Bride of Glass

by Jeanette Lynn

  One hand continued to play scratch, then knead, working its way up and down his chest as he groaned and growled his desire. A thick bulge began to press into my chest, making an appearance. And I pressed in harder, until he gave the bat signal.

  At Tokre’s short whimper, my free hand sliding down his arm to tickle his wrist, my hands closed around my prize and I jerked his paste from his grasp.

  Scuttling back, I crowed and whirled around. There was no place on this plane or the next for a devil’s paste that made me a wanton beast penis whore.

  Because it was totally the paste’s fault, the snorting asshole in my head remarked wryly.

  Shut up, butt munch, I shot back. Nobody asked you.

  This was some destroy the ring now or destroy us all kinda shit, and I was not about to sacrifice my lady junk in the name of his feelings!

  Hah! Ha-hah-ha-hah! With a triumphant whoop I was off, but my beast-husband was a hell of a lot faster than I really gave him credit for.

  I’m sure discovering your human mate is a cock tease might’ve played a hand in his swift response, but mostly it boiled down to those insane beastie reflexes.

  As large hands closed around my shoulders, I curled in on myself, pressing my loot into my stomach, my hands covering it protectively.

  “You can’t have it! It needs to die!” I bellowed, twisting this way and that. Glaring over my shoulder at my equally irate alien life partner, I curled my lip and hissed, snapping my teeth.

  Tokre paused and his lips parted. The beast man just could not believe his eyes.

  Well, better believe it, honey, ‘cause Mama is done playin’.

  This male did not understand just how determined I was to make sure this shit no longer existed. Granted, he could probably just have Noyel whip up another batch or however he’d acquired it—traded for it from Zhuii, I didn’t know—but I had to try.

  Thinking of something I’d seen in a movie, I dropped—just dropped like I was going to faint. With a quarter turn, I pivoted, then kicked my leg out, swiping at a thick set of tree trunks for legs.

  The droppin’ like it’s hot bit worked, the shoot the legs out maneuver, not so much.

  Instead of sending my mate tumbling to his ass, I sent my foot into his shin, and my awkward ass flying back towards the wall.

  Tokre used this opportunity to press me into a corner, literally, his large arms wrapping around me as he too dropped down, hovering right on top of me, before I’d even stopped from my tumble. He could squish me at any moment, but he wouldn’t.

  “You’ll never get it!” I bellowed. “Never!”

  Never was short lived.

  Tokre’s weight fell heavily atop me, until I was gasping and crying out, lifting my hand to pummel him, my balled fist aiming for his fat face.

  Gripping my shoulder hard enough I felt the prick of his claws, I was rolled to my back and shoved back into my corner. A hand closed over mine, the other pressing between my breasts to hold me in place. I had no choice but to give up the devil’s love potion.

  “It’s… mine… you… furry… asshole-ed… asshole!”

  A glorious smile of triumph lifted the damned beast’s lips. I’d almost think him devilishly handsome, the furry bastard, if I wasn’t so absolutely livid.

  “I hate you,” I grumbled, for all that it mattered. “Right now, I really friggin’ hate you.”

  The relief in his features as he gained his feet, examining his win, was beyond confusing. What? Did he think that was the only way to get him some? Paste up your lady and make her want it? Well!!

  “You don’t fight fair!” I accused, screeching indignantly. The look my mate gave me, as he finally deigned to grace me with his dark gaze, mirrored my own. Beastie didn’t much like being tricked? Well, kidnapped bride here, buster, and I couldn’t say I did, either!

  Stumbling to my feet, my eyes welled with irrational, unshed tears.

  Humiliation and embarrassment at being duly bested consumed me.

  He didn’t get it, didn’t understand, and even though I knew all this, I couldn’t shake the strange sense of betrayal filling me.

  Face screwed up, cheeks hot, my neck and ears equally aflame, I wanted to scream.

  Retreating to the kitchen area, still sporting that stupid, smug look, some of that hooray me, cocky confidence slipped off his beastly mug at the look on mine.

  “This isn’t over,” I huffed, stomping towards the table. Once seated, trying my damnedest to hide my ridiculous sniffles, I yanked a chair out to plop into it.

  Pointing to the fish gutting counter and the pot on the fire, I stared at the table as I motioned and talked, telling the male whose eyes I could feel on me yet refused to meet them.

  “I’m hungry.” Eyes burning, my head lifted and I pointed to my mouth. “Feed me.”

  My eyes dropped, but not before I found Tokre studying me quizzically.

  So maybe I was being a bit of an ass, but he was one all the friggin’ time!

  He doesn’t understand, I countered, having a little internal debate with myself, not for the first time, but that didn’t make anything any better.

  My mouth scrunched up harder, like I’d been sucking on a bag of bitter candies, and I was forced to wipe my eyes on my sleeve or water the table. Sniffling harder, I coughed to cover it up. Like I’d give him the satisfaction. Pfft.

  Hah. Where the hell was my tigerlady now, I thought sourly. My shoulders hunched and I slouched in my chair, my hand tracing the swirling pattern the grain of the table made.

  I’d find Zhuii and have him explain. I tried to calm myself with the thought. But then what if Zhuii uses that as his in? That was all it would take, one good salve lubing followed by a thorough fucking and I’d be stuck with the brute, for life. My life already sucked, didn’t need to permanently fuck it.

  Nope. Wasn’t going to entertain such thoughts. And yet I groaned and my lips pulled into a grimace.

  Lost to my thoughts, my nose plugged from all that totally not almost crying, I gasped and scooted back as a bowl was gently placed on the table and slid towards me. One of those carved, wooden spork things and a thick slab of dense bread followed.

  Fish soup, one sniff at the creamy mixture steaming before me told me. Picking up my eating utensil to shovel up a scoop, I gave the lumpy clump of beige cream a tiny taste.

  Hmm. Not bad. Quite good, actually, I thought, opening my mouth wide for the entire beast-sized spoonful.

  To be honest, I’d probably have eaten a baked old boot if it was tender enough to gnaw chunks off of, but this stuff, mmm, kinda like clam chowder. Fishy clam chowder, with definite lumps. Fish meat chunks, I told myself, shoveling that stuff in like I hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  Manners out the window, I didn’t bother to wait for Tokre to seat himself before I started eating, nor did I try to mime some kind of thank you.

  Like two desperados pointing loaded pistols at each other, ready to let shit rip as soon as I finished this bowl right here, we had ourselves an official standoff.

  Tokre made a noise and a mug was set down next to my bowl.

  “Still not going to let you put your satanic gunk on my junk,” I muttered dejectedly, ignoring the tingles that raised up my hand as the fur at the back of his hands accidently brushed mine.

  Just eat, Rosalinda. You owe him nothing.

  I was right, about all of it, I knew—the paste, the indignation mixing with resentment bubbling quietly beneath the surface—it all circled back, and then ‘round and ‘round the coaster went.

  The chair across from me scraped and my beastly nightmare joined me.

  Staring down into my soup bowl, I scooted my bread a little closer to break off a piece to nibble. Stirring my spork in my fish junk mystery stew, I stole a peek at the male across from me.

  Paste still in one hand, his fingers tapping the top lightly, absently, his other hand clenching his spork, fisted around it next to the bowl, he frowned into his gloppy soup goop.

  The br
ead I’d popped into my suddenly dry mouth wasn’t nearly as appetizing as moments before, my stomach twisting funnily.

  You don’t have to care—shouldn’t, for that matter, Rosa the Realist on my shoulder reminded me.

  “I don’t,” I mumbled, without realizing I’d spoken aloud at all.

  Minutes passed. Soon enough my spork scraped the bottom of my bowl. Biting my lip, my eyes were drawn to the fire and the pot over it.

  Hmmm.

  I stole a peek at Tokre, who had looked up, his gaze following mine.

  Without a word he stood, walking around the table and holding his hand out for my bowl.

  I still couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing on the vicinity of his chest, swallowing my pride to grudgingly lift my bowl. I felt like I was making concessions, unable to put it to words.

  Tokre took my bowl and refilled it, setting it down and walking back to his seat.

  Guilt suddenly filled me, and I hated this feeling, this inborn need to apologize, whether I was right or wrong.

  The need to give in first, the insta guilt trip regardless, the trademarks of a walking doormat—I was walking, talking, living proof.

  You’re weak, I thought sourly, then wanted to bitch slap that nasty little voice in my head.

  Putting my spork in my bowl as my stomach soured, my tummy still gurgling hungrily, I gathered another scoop, yet couldn’t bring myself to eat it.

  If this kind of shit could eat a person alive, I’d be a hell of a lot skinnier—hah, I’d be dead by now. My eyes burned anew with self-loathing. Fucking tigerlady my-

  Tokre’s spork dropped, rattling as it rolled across the table. His chair shoved back and he stood. The sound he made in his throat had my head lifting. A furry hand at the back of my chair yanked it back and I was lifted up, something hard shoved into my hand right before I was enveloped in a mass of heat and fur and a wild, needy purr.

  One hand cradled my ass, the other at my back, pinning me to his chest. The hand at my back moved back and forth along the length of my spine gently as he nuzzled the top of my head. That sweet crooning soon started up.

  The pads of my fingers dug into the salve he’d relinquished, the meaning behind the action not lost on me.

  Gah. I cursed our communication barrier for the hundredth time as our eyes met and held.

  Why, I wanted to ask. He’d already as much as won, why give in now?

  Because, like me, he felt that niggle of guilt, regret, what have you, perhaps?

  “Why does everything always have to be so fucking complicated,” I growled out in frustration. My eyes squeezed shut tight, teeth gritting, and I leaned in, putting my back into it as I pressed my forehead into his. The pain already building between my eyes started to grow a fun little heartbeat, but I didn’t let up, didn’t ease off. Tokre didn’t either.

  I relished the bite to the sweet gesture. Forehead mashing in some strange, beast nuzzle pretty much described our relationship in a nutshell.

  “I’m going to regret this,” I whispered mournfully and, groaning, eyelids pinched to the point I saw colors behind the stark darkness of my closed peepers, my hand slid to his elbow, then lower. Curling my hand into his palm, I pressed the oddly shaped jar into it.

  When I would have let it go I hesitated, but I couldn’t hold onto it. “Damn it, there,” I muttered almost angrily, opening my eyes to glare up at him as my fingers slid over his, wrapping them around the devil’s love paste. “Don’t make me regret this, or you will.”

  Tokre, his chest hitching funnily, purr going in and out with his sudden breathing distress, chuffed and tilted his head, moving in closer. Turning his head, his eyes wide open to watch me, he closed that miniscule distance between us.

  “Rrrrsssseeee,” he growled out softly, right before his lips pressed to mine. His attempt at a kiss was soft and sensual, oddly arousing, his mouth moving over mine experimentally. It sent pleasant tingles rushing through me.

  How something so sweet and seemingly innocent in execution could feel so sensual, I’d never know.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as he pulled back.

  Someone was taking pointers, I thought, tempted to lick my lips to savor the taste of him, then maybe lick his, just because.

  Nope. No rabbit hole falling, I’d been dragged backwards through a beast hedge, beaten with every branch, twig, bitten by a thousand thorns on my way to the other side. The other side? Full of fur and murky water and- and- and what the fuck am I saying?! And why isn’t he kissing me anymore?

  The object of my affection inhaled sharply at the look on my face, as if he could read my thoughts, and his hands, back to their original, grope-y positions, tightened. A shiver wracked his thick frame, a deep, rumbling purr following.

  “I shouldn’t want you,” I admitted bluntly. “I should fucking hate you. I shouldn’t be thinking about trying to take you on myself, or worrying about you when you’re injured. I should be pissed. I should be plotting your untimely demise—poison, hunting accident, blunt object to the head!” I was ranting, raving angrily under my breath, but alternately squirming, the muscles in his stomach undulating to the erratic rhythm of my hips.

  My dress was rucked up, covering my ass yet exposing my heat to his chest. Flesh to heated flesh, those thick abs clenched up whenever I did.

  “Well, don’t just stare at me,” I huffed in sudden embarrassment, “say something.”

  Tokre stared at me, watching my lips as they moved. A tinkling noise drew my attention as he shifted from one massive foot to the other, and together our gazes slid down, past my legs clamped around him, the giant paw kneading my ass pausing, past the slight tremble in his long, hairy legs, to where the jar now resided, broken neatly in two. The contents pooled in both halves, the lid lying next to them on the floor.

  I shouldn’t feel this titillated over a broken vat of accidental crotch potion, yet I did. Before I knew what I was doing I grinned like an idiot and squeaked happily, smacking our mouths together in an affectionate peck.

  My first thought was, hah, he’d chosen ME, my second, what the hell am I thinking? Doing? But I wasn’t—that was exactly it. I was running purely on instinct, feeling. My first instinct, which I had no clue what that necessarily said about me, was to kiss the beast silly.

  “I’ve been poisoned on you,” I told him. “I’d swear it. You’ve ruined me, in more ways than I can even pretend to know.”

  Tokre just studied me, a glazed look about him that mirrored the way I was eye-fucking his lips.

  “You’re really not good for me. We should stop.” You’re sore, the little voice in my head bellowed. Back away from the beast with the big dick! And yet I closed the distance, nipping at his thicker lower lip before sucking it into my mouth, telling the whining bitch in my head to fuck off.

  It was a head rush, the needy way he moaned and his hands started to shake. I felt drunk on it.

  Whenever he made to take over I stopped, pulled back, and waited, testing, teasing—discovering his limits, trying, without words, to set some semblance of boundaries. And each and every time I stopped, he acquiesced, and then I grew bolder.

  This giant beastie was giving over, in his actions, or lack thereof. This massively powerful creature, whether he was aware of it or not, was slowly submitting to me. I felt empowered.

  My hands pressed to his cheeks and I stopped, pausing to nip at his full lower lip. At his thick, unhindered growl my lips tipped up. Oh yeah, someone’s really feeling it. Good, because I was, too.

  Fingers sliding upward, they skirted past his rather small ears to his scalp, through the mat of fur atop his head. Soft, yet thick, a little coarse in spots but almost like duck down beneath, curious but enticing, I couldn’t help myself.

  With a groan I deepened our kiss and pulled him closer, my tongue slipping in past his parted lips, aware of those sharp teeth, to tangle with that fat pink appendage. My hips slowly started to buck then rock. Out of my head, I rubbed myself against him wantonly.


  Tokre hissed, then growled, the noise muffled into my mouth.

  I could do this, with this gentler side of him, so long as he didn’t beast out.

  Like fuck you can, Rosa the Realist barked at me.

  A part of me, in the back of my brain, still worried over it but that part wasn’t at home right now, Rosa the annoying R word firmly gagged and hogtied, shoved in that mental closet. That annoying head nag wasn’t even remotely in charge right now.

  Tokre’s hands kneaded, roved, slid up my dress until he’d shimmied it right up my back and over my breasts.

  Exposed, I pressed my naked chest to his. Hissing on contact, the hardened buds digging into the flesh of his pecs, he pulled back, breaking our kiss to stare down between us. At the sight of those tight little pink buds, he let out a pleased rumble, his hips jerking involuntarily at the sight before him.

  Both of his hands were at my ass now, following along to every pump of my hips. With every motion I slid down a little farther, until I felt it, the head of his cock bumping my inner thigh.

  Tightening up reflexively, I took a deep breath. Beyond anything, I wanted to give this a go again, for myself if not anything else. There were slight twinges as my body responded to my sudden arousal, a wet, squelching that had my beast lover’s purr kicking into overdrive.

  Beastie liked. Beastie definitely liked. Holy… alien cows.

  “We’re going to try this, but we’re going to do it my way.” I was talking more so to myself as I wriggled, reluctantly releasing my stranglehold on his head to reach down between us. His cockhead was right there, popping flush against his skin as I lifted up and pulled back, allowing a bit of room.

  His thick appendage bobbed as he swallowed, throbbing away angrily. Fingers curling around the base, I gripped it, slowly lowering myself until just the tip butted up against my sex. With a bit of wriggling and adjustment, my sheath engulfed the first few inches or so, Tokre’s shocked yet ecstatic chuff, as he gaped down at my partial impalement on his fat shaft, as if the beast just could not believe he was actually having sex again, was enough to bolster me.