones had engendered in her. Nevertheless, after a pause, Netta reached behind her, un-did the clasp of her bra with practiced ease, in spite of the horrible shaking of her hands. And then she was moments from wearing nothing but socks that would be soaked in the snow.

In the cups of her bra, her nipples were rigid, hard, not just from the cold. There was undeniable desire that burned in her.

As she dropped her bra, Netta saw him move. He moved so quickly, crawling, that she scarcely saw the jerking, sudden movements of his limbs, turned her head to watch him only when it was too late.

Ash reappeared with his face pressed between her thighs. He lifted one of her legs up, pressing her foot to curve against the flat plane of his writhing back.

In a panic, until Netta attempted to struggle, only to find her waist held in place by a powerful arm.

Ash worked her thighs, then the lips there apart with forceful ease. That slavering, muscular tongue ran the opening seam of her inner lips a moment before plunging in.

"Ash!" Netta jerked forward then back - realizing that he was set on fucking her with his tongue. Netta's eyes flicked opened and closed, her mouth fallen open. then slamming shut to suppress groans, crying, her teeth clenching, squeezing painfully.

His tongue, with each thrust, seemed to grow, expand. It burned her. Then she felt it, pressing as far as it could go -

Her hands had become entangled in his hair at some point. She realized her hands were no longer clutching at hair, but rather, horns. She shuddered, daring to look down. There she saw great, horrible spiraling of horns that erupted from a bed of thick brown hair.

They were a shining, onyx black. Some of them, sharp as they were on their ends, pressed in their spiraling curves against her skin, causing indentations in her skin (so pale by contrast), and some punctured. She looked at the blood caused by the shallow wounds, not quite able to register them. It was as though they were some aspect of a dream she was having, the red and black against the pale of her flesh.

She could not experience pain, her body feeling as though it were being enveloped in combustion, spreading up her body like wicked, numbing smoke.

Netta should have been horrified. She should have been unable to enjoy any aspect of the writhing of the muscle lodging inside of her. She shouldn't take the kind of savage enjoyment from the feeling of the arm locked around her waist -