Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
But the thought of saying that aloud—of admitting how desperately she wanted a release—made her cheeks feel hot with shame.
“Korrath,” she asked instead, trying to distract herself, “where are we going now?”
“To my home,” he said simply. His voice was steady and calm, as though nothing unusual was happening at all. “It is time we settled for the night. I will prepare Last Meal for you, and then…” He glanced down at her, his emerald eyes gleaming faintly. “We can consider sleeping arrangements.”
Her stomach flipped. Sleeping arrangements? The very idea sent a nervous flutter racing through her, half dread/half anticipation.
Somehow I doubt you’re going to get much sleep, a sardonic little voice whispered inside her head. Miranda did her best to push it away.
She followed the big Monstrum down a winding path of moss until they reached a one-story structure tucked away among tall, flowering trees. At first, she thought it was a cottage he had built here. Then she realized—no, it wasn’t built at all. It was grown.
The walls were dense mats of flowering vines woven together, blossoms glowing faintly in the dimming light. A wide arch served as the doorway, draped with pale blossoms instead of a door. Inside, the air smelled faintly of earth and green, growing things.
“Come in,” Korrath murmured, sweeping the curtain of blossoms aside. “You are welcome in my home, lovely one.”
Miranda stepped in and looked around.
Everything inside seemed alive. The chairs and couch weren’t made of wood or fabric, but formed from tightly packed vines. When she sat on the couch, the surface gave springily beneath her, but still supported her weight as firmly as any cushion. Even the table seemed to rise from the moss floor like a living stump, polished smooth by some natural process.
Her gaze caught on the walls, where blossoms of different colors had clustered together in intricate patterns. At first she thought they were random, until she realized—the glowing blooms had arranged themselves into pictures. They were living collages.
One image in particular made her pause. Two panther-like humanoid figures gazed out from the wall, their golden eyes bright and intelligent, their features regal. They looked so much like Korrath, she was sure they must be related.
“Your parents?” she asked softly, nodding at the flower picture.
He gave a short nod, already moving toward the food prep area where a counter and basin of water seemed to have grown naturally from the vines.
“Yes—the Mother Ship remembers them. She keeps their likeness here for me.”
Miranda touched the living picture with trembling fingers, marveling at the way the blossoms pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. She swallowed hard and turned away, suddenly feeling like an intruder in this space that was so deeply his.
Korrath busied himself at the counter, his broad shoulders shifting as he prepared something fragrant from the cupboards grown into the walls.
“Um, is there anything I can do?” Miranda asked. “Can I help?”
“You are a guest here. Explore if you wish,” he said over his shoulder. “My home is yours.”
Miranda wandered down a short hallway and found herself in what appeared to be a bedroom. The bed was enormous—a wide, circular structure formed from layered vines and leaves. It looked soft and inviting—almost like a nest.
Beyond the huge bed was another flower curtain. When Miranda swept it aside, she found a smaller room with smooth stone walls glistening with condensation. A fresher, she realized—the Kindred’s version of a bathroom. There was a basin for washing, a drain in the mossy floor, and a faintly glowing bloom set into the ceiling to give light.
She slipped inside, clutching the beautiful emerald green spider-silk dress closer. Her whole body was buzzing now—skin tingling and breasts aching. Her pussy was so hot and swollen she could hardly walk. Maybe—just maybe—if she touched herself, she could take the edge off.
Heart hammering, she pulled up her skirt and slid one hand between her thighs. Just the lightest brush of her fingers over her pussy lips made her gasp aloud. The pleasure was sharp—almost painful—like an electrical spark jumping through her nerves. She tried again, stroking gently…but the sensation only grew worse.
“Ahh—oh God!” she panted, jerking her hand away. It was too much—pleasure and pain all tangled together. She couldn’t stand to touch herself anymore. There was no release…not relief. Nothing but unbearable need.
She braced herself against the smooth wall, shivering.
What’s wrong with me? Why is my body aching like this? Why can’t I touch myself?
Her skin tingled everywhere, as though even the air itself was too much stimulation. Her nipples throbbed if she so much as breathed too deeply. And between her legs… she didn’t dare touch again. She was afraid she’d break apart!
There was no mirror in the fresher, but she didn’t need one to know something was happening to her. Her body felt foreign…strange. As though she was caught in some feverish state she couldn’t explain.