“Jane?”
“Mhm?”
“Look at me.”
I did, stepping away to look up, my entire face aflame. His eyes were dark, his face drawn in an intense, focused look. Feral. The horns curving around his skull sent sparks into the night sky.
“I will fuck you.”
I would have fallen down, boneless as I was after the climax, and now completely overwhelmed by a new onslaught of arousal. But he held me fast, his hands on my hips, and when my knees buckled, he swept me into a bridal carry.
As he carried me, his dark, focused eyes never left my face. I raised my trembling hand to his beard and stroked the bristly hair.
I didn’t know where he was taking me, nor did I care. I was falling, and he was holding me, and it was enough.
But… I cared about one thing.
“Pan…” I started, combing my fingers through his beard. His lids grew heavy, and he looked like a cat ready to purr. I combed some more.
“Hm?”
It came out almost like a purr.
“I was wondering… About your… your…”
Pan’s eyes flashed open, filled with mischief.
“Yes, Jane? Tell me.”
“Oh, damn. You know what I’m talking about. Your COCK, Pan. It looks… um. I’m not sure. I’d like to study it, if you don’t mind.”
He laughed, and his laughter seeped into my skin, a warm gust of amusement and joy and arousal, and it felt like I was purring myself, light and vibrating.
I brimmed with life, even my nails and hair awakening, capable of sensation.
I felt my hair sway with Pan’s every step. It tingled pleasantly, but once he stopped laughing, the sensation faded.
“You can study my cock all you want, nymph. But first things first.”
He put me down but kept his body close, his hands on my hips and sliding toward my ass. We were under the canopy of an enormous tree, faint silver lights strung between the branches high above us.
Pan pushed me until my back hit the tree trunk. Me, trapped between a tree and a hot-blooded satyr.
He caught my chin and turned my face right then left, as if appraising me. His thumb brushed my lower lip, and I lost myself in his dark, glittering eyes…
He leaned lower, my eyes captive to his mischievous look, and his hands gripped my buttocks, squeezing them possessively.
Pan kissed me.
His tongue, hot and insistent, nudged my lips apart. I held on to his shoulders, gripping his warm skin as our tongues danced. He tasted me, plunging deeper. He drank in my moans and gasps. And when he made a low growl in the back of his throat, I felt it down to the soles of my feet.
He tore my panties off and soon his fingers were swirling in my wet heat, spreading wetness over my entrance, flicking my clit. I hooked my leg over his furry hip again and reached between our tightly pressed bodies for his cock.
As I gripped it, it twitched in my hand, sending a flurry of sound into the air and into me. The air vibrated, like a sound just outside hearing range. While I couldn’t hear it, it felt like music.
I ran my fingers along his shaft, exploring the hard, round protrusions and indentations, and sounds that were not sounds escaped, strumming my nerve endings.
Pan kissed my neck and I broke out in goosebumps, trying to imagine his cock by touch alone—and that brief glance before—but it escaped comprehension.