Evara didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. She had surrendered completely to the "ancestral technique," her cheek resting on the soft fur, her eyes half-open and glazed with a heavy, intoxicating lethargy. She looked at him... sweaty, intense, looming over her in the flickering firelight... and saw only a healer fighting a battle against her pain.
"It hurts," she slurred, her voice thick and syrupy. "But... it feels like the pain is melting into... something else."
Sol leaned down until his chest brushed against her back, his mouth hovering right next to her ear, his breath hot against her damp skin.
"That is the energy releasing," he lied, his voice a rough murmur. "I have to chase the knots down. They hide in the deepest parts of you."
His hand slid down her flank, fingers trailing fire, and slipped beneath her. His fingertips brushed against the soft skin of her stomach, dangerously close to the heat radiating from her pussy. To her, he was searching for tension. To him, he was mapping the territory he intended to conquer.
"Evara," he breathed, his hips snapping forward in a sharp, involuntary thrust against her. "The treatment... it’s about to get intense."
"Do it," she mumbled into the fur, trusting him implicitly. "Get it out."
The air in the hut had thickened into a humid, suffocating soup of musk and desire. The firepit hissed and popped, but neither of them heard it. The only sound that mattered was the ragged rhythm of Evara’s breathing and the blood rushing in Sol’s ears like a torrential river.
"The treatment..." Sol repeated, his voice a wrecked growl. "I need to work the... deep tension."
He didn’t wait for permission, as he felt that he didn’t need it anymore. Evara’s body was a pliable, eager instrument under his hands, arching into his touch, silently begging for more pressure, more friction, more heat.
He shifted his weight, abandoning the pretense of proper posture. He leaned his entire upper body over her, his chest pressing flat against her sweat-slicked bac, crushing her breasts into the furs. The thin fiber of her wrap was soaked through, offering zero barrier between his skin and hers. He could feel the thudding of her heart against his ribs, a frantic beat that matched his own.
His hands, once methodical, became voracious. They swept down her sides, gripping her waist with a possession that left white marks on her copper skin. He didn’t just knead the muscle; he molded her. He treated her flesh like clay that needed to be shaped by his will.
He slid his hands lower, past the curve of her hips, digging his fingers into the tops of her thighs. He squeezed, feeling the powerful muscles bunch and tremble under his grip.
"Is the knot here?" he whispered, near the sensitive cord of her neck.
"Yes..." Evara gasped, her head thrashing against her folded arms. "There... everywhere..."
"It seems like the tension pools here," Sol whispered, his voice ragged. "In the legs. I have to... drain it."
Sol groaned. He ground his hips down, a slow, rolling motion that dragged the hard ridge of his erect cock into the crack of her buttocks. The friction was exquisite agony. Through the rough fabric of his loincloth, he could feel the searing heat of her pussy, the softness that yielded and then pushed back. He brushed against the very edge of her pussy, teasing the heat there without touching it directly.
Evara gasped, her legs falling open reflexively. "It feels... strange there. Hot. Like lightning."
"That means it’s working," Sol growled.
He moved his hands inward, his thumbs finding the dimples at the base of her spine and pushing down, while his fingers spread wide to cup the full, heavy weight of her ass. He squeezed, lifting the flesh, kneading it with a rhythm that mimicked the act he was so desperate to perform.
Evara cried out... a muffled, broken sound. She spread her legs wider on the furs, an instinctive invitation that nearly shattered Sol’s sanity.
"You’re so tight," Sol murmured, his hands sliding underneath her now, his palms cupping her hip bones, lifting her pelvis slightly off the floor to meet his thrusts. "So much tension stored here. I have to release it."
He increased the pace. The massage had devolved into a shameless, grinding dry-hump, thinly veiled by the movement of his hands. He rubbed himself against her, feeling the damp heat of her pussy seeping through his clothes.
His hands wandered dangerously. One hand left her hip and slid down the inside of her thigh, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin near her pussy. She jerked, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth, but she didn’t stop him. She bucked her hips backward, chasing his hand, chasing the friction.
"Sol..." she whined, a sound of pure, unadulterated need. "It’s too... hot..."
"Let it burn, It will be better this way," he commanded.
He moved his hand higher, and slipped them under her armpits, exploring the side of her breast where it pressed against the fur. He thumbed the side of the swell, feeling the heaviness of it. He wanted to flip her over. He wanted to tear the thin wrap aside and bury his face in her. He wanted to see her face when he finally entered her.
The Ash Gray energy in his chest was pulsing violently, feeding on the lust in the room, amplifying his stamina, sharpening his senses until every touch felt like an explosion of nerves.
He was losing control. The rational part of his brain...the part that worried about plans and inhibitions... was drowning in a sea of hormones. She was so responsive, so trusting, so incredibly hot.
"Evara," he rasped, his hand sliding down her stomach again, his fingers splaying over her pubic bone, pressing down hard. "I have to... I have to go deeper to resolve the final pain. It requires... a special technique."
"Mmmm! Okay," she cried out, her body arching like a bow. "Whatever you need. Don’t stop. Fix me!"
That was it. The final straw.
Sol sat up on his knees, his breath coming in harsh, animalistic pants. His hands were shaking as they went to the knot of his loincloth. He couldn’t wait another second. He was going to take her right now, right here, ancestors be damned. He would tell her it was the ’Sacred Rod of Healing’ or something... he doubted she would refuse it in this state. She would believe anything right now.
He fumbled with the leather cord, his vision narrowing to a tunnel focused entirely on the curve of her hips waiting for him. He tugged the knot loose. The fabric began to slide down.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sound was like a thunderclap in the small space.
Sol froze. His hand clutching his loosening waistband, his heart stopping mid-beat. The silence that followed was deafening.
"Sol?"
A familiar, weary voice drifted through the wooden door.
"Sol, are you in there?"
It was Aunt Lyra.
The bucket of ice water couldn’t have been more effective if it had been real. The haze of lust shattered instantly, replaced by a spike of pure, cold adrenaline.
Shit.