My body tightens, and I can feel my seed burning in my shaft. I slow down in my driving strokes, pacing myself. Though it is difficult to stop, I must give Sa-cha my fires first or I will burn her. The thought of pulling out and spilling my seed on her back—the drakoni ritual of rejecting her as a mate— It will not happen. She is mine.
Mine alone.
I lean forward, covering her smaller frame with my larger one. She trembles underneath me, and when I grab a handful of her hair and pull her neck to the side, I can hear her breathing, thick and rapid. “Sa-cha,” I murmur, and lick the cords of her delicate throat again.
She shudders underneath me, and when I turn her head to the side, her eyes are closed.
No matter. She is mine. I let my fangs elongate, let the fire surge through them, and then I press my mouth to her skin again. This time, I puncture deep and anchor my teeth into her. My fires pour forth, surging into her body, and she is silent as she takes my fires. There is no noise from my Sa-cha, only her endless trembling. She is brave, my mate. Look at how she accepts my fires now that I have conquered her. No male could ask for a more perfect female.
My fires surge out of me until my jaw aches, and I resist the urge to bite down, because I do not want to hurt my delicate Sa-cha. My heart sings with pleasure at the feel of her underneath me.
This is now mine, I realize. She is safe with me. She is mine. No one can take her, not the ravens, not the buzzards, not another male seeking a mate. Sa-cha belongs to Dakh, now and forever. My spirit is linked with hers.
Even as my fires dry up, the pressure in my cock builds. The need to fill her with my seed grows undeniable, and when my fangs finally retract, I let out a groan of relief. I straighten, adjusting my mate underneath me and spreading her hips wider. She fits perfectly under the palm of my hand, her small bottom pink and arched, her skin bright reddish where my burning flesh has pressed against her own. I watch in fascination as my cock disappears into her sheath when I thrust into her, and I can feel her tight body giving to mine. The time has come. I can give her my seed without hurting her. My next thrust into her is brutal in its intensity, but I cannot stop myself. Over and over again, I pump into my mate, harder and faster, until my body seems as if it is moving of its own volition. Sa-cha, I chant in my mind. Sa-cha. Sa-cha.
My release comes. I feel it rush through my muscles, my hands clamping down on her hips as my growl of pleasure turns into a low roar. With a possessive thrust, I erupt inside her. My seed spills forth, and I cannot stop moving, thrusting into her tight, wet heat until every ounce of my body has been given to her. Her channel is hot and slick with my cum, and I keep pumping into her, keep giving her more until there is nothing left to give.
Then the strength leaves my body and I collapse. I carefully roll to the side as I do, because I do not wish to harm my mate with my weight. I pull her against me, tucking her against my body so I can keep my cock buried inside her while I recover. I put a possessive arm around her shoulders and hold her tightly, burying my face in her wet hair that smells like flowers and water and Sa-cha.
My mate. Mine.
She is silent, quiet in my arms after our pleasure. I want to lick the wound I have left on her throat with my claiming bite, but I am too tired. Next time, I vow. There is no need for another bite, but I will lick her all over next time.
I like the thought very much. I relax and close my eyes, waiting for my strength to return. I knew that forging the mental link with a mate was exhausting, but I had no idea I’d be so tired. Perhaps it is more difficult with humans.
I breathe in Sa-cha’s scent, pleased to see that it is already changing. Though her skin still feels cooler than mine, I can smell my drakoni scent mingling with her human one. Soon she will have the spicy scent of my claim through her sweet blood, and I am eager to learn it.
I am almost as eager for that as I am for the mental bond. I push my mind at hers, waiting. There is not much there yet, but I feel something growing and changing, as if a light is gradually strengthening somewhere deep within. The ravens are silent in the wake of my mating, and I want to shout with joy over that small change alone.
Sa-cha has fixed my mind. She has saved me.
Meadows, comes a soft thought echoing in my head. Meadows with flowers.
Eh?
14
DAKH
I test the mental connection again, seeking out her mind.
Meadows and flowers, I think. A stream. Some birds chirping. Maybe a picnic and some books, with the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky. Gosh, that would be great. Yeah. A picnic in a meadow. Nothing but peace and quiet and time to read my books. That’s my perfect place.
It is Sa-cha’s thoughts, calm and sweet and pure. I push against our mental bond, wanting more of this. Sasha, I realize as I touch her mind. She is Sasha Kennedy, and she is mine. I delve at her thoughts, exploring and curious about my mate’s inner workings.
A nice big thick book, she muses. I could set a blanket down near a rambling stream and...ow. She shifts slightly in my grip. Stupid arm. It throbs, sending an ache through her body. I hope he’s done with me soon.
Done?
There is no sweetness accompanying that thought, only…resignation. Curious, I lurk in the corners of her mind, waiting.
Against me, Sasha moves, flexing her leg. Her bottom presses against me, and even as I curl my body around hers, I can feel her thoughts. Sticky, she is thinking. And I just bathed. Oh well. Thank goodness that’s over, at least. I’ve had worse. And I’ve survived it, just like I’ve survived in the past.
Thank goodness it is over?
These are not the thoughts of a satisfied mate. I feel an uneasy clench in my gut as she mentally goes over her aches and pains, all made worse from the mating. There is a new rawness deep inside her from my eager mating, and her thoughts are full of how she is going to ache in the morning, not of shared pleasure.
She did not enjoy herself.
Sasha endured my touch. The realization comes as I brush against her thoughts. She did not want to mate with me. She let me enjoy her body because she felt she must. Even though there was a mating scent, she was not eager to mate with me. Even now, I feel a brush of her shame against my thoughts, and I am sick that she feels this way.
My mate does not want me to touch her?
My heart—joyful only moments ago—is filled with shame. How did I misunderstand her signals? Even as sleep overtakes me, I want to fight it. I want to understand my mate. I want her to feel what I feel—not shame. Not disgust with herself. Not self-loathing.