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Wick growled, thrusting faster. He felt wild with it. The start of a blood frenzy flickered at the edges of his eyes.

Wait , he told himself, even as he sped up and his thoughts grew dim. Don’t ?—

The amulet glowed. His thoughts were suddenly clearer. He could make himself slow down again, stop trying to push so deep. He was almost at his third ridge.

Briar arched, the curve of her spine so tantalizing he had to lick it again. The amulet was still glowing, washing the ground below her in white light.

“You’re so deep,” she told him as he curled his tongue over her neck. “ Gods . How much is left?”

Wick leaned back to check. It was still hard to think, but at least with the amulet glowing, he could hold onto himself. He could feel the blood frenzy burning at his edges. If it had taken him over, he would have shoved all of himself inside and then done much worse.

“Not much,” he said, his voice thick with heat and relief. “You are taking me so well.”

“Back at you, big guy.” Her eyes slammed shut on the next thrust, a high groan spilling out of her. There was no fear anymore, but Wick couldn’t tell if that was because the lust was so big or because the amulet was still glowing.

Wick wanted to pound into her. Wanted to pull her into his lap and bounce her on his cock.

Wanted to see how loud she got with all four ridges popping in and out of her, wanted to feel her flutter and spasm around him, he wanted to come inside her and eat it out of her.

He was going to come, he could feel it pulsing in his cock.

He reached around her and touched her above her hole. There, just where the thick hair ended, was that tiny, swollen nub that had made her react so strongly when he’d licked it.

He rubbed it. Gently, like she’d told him to.

Briar yelled. Her hole contracted around him, squeezing him so tight she almost forced him out.

His hand slipped off her nub. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her still.

Briar moaned and shook, her open mouth pillowed on her arms. She let out another wordless cry as he found her nub again, so small and delicate he had to concentrate to keep touching it, his fingers threatening to slide off.

She moaned something. It took him several seconds to realize she was trying to speak.

“Circles,” she panted in between thrusts. “Do… circles.”

Dazed with his impending orgasm, Wick didn’t know what she meant.

Then he understood, and he started rubbing circles against her small nub.

It took all his concentration to keep his touch light, to keep his finger moving in circles against such a tiny target, but it was worth it to hear Briar come apart underneath him.

Briar let out a sob, her whole body taut. She smelled like salt and pleasure and sweet release, her inner walls growing even slicker as he pounded inside.

His third ridge slipped into her. Briar cried out again, reaching down to grab the arm he had secured across her waist.

Wick started, “I am going to?—”

That was all he managed. He buried his nose in the back of her neck and came, three ridges deep, paralyzed as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Finally, the waves subsided. He slumped, and Briar made a warning noise.

“Sorry,” Wick attempted to say. It came out rough and nonsensical, and he pushed himself off of her with wobbly arms and fell onto his back beside her.

For a long minute, neither of them spoke.

Briar’s chest heaved, glistening with sweat. “You’re going to be a lot to get used to,” she announced, then paused. “Not that we’ll have much time to get used to each other. If we fly, this trip will barely take a week.”

Wick nodded, strangely sad about it. A week was a blink for a Skullstalker.

“And then I will visit you in your riches,” he confirmed.

Briar chuckled. Dirt stuck to her hair as she twisted to look at him. “Sure, buddy. And I’ll come and see you at your waterfall. Actually…”

Wick waited. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going to let it be a surprise.”

He frowned. But Briar didn’t elaborate, only stretched mightily and winced.

Wick sat up, sniffing the air. No blood. The faintest scent of pain.

“How sore are you?” he asked.

“I told you, big boy. It’s only the good kind of hurt.” Briar closed one eye at him again.

“What does that mean?” Wick asked.

Briar hesitated. “Winking?”

He also meant “the good kind of hurt,” which still did not make sense to him. But he nodded, assuming she was talking about the half-blink.

“It’s, uh…” Briar grinned. “I wink when I’m trying to be charming, I guess. Is it not working?”

Wick thought about it. Briar was charming, but that was less important than all the other things. Charming felt like a mask she was putting on, like a smile she gave him to hide all the messy emotions clamoring under his nose.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But you do not need to be.”

Briar’s smile slipped. She stared at him with something very close to distrust. Then it opened into something he had seen several times over the last day: realization. She kept thinking he was lying to her. She did not yet know that he did not bother lying very often.

I don’t trust easy, she had told him.

He believed her. Now he just needed to make her believe him: she did not need to be anything other than herself around him.

Briar averted her eyes, letting out a laugh that was much more stale than any laugh she’d produced today.

“Careful, big boy. Talk to strays like that and you might just talk them into staying.” She stood, grimacing as she twisted to look at the dirt coating her backside. “Alright. Any chance you can sniff out the nearest river?”