Page 15 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)

Her cry cracked in her throat as he pulled back and thrust again, harder. She clawed at him, wild and wordless, and he snarled, hips snapping with feral rhythm.

His wings flared behind him with a sudden crash , the gust knocking something over that shattered on the floor. It didn’t matter. She was pinned to him, around him, surrounded by claws and hands, his breath hot at her throat, his mouth dragging along her pulse, and her body convulsed.

“Mine,” he growled, teeth scraping her skin. “You bear me. You burn for me.”

The claspers around her thighs flexed, tightening with the rhythm of his thrusts. The motion locked her against him, open, undone. She met every thrust with a writhing cry, trying to pull him deeper even when she couldn’t take any more .

And still, still he moved, rutting into her like he needed to bury himself inside her soul. She sobbed against his neck, voice shredded, mouth open and gasping as her body broke again. Her orgasm tore through her like fire in a dry field—violent, fast, impossible to outrun.

“You were made for this,” Sig hissed, a clacking sound emerging from his throat. “You were made for me.”

Nell’s fingers dug into his back, nails raking over skin and chitin as her scream ripped free—a pure, primal summons called straight from her core.

Sig howled, a raw cry that shook the walls and rattled the air. His wings snapped wide, and his entire body locked as he drove into her one final time, deep enough to make her gasp from the pressure.

His claspers cinched even tighter, holding her in place as his cock twitched, swelled, flooded her with thick, molten release. It pulsed into her in rhythmic waves, and the heat and fullness and sheer rightness sent her spiraling into another orgasm before the first had even finished.

She cried out again, wrecked and limp and shaking, clutching him like he was an anchor. He held her through the aftershocks, rocking slightly as their bodies twitched together, wrapped in heat and slick.

Nell’s skin was soaked, bones liquid, her lungs working overtime. For one perfect, obliterated moment, she was nothing but heat and him and glow.

Until her brain caught up.

Her eyes snapped open. Her chest hitched—not with pleasure this time, but realization.

“Oh—gods—ow—” she gasped, wincing as one of his claspers tightened reflexively, holding her still. One of his claws flexed against the curve of her thigh. Something scraped.

“Sig?” she said, sharp now, urgency slicing through the haze. “Let go.”

His breath stuttered. “I…I cannot.” He looked down at her and blinked slowly, unfocused, like he was surfacing from a deep dive. “They’re not…” A flicker of awareness snapped through his expression. “Done.”

She shoved at his chest, or tried to, but her arms were jelly. Her core was still clenching helplessly around the swollen, inhuman length of him. The claspers around her hips didn’t budge. If anything, they tightened , a slow, involuntary contraction.

“Sig, get out of me. ”

He stared at her, wild-eyed, caught between the fading haze of release and a sharp, rising edge of panic.

“This is not a choice,” he blurted. “My kind, when we bond, we… lock. It’s biological. To encourage… facilitate… fertilization. I cannot…” He shuddered, like even saying it out loud made it worse. “I cannot release you until it passes.”

“I almost died,” Nell hissed, voice high and rising, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “I almost died a few hours ago, and now I’ve got your dick stuck in me because of a goddamn biological bear trap sex thing?”

She tried to wiggle, just to try and make some room, but all it did was create a wet, humiliating schlick .

The base of his cock pulsed suddenly and swelled. Her walls clamped down without mercy, and before she could even form a thought, another orgasm detonated through her.

She sobbed, her whole body locked in helpless ecstasy, brain shrieking not again while her hips twitched against him, still craving, still clenching. Hot tears welled behind her eyes from the pure, surreal what-the-fuckery.

His claspers shifted, tightening with what felt less like lust now and more like remorse. Like he was trying to soothe her gently without understanding the mechanisms. One of his arms hesitated midair, then gently curved behind her back.

“Tell me you didn’t knot, ” she croaked.

“We do not call it that,” he murmured in a barely audible voice.

“ Sig. ”

“It is a…secondary anchor swell,” he offered, like that might somehow help. “To prevent slippage.”

“I swear to the gods. ”

She thumped a fist weakly against his chest. It landed like a wet sock. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he sighed and slid one arm under her thighs. He lifted her with ease, backed away from the table, and lowered them both back onto his chair in a graceless sprawl of tangled limbs.

They sat there. Fused. Her thighs trembling. Her brain short-circuiting. Her neighbor’s dick still very much lodged in a place no neighbor’s dick should ever be. And through it all, the mark between her thighs kept glowing , warm and low like the world’s worst afterglow candle.

Nell sucked in a shaky breath. Her senses began to realign, and with them, the pain.

She reached up to her shoulder, fingers grazing the torn skin, and recoiled with a hiss.

“ Ow—shit— ” She held up her now-bloody hand.

Sig’s eyes flashed. “You are bleeding.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She wiped her palm on her thigh. “Did you have to break the skin?”

“I did not mean to,” he muttered. “None of this was…strictly conscious.”

With a groan of exhausted rage, Nell slumped forward in surrender and wrapped her arms around his neck “I hate this,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “It was not my intention—”

“It wasn’t your intention?” she barked, voice pitching into hysteria again. “My thighs are glowing, my brain is buzzing, and I swear to the gods, if your dick doesn’t retract in the next five seconds, I will cut it off and bury it in the community garden.”

His mouth opened like he might protest. Then, wisely, closed again.

Several moments passed.

Click.

The claspers finally, blessedly , released. His cock slipped out of her with a wet, obscene schlup .

“Oh, thank fuck ,” she muttered.

She moved too fast. and her legs buckled immediately, like the rest of her body had just remembered what it had been through. Her vision went gray at the edges.

“Wait—” Sig said, rising, reaching out instinctively.

“ Don’t touch me! ” Nell snapped. She looked around, wild-eyed, and found her clothes stacked neatly on the floor near the bed. She began gathering them with frantic, fumbling hands, like the action could gather her humanity back to her piece by piece.

Her shredded shoulder screamed. Everything between her thighs felt like a battlefield.

She yanked everything into the semblance of a place and grabbed her shoes with one hand, clutching her bra and underwear to her chest with the other like they were armor she was too weary to don.

“Don’t follow me,” she mumbled, not looking at him.

“I will not,” he said softly. “But—”

“ Don’t. ”

She didn’t look back. Not at the whatever-had-shattered-all-over-the-floor. Not at the crumpled sheet. Not at the cryptid with the glowing eyes and the too-many appendages and the wrecked look on his face.

She flung open the door and ran down the hallway, dignity bleeding out behind her with every step.