Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
It felt perfect.
Upon my relief, another wave of fluid ran down my leg, dripping on his clean floor. Yet still I was plugged, my stomach muscles rippling across my belly. But something was missing as my insides clenched and did not find what they sought.
On my whine, Cyderial fell to his knees before me. Nose to my sopping crotch, he breathed in deep, gripping my rear so he might hold me close.
Tatters of skirt were in the way of where his mouth wished to be, the fabric caught and pulled higher until he might swipe his tongue through the mess drenching my thighs.
Which left me rocking up to tiptoe, my head thrown back, when a sensation, unlike anything I’d ever known before, stole my breath.
Cyderial had fucked me many times in the weeks since he imposed my addiction, and always, the pleasure had been superb. This was something else entirely.
My nipples ached and tingled, my spine released with a series of pops, and my chest cracked out a noise that bounced off the walls with a dangerous instinctive call.
“Take out the plug!” I cried. He had to be inside me. To fuck me right there on the floor, the fresh meat be damned.
“No.” His reply was harsh like the glare he leveled me with when shock stole my attention from his metal ceiling so I might blink at the cruel man.
Shivering with a need beyond anything I might have imagined, I knew my body could not wait. “What?”
“You must build your nest first.”
Of course, a nest. What had I been thinking? A place where he might help me through the urge. Soft things needed to be precisely arranged. Layers of comfort I could roll around on, that he could fuck me on, that would be comfortable for what would take place between us.
What would take place between us? My body had certain demands, so much that I could see my belly rippling as more fluid ushered forth.
But that tongue of his was no longer slathering between my folds.
He was no longer kneeling but taking my fingers so he could lead me to his sleeping alcove.
Beside it, cabinets full of velvety soft blankets waited. Some fluffy, some thin as a whisper. Pillows full of color brought life to the dark cave of his rooms. Thrilled, I dove right into them, grabbing whatever my arms could hold—deeply pleased and eager to begin arranging them just so.
Cyderial’s apartment within the academy was truly small, perfectly proportionate in its cave-like arrangement. I climbed upon his mattress, arms full of blankets, and purred in delight to find it would be more than adequate for my needs. Pinks, silver, purples, teal, so many pretty colors and patterns he gathered for me over the years, and I spread it with joy.
In case, he’d said. And I laughed to myself at the mystery of hybrid men.
He waited patiently so I might perfect the dark corner. Brought more and more—handfuls of pillows and throws, his hands stroking and petting, releasing my hair from the mechanical device while I focused on the task at hand.
Bowl-shaped, lying in the midst of it, I would be surrounded by softness. I would be able to drape my body over pillows so my hips might open wider. Force him down in it so I might claw at his chest and take what I wanted.
My nest was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Never had I seen anything more lovely.
A bright rainbow illuminating drab, safe surroundings. So precious that I could have wept.
“It’s beautiful, Lorieyn.”
Some part of me more cognizant than instinct recognized what I was doing was strange. That my obsession with a specific tasseled pillow being placed just right was ridiculous, but I saw no point in denying myself. To be a hybrid was to live as a human, deny our second nature, and pretend to be something we were not. To be a recruit was to conceal one’s femaleness, to hide what we were behind ill-fitting clothing and austere expressions.
There were things about myself I wanted to explore and until I had been mated could never know.
But I knew this.
This need was me.
Nesting was part of what we were. How the men might call their homes nests was so incorrect. A nest could only be provided by a female, only when the circumstances were right. Any other consideration of the word was fundamentally wrong.
And that thought was important, that knowledge missing in young females’ collective understanding. “There should be journals about this.”
Hand pulling down the zipper at my back, he growled lowly at my ear, “Then you shall write one.”
The remainder of my bodice was parted so warm palms might run over my shoulder blades, the tattered dress slipping down my arms. Pooling at my feet, it was forgotten, Cyderial kneeling to remove my sandals while I stared at my masterpiece.