Lyon (16 page)

She consoled herself that she would grow used to it in time. As Lyon's chosen one—his wife, as the Humans called their bonded women—she would be safe and able to travel freely between land and sea. How delicious it would be to choose legs or tail, according to her whim. All this would have been worth it.

Finding the unlocked door to his apartments, she entered uninvited. She caught his scent immediately and looked upward.
Fuck! More stairs?!
How many did these Humans need?

When she finally arrived at his bedchamber door, her mood was foul. There was a bed inside and he lay upon it, unmoving, unspeaking. Curious. It was widely known among those of her kind that the Satyr engaged in a frenzy of carnal diversions from dusk to dawn on a Moonful night. Why then, was he lying here now, so calm?

Twin shafts angled high from his groin and belly. Eyeing them, she stepped from shadow into moonlight, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

“No greeting?” she flung the words at him from across the room, trying to provoke him.

He made no reply. Gave no sign he was even aware of her. Her heart plummeted. Surely he wasn't…
dead!?

She rushed closer and cupped a hand over his lips. Relief swamped her when she felt his breath. He lived. Peering closely at his face, she gave his cheek a gentle smack. Nothing.

“Why won't you awaken?” She hitched herself onto his bed, glad to be off her new feet, and ran her thumb over his neck. He'd healed the marks she'd put on him.

“
Arruso.
Asshole,” she cursed. “I swear I'll kill you if you dare to die on me.”

Without his cooperation, she would be doomed to exist in constant peril. Eventually, she would be captured. And once ElseWorld snatched her, they would discover the truth of her past soon enough. They must not be allowed to take this body from her. Without it, she was nothing. Literally nothing.

“What happened here to make you like this?” She picked up a glass from the floor and dipped her tongue into its wine, then shuddered at the bitter, repulsive taste.

The air was redolent with the smells of food. She remembered the trays Juliette and her servants had brought. Understanding dawned. Apparently, the mademoiselle hadn't forgotten all of her magic.

She tsked at him. “Fool! You ate food proffered by a faerie? Left yourself wide open to her spells? You must've known better, but I suppose you were too blinded by lust to avoid her trap. And what was the purpose of her trap, I wonder?”

Leaning over him, she took the root of his pelvic cock in one hand and that of his man-cock in her other, admiring them. They were the kind of cocks she most preferred—long, thick, and unyielding, with a slight curve. Just right for fucking.

“You've grown since we last met,” she said approvingly. “The effect of the moon, I suppose.”

Releasing the lesser one, she dipped the tip of one claw inside the slit of the larger one that grew from his thatch. Cum welled. She bent and lapped it, gasping when she tasted her rival on him. “Damn! She took you in her mouth?”

Alarmed at what this could mean in terms of her rights to him, she wasted no time in reasserting her own claim. Going up on her knees, she situated herself alongside his hip, so she faced toward his feet. Splitting her new lower limbs, she awkwardly attempted to straddle him.

He expelled an involuntary
oof
as she drove her knee into his midsection at one point before managing to sling herself into position.

Giving him her back, she rose over him on all fours and tucked her calves along his flanks, toes pointed toward his armpits. Her feet clutched his ribs, anchoring her to him.

Reaching between her legs, she guided the shaft that grew from his thatch to the brink of her feminine slit. Then, reaching her other hand behind her, she awkwardly brought his pelvic shaft to the tight, blue mouth in the cleft of her rear. Leaving him poised thusly, she braced her hands in front of her on his thighs.

All she had to do now was let gravity do its work.

Her leg muscles relaxed and she immediately felt the pressure of his entry. She opened easily for him at first, but her eyes widened as he sought a deeper intrusion. She'd taken him in her female passage once before, but he was larger than most—especially tonight. And she'd not previously had him
á deux
.

Still, fucking him on the sly like this, without his knowledge or permission, acted on her like an aphrodisiac. The power and the control were hers in this moment and she reveled in them.

“I believe I prefer you like this, so docile and cooperative,” she murmured, as she attempted to fill herself with him.

Minutes passed as her gelatinous passages struggled to induct all of him. She let him take her weight, forcing him deeper and farther and faster than her body could comfortably withstand and relishing the resulting pleasure-pain. Her tissues sucked at him in a sort of carnal peristalsis as she pressed on, sometimes easing up an inch or so before angling down again to achieve a better fit. At long last, her bottom rested flush with his belly and she found herself twice impaled.

She squirmed on him, seating him as deeply as possible. “Umm,” she crooned. “This is almost worth all the trouble you've put me to.”

Then, reminding herself of her ultimate purpose, she proceeded to rhythmically rise and fall on him. His lengths were warm, and her channels cool, and the sensation of his advance and retreat was all the more acute due to the difference. Moving inside her, he felt thrillingly huge. The rod in her vaginal passage stretched her so wide that each shove brushed her clit. Within seconds, she climaxed, but she scarcely let it break her stride for the object of this intercourse was
his
ejaculation.

So she fucked onward, twitching now and then as his thrust excited nerve endings already over-stimulated by her recent coming. Her muscles burned at the unaccustomed exercise, and they quickly began to tire and falter.

“Nooo!” she despaired, fearing her new legs might give out on her. She punched her quivering thigh with an impotent fist. She had to bring him to completion!

The touch of warm male hands startled her and she jerked upright as they firmly grasped her hips and commenced assisting her movement. She gasped and looked at Lyon over her shoulder. His eyes were still closed, his mind distant and unaware. It was only some mating instinct that had prompted him to continue her work.

His grip compelled her to swallow to him again, and the motion forced her to twist back around to face the foot of the bed. In complete control of her now, he pushed her, then pulled, harder and faster, shoving himself in and out of her. Gratefully, she indulged him.

Her lashes lowered, turning her eyes to slits. Her claws hooked his thighs. “That's it, my darling,” she crooned, her voice hot and urgent. “Help me fuck you.”

Inside her he grew even fatter, even hungrier for release. In the V between his legs, his scrotum tightened. Retracting her claws, she took his balls in one hand, fondling them in the way men liked.

“Yes, that's right,” she crooned. “Like that. Shoot it in me…oh, Gods, please!”

Hard fingers dug into her hips, pushing her away one last time, then wrenching her downward, so hard that their bodies' meeting rattled her very bones. His hips strained upward, lifting them both from the bed for a suspended moment.

A single, harsh groan escaped him and she felt him spill inside her. Her groan mingled with his and her body bowed forward under the strength of another, unexpected orgasm that crashed over her in tandem with his. Her body bucked uncontrollably as a second gush of fluid heat spurted from him into her passages. And then a third, and a fourth, until she lost count. Tears of relief coursed down her cheeks and she wiped them away, embarrassed at herself for such a weak, feminine display.

Then her head went back and she laughed aloud, rejoicing at the wash of his life-giving semen. All had been accomplished! He'd just gifted her with his childseed and she'd felt her womb swallow it! He was hers. She was safe!

A long while later, his spillage finally slowed and then ceased altogether. His hands fell away to lie on the linens.

Breath heaved in and out of her lungs, loud in the quiet aftermath. She let out a shriek as the cock in her anus abruptly recoiled, making a squishy sound as it retracted inside his body. Her hands hit the mattress between his knees and she rose, just enough to relieve herself of his single remaining shaft. Then she flopped onto the mattress beside him.

She rolled onto her back and lay there for some time, limp and exhausted, her inner tissues still squelching. Her fingers moved between her legs, glossing the slickness of their mingled juices over her clit and setting off another round of pleasurable spasms.

Her thighs came together and she moaned turning on her side, toward him. “
Merci,
Monsieur Satyr,” she whispered. “Or should I say
grazie
?”

Beside her, Lyon was silent, still.

She smiled at him, enjoying the sight of his handsome sleeping face. And to think he was all hers, for surely this momentous event solidified her claim.

Levering herself up on an elbow, she ran her fingers lightly over his belly, examining it. Amazingly, there was no sign there had ever been a second cock protruding from his flesh.

He drew a long shuddering breath, and her eyes flew to his face, watching as those beautiful lips of his parted slightly and then spoke. His words, exhaled on a sigh, were so soft she almost didn't hear.

“Ahh! Juliette.”

Sibela leaped away from him as though he'd burned her. “Bastard!” she fumed, moving off the bed. “You dare mistake me for
her
?”

She swiped clawed fingertips over the abdomen she'd just caressed, drawing five pinkened stripes. Foam frothed on her lips as she cursed and spewed and raised her arm to inflict more damage.

But before she could retaliate further for his betrayal, a lightening bolt of pain struck, shooting along the insides of her legs from groin to ankle. Her legs crumpled under her, and then her knees struck the carpet.

Bent on all fours, she stared in horror at her lower limbs. The skin there had begun to shimmer and had developed a scalloped appearance.

Her fists pounded the floor and a frustrated wail emerged from her lips. Her legs had decided to become a tail again!

“Fuck!” Grabbing the bedrail, she pulled herself to her feet and shot a baleful glare at the man on the mattress. “That seed of yours better have been potent.”

With that, she scurried to the bedchamber door and slammed it behind her, causing it to accidentally lock. By the time she reached the top of the hotel staircase, her flesh had already begun to join high between her thighs. When her foot touched the final step in the lobby, she had fused from groin to knee. As she passed the hotelier's desk, her gait had necessarily deteriorated into a waddle.

Feeling ridiculous, she shuffled outside, down the walkway, and across the lawn. She had to reach the Seine before she ended up floundering on shore like a fish out of water.

Her ankles chose that moment to merge and she staggered. With a hard flex of feet that were rapidly becoming fins, she dove, arcing high above the remaining expanse of land. And by the time the river's splash embraced her, the transformation was already complete.

She would wait until Satyr's seed took root and grew before showing herself to him again, she decided. By then, he would be unable to do anything to thwart its gestation. Without looking back, she began to swim downstream with a powerful stroke, already planning what she would say to him when they were reunited one month from now.

Behind her in the hotel, Lyon slumbered on, blithely unaware that he'd just fathered a child.

Lyon opened his eyes and winced under the light streaming in the window. It was already mid-morning, far later than he normally slept.

A knock sounded on the door. So that was what had awakened him. Someone had entered his apartment and was now standing just outside his bedchamber. The doorknob was visible from his position on the bed, and he saw it turn. But he must've locked it for it didn't open.

“Monsieur Satyr? Monsieur Satyr?” More rapping. “Are you there?” It was the hotelier, sounding concerned and curious.

“
Si
,” Lyon managed.
Bacchus!
His voice creaked like a rusty key turning in a thousand-year-old lock. And he had a monstrous, mind-splitting headache worse than any hangover he could ever recall.

“A missive has arrived for you.”

“Put it un—” he began, only to be cut off by a wrenching cramp that seized his belly. “Under the door,” he rasped, curling onto his side in a fetal position.

After a brief hesitation, a square of white appeared on his side of the door, jettisoned by an unseen hand.

“Wait! What day is it?” he croaked.

“
Lundi
—Monday, monsieur,” came the disembodied voice.