Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I need to find some clothes, and head home to her.
Sliding off the bed, I wince as my thigh muscles protest. It’s been a long time since my legs were held that far apart for so long, and I haven’t been keeping on top of my yoga since I landed on an alien planet.
A small table in the corner holds a pitcher and a goblet. Sniffing the contents, I ascertain that it’s hima juice, so I grab it and drink deeply.
My pussy feels tender. What a shocker. When the king was—what did he call it?—rutting me, I came so often that I lost count. That beast did things to my body that I’ve only ever fantasized about. And he knew how to plug in to my desires, almost like he was reading my mind. If I hadn’t been so distracted with having screaming orgasms, it might have given me pause.
Or not. It was too dark for me to be able to see his face, but his body was perfect: firm and insanely muscular, just how I like my guys. And his cock… holy wow, his cock…
No. Bad Rose. Stop drooling over King Muscles, and work on getting back to Ma.
I can’t see any of my clothes or my cloak, so I grab one of the furs from the bed, wrap it around myself like I’m one of the Flintstones, and set off in search of something to wear.
And maybe a bathroom. I smell like wilting moonflowers, a cloying, honeydew scent—and musk. The insides of my legs—and my pussy—are sticky with dried cum. His… and mine.
As I begin to walk, I can feel how wet I still am. Considering I had to regularly use lube with previous lovers, it’s strange. I’ve dated a few guys, a couple of whom I would have called stellar in the sack—at least, until last night—but never in my life has a river of girl juice been gushing from my pussy the way it is now.
The first doorway I find opens to a bathroom. And compared to the modest facilities in Ma’s cottage, this is a five-star spa resort, with polished stone walls and floor, an illuminated waterfall running in one corner, thick sheets of fabric that serve as Ulfarri towels, and—best of all—a gigantic, Roman-style tub.
I could have a quick bath before I go home, surely? God knows I need one. I use the toilet and wash my hands, then stare at the tub, having an extended mental argument with myself.
I need to sneak out before the king gets back. He’s not here, he bailed on me, but it’s fine. I should be getting back to Ma, to let her know I’m okay. But will another half hour make such a huge difference?
As I dither, something clicks, and a stream of steaming water gushes out of the faucet. Does this stuff work on motion sensors or something?
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s no reply.
The steam rising off the bathwater smells divine. With my bare feet rooted to the smooth, cool floor, I stand dumbstruck for the entire time it takes for the tub to fill. As if by magic, there’s another click, and the water stops. Is my little friend Rogue back? It doesn’t feel like it.
I catch a whiff of my own stale sweat. Fuck it. A quick bath won’t hurt anyone.
The water is heavenly as I sink into it all the way up to my neck, and for a long while, I soak, my eyes closed, my thoughts constantly drifting back to the mysterious king and the way my body responded to him—the way it’s still responding to him, since the insistent throbbing in my groin shows no signs of abating. Though the water is the perfect temperature, my nipples are rigid, aching points, and my lower belly is clenching with desire.
What is going on? Could it really be that estrus thing Ma warned me about? If so, she should have been more clear about just how powerful these urges are. It’s been three days since I last took the potion. I imagined that, if I did ever go into estrus, I might feel low-key horny.
This is another level entirely. I just got fucked for half—or maybe all—the night, and right now I’m thirstier than a dude who just did two decades in prison. And I want more than sex. I want…
What do I want? It’s so bizarre. I’m aching for something but I can’t put my finger on it.
With a sigh, I get out of the tub and wrap one of the huge towels around me. I was careful to keep my braids out of the water, but they probably need redoing after the extended sex session.
Too bad little Rogue isn’t here to help me.
As soon as I think this, a breeze licks around my ankles, rippling the towel.