She felt his erection rise against her hip as another groan rumbled in his broad chest. She shifted so that she sat astride him, trapping his stiff cock between the press of their bodies.
He grunted, his hips bucking against her, nearly throwing her off. She laughed, clinging to his jacket. She unzipped it entirely, exposing the broad plane of his muscled chest. Fine, silvery hair scattered across his chest, tapering down his abdomen, leading her fingers on a merry path to the waistband of his trousers.
He groaned again, hands sliding to clutch her waist, pulling her flush against him so that he could grind that big throbbing bulge against the hot core between her thighs.
Lyra slid her hands between them, working the fastenings of his trousers. His cock sprang free, big and hot and hard and urgent. He gasped as her hand circled him. He was so big, and like the rest of him, hard as iron. She couldn’t even hope to close her hand around his shaft. She couldn’t imagine fitting him inside of her—even though her body wept for exactly that.
She reached up to cling to the back of his neck, bracing herself. With her other hand, still grasping his cock, she slid her grip up his length. She teased her thumb gently over the slick tip. Asier’s spine stiffened, his hold on her waist grew crushing. She rolled her hips, teasing her hot core against the base of his shaft while her thumb drew lazy circles over his crown. She was so wet. She could feel herself soaking through her underwear.
Asier snarled something in his own language. His big body trembled beneath her. His cock was big enough, hard enough, that she could rock herself against him, even through her flight suit, and bring herself to come. She could give him the same, with her hand.
Still holding him by the back of the neck, still working her hand and and down his cock, still grinding her core against the base of his shaft, she leaned in and closed her mouth over one of his nipples.
He let out a hoarse bark, and his arms encircled her, crushing her against his body. His hips worked upwards, thrusting his cock between them. She clung to him and rolled her hips with his thrusts.
“I want you inside me,” she panted. Her fingernails curled into his skin.
He stilled against her. He moaned as her hips continued their slow sinuous roll against him.
“No,” he said hoarsely. His head fell back. “I can’t do that to you.”
“Please.” She pressed her tongue to his other nipple.
He thrust against her convulsively, spitting out a harsh word in his own language. “No,” he panted, reverting to the Creole. “It would be the same as kissing you. The toxin is in all of my bodily fluids.” He spoke through jagged breaths. His accent was stronger now, the words slurred into barely comprehensible growls. “And the scent of your sex… it would be a thousand times more difficult than it already is.”
Lyra took a deep breath. She was not weak. She was not foolish. She always did what needed to be done, regardless of her own desires. That’s how it had always been. That’s how she’d survived. That’s how she’d managed to make it so that her sister didn’t have to live that way.
“Let me go,” she said, without much conviction.
A second’s hesitation, and then he obeyed. His arms fell away, releasing her. She crawled off of him, putting good distance between them. Asier tugged the bandana back up of his nose and mouth. He tightened the knot behind his head.
Bereft of the heat of his body, the heat of their shared desire, Lyra felt frozen. All around them, the wind thrashed the trees. The chittering, crying, keening creatures of the forest had gone silent. And floating through the air? Was that—
“Snow,” Asier said, rising to stand. He fastened his trousers, zipped his jacket. His eyes were dilated to black moons. His erection still strained against the front of his trousers.
Lyra stood as well, tearing her eyes away from him. She looked up. Snow spit down through the leaves, an icy-wet sludge. A spatter of it hit her cheek, making her flinch. She swiped it away and looked down at her bared leg with dismay.
“Oh!” She remembered the scope, pulling it out of her pocket. Not daring to step nearer, she tossed it across the gulf between them. Asier caught it easily.
“The grassland is eerta-nal shrarrir,” she gave him the Crurian number, though she didn’t know how to read any of the other script. “Due polar north.”
He tucked the scope inside his jacket. “Then let’s go.”
The snow storm raged around them, but Lyra supposed it could’ve been worse. Within the cover of the forest, the wind’s power was mitigated, and the snowfall was not as heavy as it would be on an open plain.
She trudged after Asier, her bare leg freezing until the skin felt burnt. Heat still pooled low in her belly, still tingled beneath her skin. But the violent roar of the wind and the icy cold air kept her mind clear enough to ignore it.
Chapter Six
It was not an easy thing, staggering through a blizzard with your cock throbbing hard and your body still drunk on desire. Knowing that Lyra wanted him, even without the toxin—that she’d been lost in the touch and feel of him—had come as a shock. It had staggered him nearly as much as the beauty of her body, the feel of her soft curving flesh, the sweet female scent of her.
Scaevens weren’t known for their appealing physical appearance. They were harshly cast, coarsely formed, brutish creatures. They had none of the Ravanoth’s slender grace, nor the Ljark’s elegant austerity, nor the comfortable lushness of the Yiruba, nor any number of qualities that females desired in a mate.
Scaeven appeal lay entirely in the enticing aphrodisiac of their toxin. Females across the universe sought the transcendent bliss of intoxicated Scaeven sex. Usually just the once, for the fun of it. But those who stuck around, who became mated to their Scaeven bed partners and bore their young, eventually came to see past the brutish exterior, and bond with the soul contained within. Ideally.
But Lyra didn’t need the toxin to want him.
He’d almost given into the need. Her breathy pleas had nearly brought him to come right there in her hand. He’d been a hair’s breadth from losing his self control, tearing off her flight suit, and plunging his cock deep into the soft, slick, hot core of her. She was so little. She’d be so tight. She’d writhe and twist when he impaled her on his cock. She’d whimper and moan as he sank deeper and deeper into her soft little pussy.
For fuck’s sake. She wasn’t close enough to smell—wasn’t even within his sightline—and he was already losing control of himself.
Colder, he pleaded the weather. Freeze me.
And then, very suddenly, the wind died.
Asier and Lyra both stopped. Overhead, through the still shimmying tree branches, they caught sight of a strangely yellow sky. Normally a blueish-lavender hue, the change was startling.
“Well, that’s probably not good,” Lyra observed with resigned calm.
Asier risked a glance at her. A hot flush still suffused her cheeks and her lips were still swollen from kissing his body. A shiver chased over his skin. He tore his gaze away from her.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said gruffly. “Keep an eye out for shelter, in case we need it.” He turned his back on her, and started walking.
They’d been walking for only a few minutes when he heard a strange sound in the distance. He stopped and looked back at Lyra. She heard it too—her head tilted to listen, a frown etched between her brows.