Gryffin Strain: His Female Page 2

  Jarrk turned to face Akela and Chiarra’s eyes widened on his erection—thick, hard and scandalously long—rising from a ruffled bed of silver, and suffering not the least for having serviced Shani. Leaning back on his heels, he turned Akela’s back to him, lifted her and put her on his cock. As Jarrk speared between Akela’s cheeks, Chiarra’s body answered with an unexpected spike of lustful craving that took her at the core. She found herself breathless as she watched Jarrk hold his female on his cock, watched breathless while Akela sat impaled on his shaft, knees bent, legs spread outside his, perfectly still. The woman’s hands were clamped just above her own thighs, tugging her cheeks apart to receive Jarrk’s full penetration.

  Again, it was over in moments and Chiarra—finally breathing again—was stunned. She watched Akela fall away from the male, seemingly content. Jarrk had never moved—never so much as flexed his lower body. Mesmerized, Chiarra raised herself on her elbows, eyes on Jarrk’s impressive erection. His dick was as hard and full as when he’d started.

  How could that be?

  She’d learned a little about Gryffins during her lifetime. Although most people considered them animals, they weren’t that much different from humans. Their sex was placed slightly further back between their legs—on both sexes—with the result that the male’s erection strained, not so much parallel as perpendicular to his body. When threatened, their hackles rose on their knuckles, exposing—on the males—dangerous poison barbs. Similarly, the ruffed ridge on their heads lifted when they were provoked. Only one in five Gryffins was born a male. Accommodatingly, each male took on several females.

  Which didn’t explain why Jarrk had eight females in his fold, she thought wryly. At eight, he was beating the odds. Of course, Grat was such an asshole, maybe Jarrk had three females that otherwise would have belonged to Grat.

  She was suddenly aware that he returned her stare. Pulling her gaze from his thoroughly captivating erection, she found his ruff up and his gaze heated, apparently angry that she watched. His eyes brimmed with violent passion and she stared back, unable to drag her eyes from the owner of that to-beg-for cock. Her heart racketed in her chest and she tried to quiet it—by reminding herself the male was angry with her—by telling herself she should be ashamed of herself for watching without candor.

  Lowering her eyes, she dropped back onto her bedding, closed her eyes and struggled with her feelings—as well as her lack of them. Yes, she was aroused. No, Jarrk’s anger didn’t frighten her. And no, she really couldn’t scrape up much guilt either. She shrugged. She’d planned a full apology in the morning. She’d just throw this indiscretion in with the rest of her mistakes and cover it with a blanket apology. Closing her eyes, she tried to rid herself of that image.

  The image of Jarrk.

  Jarrk on his knees.

  An unruly twinge of desire came out of nowhere and crawled over skin, alive with sparking nerve endings. A little shiver of excitement originated at the nape of her neck and traveled to accumulate at the base of her spine where her back was inclined to arch in its zeal to accommodate the man on his knees in the pit. Arching her back, Chiarra stretched. The twinge made the leap from the small of her back to the depths of her very accommodating sex, which throbbed with intent interest. Desire twisted into her gut with warm clenching fingers that grabbed at her womb. A strong thrumming pulse sprang to life between her legs and shot upward through her body to squeeze her lungs and snatch at her heart. She could not erase the image of Jarrk wedged firmly in her mind.

  Jarrk on his knees.

  Jarrk. Out in his full glory.

  He might not be a man, exactly. But he was definitely all male.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m sorry, Jarrk. I apologize for my behavior.”

  The human, Chiarra, extended her hand toward him, palm up. With bold trust, eyes the warm green of forest lakes held his.

  The little human’s abrupt reversal of attitude was unexpected. He’d understood humans were reluctant to admit error, yet here the female stood with hand out and palm up, her action an expression of apology and…submittal, if he understood the gesture. Jarrk hesitated, reluctant to touch the woman.

  “I put myself in your hands,” she said, without faltering, “and accept your protection while in your country.”

  He didn’t want to touch her, but his refusal would be received as an insult. And then it would be open season again, he was sure, where this female was concerned. Raking one hand into his ruff, he reached out for her with the other and laid it, palm down, on hers.

  It was worse than he’d anticipated. And better. Her skin was smooth, soft and invitingly warm. Excited nerve endings channeled conflicting messages from his hand to various parts of his body, with predictable results. Thank Tar she couldn’t see his cock stiffen beneath his sporran, but she would see that same reaction mirrored in his lifting ruff. Again, he attempted to stroke his ruff into submission, which was rather like throwing fuel on the fire, as the stiff ridge of hair responded to the stimulus of his hand.

  Excusing himself, he pushed out of the door. His ruff continued to lift as he stalked away from the lodge. Minutes later he was plunging into a large geyser pool, shaking the water from his hair as he surfaced.

  Chiarra!

  The haughty little human had his ridge up.

  Tar! He pulled himself out of the pool and onto the flat, warm rock surrounding the pool. What a combination of conflicting attributes the woman was. Proud to begin with—too proud—insulting and rude as a spark. Jarrk smiled slowly. But he had seen the honest regret in her eyes. He’d met humans who would hold tightly to their proud opinions, foolish judgments and carry them to their graves. But, unlike others of her race, the girl, Chiarra, had revised her opinion in an instant. She’d apologized, afterward, unflinchingly, and at the first opportunity.

  He’d predicted her regret—he couldn’t have known it would come so quickly.

  With such a rush of warmth.

  Tar, the woman was warmth. Warmth. Jarrk held his hand before his face and stared at it as his smile evaporated. Too bad humans considered Gryffins little more than animals.

  He’d heard stories of human females. Of the things they could do with their bodies. He’d heard about the rumored length of their orgasms and the…the number of orgasms, if he understood correctly. Frowning painfully, Jarrk continued to stare at his hand as every muscle in his body tensed and his cock jerked to life in unison with the ridge on his skull. Closing his eyes, he let his hand drop onto his ruffled groin. With the palm of his hand, he smoothed the fringed scales downward then fingered one upward.

  Chiarra.

  “Why did you fight for me, if you don’t plan to use me?”

  He could use her now.

  Tar, human women were shapely. They were all in-and-out, as opposed to the women of his own race, who were straight-up-and-down. He closed his eyes and saw Chiarra, her small, female, curving form. He wished he could get a look under all that clothing she wore. Why did humans cover their chests! Were they ashamed they had no fans? With breasts like Chiarra’s, a woman had no need of a fan. Her short, sleeveless jerkin did nothing to conceal the fact that her breasts would fill his hands…and nicely. The short wrap that hugged her hips didn’t obscure any portion of her rounded derriere. His hands ached to travel those curves just as his fingers longed to stroke into her crease and follow it to the pool of warmth between her legs.

  He turned his wounded cheek into the sun.

  And her hair! Masses of thick waves that curled on her shoulders. Her hair was an unusual color, red mixed with brown. Red and orange were common in Gryffin females, but brown! It was as rich and dark and deep as the forest. Her eyes were long and wide. Her pupils—a continuous, uninterrupted lake of warm, peaceful green. A man could fall into that lake and never resurface.

  Chiarra.

  “If you plan to use me—I won’t require instruction!”

  Slowly, his hand smoothed downward then crept up against
the pubic scales. He held his breath as he dragged his hand up against the lay of the fringed scales—they rose under his hand. At the same time, the fingers of his other hand slid into his scalp to dig into his ruff. With a groan, he pulled his fingers through his ridge. A moment later, both hands were smoothing and riffling the thick bed that surrounded his shaft, as his dick strained straight up from his body.

  He clamped both hands around his erection and tightened his fists. What would it be like inside a woman? A human woman. What would it be like inside Chiarra? Would it last long? Would Chiarra? Last long? Would she last long enough to satisfy him? His hands loosened then compressed his pulsing length. Would he find release inside Chiarra’s warmth?

  “Need help with that?”

  Jerking upright, he found Chiarra on the other side of the pool. Her lips were quirked in a smile while her eyes rested between his legs.

  Startled by her intrusion, angry at his own indiscretion, he hid his annoyance and gave her a heated smile. “I think I’ve got a handle on the situation.”

  “Actually, you’ve got a hand on it. But you do have one hell of a handle.”

  “Do you like to watch, then, little human?” He stroked his dick languidly, boldly.

  She made a face. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”

  He gave her a questioning look.

  “For watching you with your females.”

  It took a moment for his eyes to register understanding. He shrugged. “You’re one of my females, now. You’re welcome to watch…or take part for that matter.” His voice feigned disinterest but a smile of evil mischief accompanied his words.

  Her eyes lit with a spark of her own mischief. “I wouldn’t want to force myself on you.”

  He thought about that. About positioning her over his cock and letting her force herself onto his dick. “No. I wouldn’t want that, either,” he lied. “But we could ease into it slowly.”

  Her lips parted in pleased surprise.

  “At any rate, an apology isn’t required. Don’t lose any sleep over it, and…watch as much as you like.”

  She snorted. “It hardly lasted long enough for me to lose any sleep.” She cocked her head. “I could take part…” she ruminated.

  Jarrk held his breath.

  She smiled suddenly. “If I took part, I imagine there’d be a lot more to watch.”

  Jarrk sucked in his cheeks as his mouth dried and his dick surged painfully. A single iridescent tear spat from the tip of his aching cock.

  Chiarra raised a finger to point at his erection. “How’s it coming?”

  It’s probably coming under my own hand, he thought, and wished for it to be buried between Chiarra’s legs. “It’s coming along nicely, thank you.”

  Her laugh was a silvery sparkle. “Well, if you’re looking for satisfaction from me, don’t hold your breath.”

  “It wasn’t my breath I was holding.”

  “That’s right,” she laughed again. She shot him a final grin before turning into the forest. “I like a man that can hold his own. Hope everything comes out alright,” she threw over her shoulder.

  For several moments, he watched the place where she stood as he pumped his cock in his fist.

  “If I took part, I imagine there’d be a lot more to watch.”

  Jarrk’s back stiffened. His eyes closed and he groaned just before he erupted onto his hands.

  Chapter Five

  “What! I don’t think so,” she stated vehemently.

  Chiarra watched Jarrk as his hackles rose on his knuckles. He pressed the heel of one palm above the knuckles of his other hand milking downward on blue veins. Phosphorescent drops of deadly poison dripped into the cup of water.

  “You’ll drink it,” he stated with determination. “It may save your life. It isn’t common knowledge, but you can build up an immunity to Gryffin poison, by taking it in gradually increasing amounts. Just two drops today, three tomorrow.” He slid the cup across the table. “Try it.”

  She pushed herself away from the table, gave him a wary look and shook her head.

  “You’re going to try it, if it’s the last thing you do.”

  “That’s what troubles me,” she muttered.

  She backed across the room while he followed her, the cup in his hand. Followed her, until her back, was up against the curved wall of the lodge. With one forearm on the wall behind her, he caged her in, his long hard body inches from hers. The cup nudged against her bottom lip—she resisted with tightly pressed lips.

  Abruptly, there were no more inches between their bodies as Jarrk held her hard against the wall and his free hand took the nape of her neck, tipping her head while the lip of the cup edged between her lips.

  Chiarra sniffed sharply. She would have gasped if she’d dared to open her mouth. She would have gasped at that first startling instant of contact except she knew it would earn her a mouthful of blue poison. As it was, her body gasped for her, stunned at the man’s abrasive nearness, hard and strong at every touch point. Her nipples tightened at initial contact then screamed for more. Her lower body heard and cried out for connection. Her pubic mound canted toward him automatically and she smeared her body against the hard male length that pinned her to the wall.

  Jarrk stopped with a curse. Chiarra’s body ground against his as she struggled beneath him. The stubborn little human was getting him totally ruffed up. Her struggles inciting his dick to action. Her tense little body, a provocation to everything male stirring—and stirred up—in his loins. Ignoring his growing erection, he tried to get a finger in her mouth and almost spilled the cup. With one hand gripping her nape and the other holding the cup, he cast about for other options. Decisively, he put his head down to hers, put his lips at the corner of her mouth and shot the flat tip of his tongue between her lips.

  Her mouth opened in surprise.

  He dropped the cup in astonishment—unprepared for the ready heat of that warm, moist envelope.

  He heard the cup hit the ground with a light thud. Felt the thud in his heart, in no way light. He groaned as he clutched her shoulders, pulled his tongue, his mouth from hers with great force of effort, and tried to remove his hands from her. They wouldn’t quite come free, instead they moved down over her mounded breasts, damp and wet where the cup had spilled. He left his hands where they were, unwilling, unable to remove them.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” he said unevenly. “I’ve spilled.”

  “What,” she breathed back, just as unevenly, “no friendly drop left for me?” She lowered her eyes in the direction of his groin but stopped when she found his hands cupping her breasts. “Your hands!”

  His hands jerked an inch to hover above her breasts. Slowly, he made a fist and raised it to her mouth. He wasn’t too surprised when his hackles rose for her. By now, everything else was up. Ruff. Cock. You name it.

  He clenched his fist. Watched a single drop of blue trickle out across his fingers and gave her a look of warning. “You’re going to get it one way or another,” he told her. His lips were against her ear as he whispered. “One place or another. If you won’t take it in your mouth, I imagine there’s enough poison in my semen to do the trick.”

  He heard her suck in a breath and watched her tongue flick out to capture the thin line of blue liquor. She closed her eyes.

  The poison, cool on her tongue, slid down her throat with a hint of intoxicating fire and she waited a moment to assess her body’s reaction. Almost immediately, she was blindsided by a stunning vision that robbed her breath. A vision as beautiful as complete…as total orgasm.

  Jarrk stood in a moonlit clearing, silver light on his shoulders as he turned toward her. There was a geyser pool behind him and the moonlight on the pool was a thousand silver leaves floating on the water’s surface. He smiled at her as he pulled the string on his pants and let them slide down his legs.

  She tilted her head back to rest on the leafy wall behind her. “Jarrk,” she whis
pered.

  He was smiling when she opened her eyes again.

  “Okay, so I’ll build up an immunity,” she said reluctantly, dragging herself back to the present. “Do I have to worry about Grat or any of the other Gryffin males for that matter?”

  He shook his head as the tension between them eased a fraction. “None of the other males, but Grat’s—an asshole, if I’ve got the word right. Watch out for him.”

  Their eyes failed to disconnect and Chiarra felt that hint of fire continue down past her stomach and settle lower, where it had no business exploring, let alone settling. Jarrk’s eyes glinted an instant, as if in understanding or in answer. With narrowed eyes, she gazed into his neon ones. Okay, so Jarrk’s venom wasn’t going to kill her but what other effects might it have on her?

  An aphrodisiac?

  Mightn’t Jarrk’s venom act as an aphrodisiac on her—excite her and compel her to couple with him? Perhaps he intended to drive her into a maddened frenzy of desire then refuse her.

  Chiarra frowned, dissatisfied with that conclusion. Or not refuse her, she thought, reasonably.

  And perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

  She watched Jarrk’s smile widen, probably at her dopey expression.

  Tar, she thought warmly, he had a nice smile.

  Too bad everything she did annoyed him, she thought, as she gazed at his stiff ruff. Too bad he was attached. Her eyes slid around the inside of the lodge. In fact, she’d never known a man with so many attachments.

  Pushing off from the wall, Jarrk crossed the room to Akela’s worktable. Chiarra watched him as he pulled a narrow flask beneath his hand, turned his hand sideways, and milked a stream of poison to drip from his knuckles into the flask. When the flask was full, he crossed the room to pick up his bow. “I’ll hunt tonight,” he informed Akela…rather brusquely, Chiarra thought.