Page 10 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

His orgasm was coming up fast. He didn’t have the excuse of a dry spell, but it didn’t matter. She was glorious.

“Come here,” he gasped. He hauled her back into his lap.

She slid her hands under his open shirt, scratching at his furry pecs. “Condom?”

He fumbled in his pocket, pulling his wallet out and resurfacing triumphantly with a foil packet. He ripped it open with his teeth and slid it on. She grasped him before he was even finished, angling herself over him.

He grabbed her hips. “Impatient.”

She ran her tongue along his fangs and asked, “What happened to giving me what I needed, huh?”

“I will,” he said. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

He thrust up, sinking into her in one smooth motion. She cried out, eyes slamming shut. Her hands tightened in his mane so hard it stung.

He paused. “Too much?”

She shook her head vigorously. Her eyes cracked open, staring down at him in something so much like wonder it took his breath away. He clenched her hips, pushing back up into her once more.

She moaned, devastatingly loud. For a moment, the world narrowed into her transcendent expression, the single line of sweat running down her chest, and the need to make her come again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unfocused on his own pleasure during sex.

He needed to make her feel good like he needed air.

Then her hands came down over his own, stilling his motion.

“My turn,” she breathed. “Don’t move, okay?”

He nodded, dazed.

She grinned, bright and blazing. The truest smile he’d gotten out of her since he walked into her café. Then she started bouncing in his lap, riding him for all she was worth.

His trimmed claws pressed into her hips.

He heard himself growl, wings twitching against the couch.

This wasn’t where he thought this was going—he’d more pictured him pounding her into the couch—but he sure wasn’t complaining.

He shouldn’t have expected anything else, he realized as he watched her bounce on his cock.

Of course, she’d want the upper hand. For someone who was all about Arthur opening up, dropping the mask, and being real , she didn’t like being vulnerable, either.

It didn’t stop it from feeling weirdly intimate.

Even as he tried to focus on how incredible she felt around him—the delicious flush traveling down her cheeks and chest, her gorgeous tits jiggling in his face—he couldn’t help but think about how close they were.

How right she felt in his arms, which came up to circle her back as she rode him.

He’d slept with so many women he couldn’t count, but it had never felt as intimate as it was with Emma.

He let out a startled moan as she sank her hands into the soft underside of his wings.

She slowed, her hands pausing. “No?”

“It’s good,” he admitted, rushed. “You can keep going. It’s good.”

She started riding him in earnest again, squeezing around him.

It was heaven. It was torture. He only let the beauticians and makeup artists at them when he had to.

He definitely didn’t let anybody touch his wings during sex.

Never mind that it was Emma’s go-to move, the thing guaranteed to make him come apart.

Emma’s slim fingers traced his feathers, pressing past them to touch the skin.

Reaching behind him, she traced the place where his back met his wings, forcing a truly pathetic noise out of his throat.

She giggled. She looked delighted, even triumphant.

“Really should’ve fucked a chimera while you were gone,” she panted. “Think they’d all be so easy for me? One little tug on their tail—”

She wound his tail around her wrist, stroking his scales.

“—and you’re begging for it,” she continued.

He grinned. “I don’t hear me begging. Kinda thought it’d be you begging.”

“What do I have to beg for? I’m getting—” she stopped, mouth falling open on a high-pitched moan “—what I n-need.”

“Fucking told you.” He reached for her clit.

She slapped his hands away. “Hey! I said stay.”

He huffed a laugh, settling his hands around the small of her back. “You got mean.”

“I was always mean.” She grinned down at him, digging her hands into the softest part of his wings once more.

He shuddered under her touch. He wanted to correct her—she was never mean, she just played the part.

Maybe she had asshole tendencies, but it was all to cover that great big heart he’d brought up at dinner.

It wasn’t a line. He’d seen that big heart even before he knew her all that well.

She always thought he’d gone after her because he couldn’t stand someone not liking him, but it wasn’t true.

He’d gone after her because he’d seen that big heart, and he wanted to be worthy of it.

Her forehead dropped against his. Her motions were speeding up, getting jerkier.

Arthur’s blunt claws dug harder into her spine.

He wanted nothing more than to flip her over and pound her until she screamed.

But she’d told him not to, assured him it was what she needed.

He’d said he’d give it to her, hadn’t he?

He promised. He kept some of his promises.

“Fuck,” she whispered into his mane. “ Arthur . You feel…”

“You, too,” he groaned. He could feel himself twitching in the condom, the base swelling.

It felt surprisingly like a knot. Which was typical .

He hadn’t knotted anybody since Emma. Of course, it would show up again now.

It wasn’t like he was pulling out and knotting his hand, either; it just didn’t happen for him.

He came and slid right out, easy as anything.

But he could feel it now, the base of his cock bulging bigger and bigger.

Wanting to lock them together like when they were teenagers.

He cursed his ridiculous cock, which couldn’t sense that this wasn’t their Emma, it was ex--girlfriend Emma, who wouldn’t appreciate being locked onto him any longer than it took to make her come. That being said, she always liked it. Sometimes she even begged for his knot.

“I’m gonna come,” he said. “Can I knot you?”

The sound she made in response was so needy his wings spasmed, feeling sure she’d say yes. Then she shook her head.

“Make me come,” she said. “Do not knot me.”

He growled. He was honestly unsure if he could hold off much longer, especially with all the sinful sounds she was making. But she guided his hand to her clit, her hips stuttering as he rubbed her.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Fuck. Oh, fuck . Arthur.”

“Use me,” he said, shaking with the effort of keeping his hips still. “Feel that? That’s all for you. Come on my cock, baby.”

For once, she did exactly what he told her. She went rigid, her mouth wet and puffy and open as she cried out. He worked her clit, just the tip, the way he knew she liked. Making it so intense until it was almost too intense, her face creasing up as she rode out the aftershocks.

She grabbed his wrist. “Okay. That’s—that’s enough.”

He nodded, gripping her thigh desperately. There were faint dents on her hips from his trimmed claws; he bet there were matching ones in her back. Once she’d been littered with them, a constant studding of marks that faded within a few days.

She looked down at their conjoined bodies with a breathless laugh.

“Oh, I can feel it starting. Gonna be a big one,” she announced, swiveling her hips in a slow, tantalizing circle. “You want to knot me?”

“Yes,” he panted, trembling with it. “Shit, yeah, please.”

She flashed her blunt teeth. “Told you I’d make you beg.”

Then she climbed off him, sitting on the couch beside him and leaning over to jerk him light and fast.

He groaned helplessly. Her hand felt good, but nowhere near as good as the hot clutch of her body. He leaned toward her, trying to catch her mouth. He needed her on top of him again, he needed her close, needed more —

She nipped his lip again. “You said you wanted to knot me. Do it already.”

He was too close to do anything but obey.

His wings arched as he came. Come shot over his stomach, catching in his fur and his shirt, which had never made it all the way off.

It was so intense his eyes slammed shut, colors dancing under his eyelids.

When he opened them again, his cock was soft except for the thick bulge at the base, pink and stiff.

Emma’s breath hitched. She traced it idly with her thumb, the desire so obvious in her face that Arthur’s heart leaped.

She did want him to knot her. Even after all this time, she had wanted it, even if it meant they got stuck together for twenty minutes or even two hours like that memorable session in senior year.

She wiped a speck of come off her wrist and started to get up.

“Nope,” he said instantly. He wrapped his arms around her bare waist and dragged her back into his lap.

She batted him half-heartedly. “I gotta shower.”

“Shower later. Nap now.” He lay down on the couch, pulling her on top of him.

She snorted. “Ugh. Since when are you that guy?”

“I’ve had a very long day,” he said.

She twisted in his arms to give him a look. She obviously wanted it to be stern, but she was too satisfied, her limbs loose against him even as she pulled back.

Arthur waited, wings curving around her, trying to keep her close. At first, he thought she would insist, and he’d have to give in. He’d already gotten a hell of a lot more out of tonight than he thought he would.

Then she sighed, lying down against him. “Fine. Twenty minutes! Then you’re flying me back down.”

“You got it,” he said.

* * *

She fell asleep before he did. He listened to her breathe, the furrow between her brows finally smoothing out in sleep.

“There we go,” he murmured. He shifted against the couch. He was still covered in come and his knot was only just going down. He really should shower soon, but until then, he could let himself enjoy this. Emma Curt, in his arms once more. Probably for the last time.

He nuzzled her hair. She didn’t smell like Berry Blast anymore.

She smelled like sweat and come and him .

It felt right. Righter than red carpets, righter than a hundred cameras pointed at him.

He’d never felt more right than when he was holding Emma in his arms. His tail twisting between her legs, his wings tucked around her back.

He let his wings pull her even closer, feathers brushing her back. Once, he thought he’d do this every night for the rest of his life.

His eyes burned. He blinked hard, alarmed, thinking of dust and allergies and then realizing that no, he was just tearing up. Ridiculous. He didn’t cry outside of scenes. And even then, it was an elegant tear, something suitable for a charming, strong leading man.

Emma made a sleepy noise against his chest.

He closed his wings tighter.