Chapter 5: The Aftermath Fires
The door to her loft hissed shut behind us, sealing out the city’s distant wail. The calm, sunlit space was a violent contrast to the dripping chaos we’d just left. It lasted two heartbeats.
Her utility belt hit the polished concrete floor with a clatter of metal on stone. Before I could turn, her weight was on my back, her arms snaking around my neck, her legs locking around my waist. Not an attack. A claim.
“You,” she growled into my ear, her breath hot, “were showing off down there.”
“I was working.”
“It was sexy.” Her teeth grazed my earlobe, a faint pressure that wouldn’t leave a mark. I could feel the tremble in her limbs, a live-wire vibration that had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with the heat she’d been carrying since yesterday. The adrenaline had sanded her control down to a nub.
I reached back, got a handful of her suit at the shoulder, and pulled. The reinforced fabric tore like tissue paper in my grip. She yowled, a sound of pure approval, and released her leg-lock, letting me swing her around in front of me. Her uniform was ruined, hanging open, revealing the sleek orange fur of her stomach, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Her eyes were huge, the pupils wide black pools swallowing the emerald green. Her fangs were visibly longer.
“Now,” she breathed, pushing me backward. “No more waiting, Ron. I can’t.”
Her claws slid out, and she raked them down my chest. It was a gesture of pure feline frustration, a need to mark. The screech of them against my skin was like nails on a chalkboard, leaving four parallel white lines that faded to nothing before they reached my navel. It only seemed to inflame her more.
She pushed. I let myself fall onto the low, buttery leather of her couch. It groaned under the impact. She was on me in an instant, straddling my hips, her hands pinning my shoulders. The ruined suit fell away from her completely. The tiny black bikini she’d worn beneath was a laughable scrap of fabric. Her fur was warm and slightly damp against my stomach.
“I need you inside me,” she said, and the words were a low, guttural demand. There was no playfulness left, only a raw, biological imperative. Her tail lashed the air behind her, a frantic metronome.
I looked up at her, at the beautiful, feral creature above me. I saw the police officer, the Avenger, completely subsumed by the cat. My hands came up, not to push her away, but to settle on the narrow curve of her waist. Her skin twitched under my palms.
“You’ve got me.”
It wasn’t enough. With a snarl, she released my shoulders and clawed at the closure of my jumpsuit. The tough material parted for her. She shoved it down my hips, her movements jerky, desperate. Her eyes locked on me as I sprang free, heavy and already thick with blood. A low, continuous purr rattled from her chest, shaking her entire frame.
She rose up on her knees, one hand guiding me, the other braced on my stomach. Her green eyes never left mine as she sank down.
The fit was impossible. Blinding. A tight, clutching heat that threatened to undo me before I’d even begun. She was so small, and I wasn’t. Her head fell back, a choked gasp tearing from her throat as she took me, inch by devastating inch, her inner muscles fluttering in a frantic, welcome rhythm. She bottomed out, her furred mound pressed flush against me, and went utterly still for a second, her body shuddering.
Then her eyes snapped back to mine, glowing with challenge. “Move.”
I didn’t. I surged up, wrapping my arms around her, and flipped us in a single motion. The world spun for her; I saw the momentary disorientation in her eyes before they focused, now looking up at me from the leather. I pinned her wrists above her head, my fingers encircling them completely. She tested the grip once, a sharp tug, then went lax, a submissive curve to her neck that was utterly deceptive.
Her legs came up, locking around the small of my back, her heels digging into my ass. An unspoken command.
I obeyed.
I drove into her, a deep, complete stroke that shoved the couch two inches across the floor. She arched off the cushions, a sharp hiss escaping her fangs, her claws emerging again to dig into my shoulders. It was like being pinned by a dozen needles, a persistent, prickling pressure that couldn’t pierce but shouted her intensity.
I set a brutal pace. This wasn’t lovemaking. It was a collision. A claiming from both sides. The slick, hot grip of her was a velvet fist, milking me with every withdrawal, clenching tight on every thrust. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of skin and fur, the creak of the overstressed couch, the ragged symphony of our breathing punctuated by her sharp, whining cries.
“Yes… right there… don’t stop.” Her words were fragments, punctuated by gasps.
Her climax took her violently. It wasn’t a wave; it was a seizure. Her back bowed, her eyes squeezing shut, and a raw, screaming yowl ripped from her throat that would have shattered glass. Her inner walls clamped down on me like a vise, a rapid, pulsating rhythm that was pure animal ecstasy. She shook beneath me, her tail thrashing against the cushions.
I kept moving. Through it. Because of it. The tightness became almost unbearable, a sweet, torturous friction.
“Ron… again…” she whimpered, already climbing, the first peak not even a memory before the next one loomed.
I shifted the angle, leaning over her, and her legs tightened further. She came a second time, this one deeper, a guttural groan that shook her chest. Her claws scraped wildly down my back. She bit my collarbone, her fangs pressing hard, leaving deep impressions in my skin that felt like brands.
“I can’t… it’s too much…” she sobbed, even as her hips pistoned upward to meet mine, demanding more.
The coil in my own gut, wound tight since the moment she’d leapt into that junction, began its irreversible release. A tsunami building behind a dam that was suddenly gone.
“Greer.” It was a warning, my voice thick and strange to my own ears.
Her eyes flew open, lucid for a blinding second. “Do it. Flood me. I want to feel it for days.”
The first pulse was a detonation. A white-hot streak of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. I buried myself to the hilt as the first jet erupted deep inside her. She gasped, her body jerking.
And it didn’t stop.
It was a torrent, a relentless, heated rush that went on and on, filling her, spilling out around the joining of our bodies with a soft, messy sound. Her expression shifted from overwhelmed awe to dazed, satiated wonder as the seconds ticked by, ten, twenty, as the seemingly endless release continued. Her grip inside me gentled, not in release, but in a slow, deliberate milking, drawing every last drop.
Finally, it ebbed. The last few spurts were gentle pulses. A profound, heavy stillness settled over us, broken only by the hum of the city beyond the windows and our ragged, slowing breaths.
I eased my weight off her, pulling out slowly. A hot, slick trickle followed. She made a small, soft sound, almost a chirp, and curled onto her side, her tail curling around my thigh possessively. Her fur was matted with sweat, her body gleaming in the afternoon light. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by a liquid, purring contentment that vibrated through the couch.
I lay beside her, one arm draped over her waist, feeling the powerful tremors of her purr against my chest. She nuzzled her face into the crook of my neck, her rough tongue giving a single, sleepy swipe at my skin.
“Still adequate,” she murmured, her voice slurred with exhaustion.
I snorted, a soft laugh that hurt my ribs. “High praise.”
“It is.” She was silent for a long moment. Then, quieter, “They’ll call. SHIELD. The Avengers. About the suits.”
“Let them.”
“Mmm.” She was half-asleep already, her body going heavy against mine. “You’re stuck here. I’m using you as a bed.”
“Not going anywhere.”
Her purr deepened, a motor settling into a low idle. The heat, for now, was banked. The animal was sated. The woman, spent. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the small, fierce storm that had just quieted in a sunlit loft. The calm was temporary. With her, it always was. But for now, in the quiet hum of her peace, it was everything.
But for now, in the quiet hum of her peace, it was everything.
The couch was a wreck, leather slick and stained, and we were tangled in the middle of it. Her purr was a physical vibration against my side, deep and resonant. My own body felt heavy, sated in a way that went beyond the physical, a comfortable anchor in the warm afternoon stillness.
Eventually, the angle of my neck against the couch arm became untenable. She was a dead weight of fur and relaxed muscle, her breathing slow and even. I shifted, slipping my arms under her shoulders and knees.
I stood up with her, effortlessly. She didn’t startle awake, merely gave a soft, grumbling murmur and nuzzled her face into my chest, her tail draping over my arm. She felt astonishingly light, a bundle of warm, living silk. I carried her past the scattered remnants of her uniform, through the archway into the dimmer cool of her bedroom.
The sheets were black silk, cool and smooth as I laid her down. She immediately rolled onto her side, making a small, discontented sound at the loss of contact. I slid in behind her, the bed groaning softly under my weight. The city’s glow painted faint silver lines across her stripes.
I curled my body around the gentle arc of her spine, fitting myself against her. My skin registered the incredible softness of the fur on her back, the surprising heat radiating from her. I draped my arm over her waist.
In her sleep, she took my forearm in both of her hands. She pulled it to her, clutching it tightly against her chest, pressing my knuckles into the soft swell of her breast. It was a possessive, needy gesture, utterly unguarded. Her purr kicked up again, stronger now, resonating through my bones.
I pressed my lips to the space between her cat-like ear and the tousled mess of her hair. Her scent—jasmine, warmth, and something uniquely her—filled my lungs. The words left me quietly, a truth I hadn’t meant to voice.
“I could get used to this.”
Her ear twitched against my mouth. A long, slow breath escaped her. She squeezed my arm tighter, her claws sheathed but pressing faint indents into my skin.
“You can have me whenever you want,” she murmured, her voice thick with approaching sleep, a raw and simple permission that felt heavier than any contract.
Her purr smoothed out into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. I held her, listening to that sound, feeling the gradual, trusting slackening of her muscles. My own exhaustion pulled at me, a pleasant tide. Outside, a siren wailed, distant and unimportant. Here, in the dark, we were a closed circuit. A temporary treaty.
Her final words hung in the air, a playful threat wrapped in an invitation. A promise of more chaos, more heat, more of her. I smiled into her fur. Ready wasn’t the right word. I was eager.
I was eager. That hunger lingered in my veins even as sleep finally pulled me under, a silent promise to the darkness. I awoke hours later, disoriented by the deep night silence and a pressing need in my bladder. Greer was still snoring softly beside me, a contented, raspy sound that meant she was utterly gone.
Her arm was slung across my waist, a dead weight of relaxed muscle and fur. I carefully extracted myself, the silk sheet sliding away with a cool whisper. The apartment was bathed in monochrome shadows, the city’s glow painting her stripes in shades of grey.
The bathroom light was a brutal intrusion. I kept it off, moving by memory, the tile cold under my feet. I pissed quietly, the sound loud in the hush, my mind already circling back to the warm bed.
Returning, I paused in the doorway. Her scent—jasmine, sex, and pure Greer—filled the room. My eyes adjusted, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. The blood rushed back to my cock with a sudden, insistent thrum, a heaviness that was both familiar and urgent. I decided to take her up on her offer from earlier.
I slid back into the heat she’d left in the sheets. She murmured, a sleepy, indecipherable sound, and rolled slightly toward me. I spooned her from behind, my chest against the soft fur of her back, one arm draping over her waist. Her body was pliant, deeply unconscious, trusting.
I adjusted the angle of my hips, my cock nestled against the swell of her ass. I shifted lower, feeling the damp warmth between her thighs with my tip. She was already slick, an open invitation even in sleep. I lined up carefully, the broad head catching at her entrance.
Slowly, so slowly, I pushed. The tight ring of muscle yielded with a breathless, clinging resistance, a scorching velvet glove that swallowed me inch by deliberate inch. I wondered how deep inside her I could get before she woke up, my every movement a thief in the sacred dark of her rest.
I slid deeper into that impossible, sleeping heat. Her body accepted the invasion without conscious resistance, her inner muscles tightening in a slow, reflexive ripple around the invading girth. Each inch forward was a conquest stolen from the void of her dreams.
I paused, fully sheathed, buried in the profound stillness of her. Her breathing remained deep and even, that raspy snore unchanged. The only movement was the faint twitch of her tail-tip against my thigh. I began to move, a glacial withdrawal followed by a careful, measured return.
The friction was a slick, secret fire. My own breath hitched. I kept my thrusts shallow, an unhurried rhythm meant to mimic the tide of sleep itself. Her body, even in oblivion, responded. A soft clench here, a warm pulse there, her channel growing damper with each pass. It was an intimate theft, and the guilt was a thin, sharp veneer over a staggering wave of possession.
“Mine,” I breathed against the back of her neck, the word lost in her fur.
A sleepy, humming purr vibrated through her chest and into mine. It was an autonomic response, pure feline contentment, unrelated to any waking mind. It encouraged me. I increased the pace by a fraction, the bed’s soft creaks joining the wet, whispering sounds of our joining.
My hand resting on her stomach slid lower, through the soft fur, finding the sensitive nub hidden there. I rubbed slow, gentle circles. In her sleep, she pushed her hips back against me, seeking more pressure, a deeper angle. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
“Ron…” she mumbled, a breathy ghost of my name.
I froze, my heart pounding against my ribs. Her eyes didn’t open. Her breathing didn’t change. It was a phoneme from a dream, given my shape. I waited, counting her steady breaths. Ten. Twenty.
I began again, bolder now. The pace built, not to the frantic, punishing rhythm of before, but to a steady, deep, and relentless pounding. The bedframe took up a quiet, rhythmic complaint against the wall.
The bedframe took up a quiet, rhythmic complaint against the wall. My world had narrowed to the feel of her around me, the smell of her sleep-sweat and sex, the sound of her breathing syncing with my thrusts. I lost myself in the gentle theft, in the warmth and the slow, building pressure in my groin, a coiled spring about to snap.
My hand moved from her clit to her hip, gripping the bone to anchor her, to drive deeper. She sighed again, a surrendering sound that went straight to my core. I pushed into her, a long, probing stroke that sought her absolute furthest limit.
On a particularly deep stroke, the plum-shaped head of my cock pushed past Greer’s cervix to the deep cul-de-sac behind it, her posterior fornix.
It was a new frontier, a shocking, intimate depth. A tight, ringing seal at the entrance of her womb gave way to a smoother, impossibly deep pocket of scalding heat. The sensation was astronomical, a fullness so complete it stole the air from my lungs.
Greer awoke, startled, trying to get away from me for a moment.
Her entire body went rigid. A sharp, panicked inhale cut through the dark. “Wha—? Ron, that’s—!” Her hands flew back, pushing weakly at my thigh, a reflexive flinch from the unfamiliar, profound intrusion. Her claws pricked my skin. Her tail lashed, smacking against my leg.
“Shhh,” I murmured into the fur of her shoulder, my voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
I hugged her tighter, thrusting back into this part of her interior geography I’d just discovered.
My arms locked around her, one under her neck, the other across her chest, pinning her back flush against me. I didn’t withdraw. I pushed forward again, back into that devastating, deep space, feeling her inner walls flutter in shocked recognition. A low, wounded moan vibrated in her throat, part protest, part revelation.
“Oh, god,” she choked out, the fight bleeding from her limbs. “It’s… it’s so deep.”
“I know.”
“Do it again.”
Greer shudders, her orgasm overtaking her, her muscles turning to liquid in my arms.
It wasn’t a climb. It was a trapdoor giving way beneath her. A full-body convulsion seized her, silent at first, a sheer tectonic shift of pleasure that locked her muscles tight before melting them utterly. A high, keening whine escaped her clenched teeth as the wave broke, flooding every nerve ending. She went completely boneless against me, her head lolling back on my shoulder, a string of breathless, fractured sounds the only evidence of the cataclysm within.
I held her through it, my own release hovering just beyond the next thrust, the next impossible penetration into that sacred, secret space. Her heat was a brand. Her surrender was absolute.
I kissed her neck, her shoulder, behind her ear, whatever I could reach.
My lips found the damp fur at her nape, tasting salt and her unique scent. I pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her shoulder, feeling the powerful trapezius muscle flutter under my mouth. I nuzzled behind the velvety triangle of her ear, my breath stirring the fine hairs there, and she whimpered, a sound of pure, overwhelmed affection.
“You’re there,” she whispered, dazed. “You’re all the way there. I can feel you in my throat.”
“Okay?”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
I didn’t. The pace became something else, not frantic, but profound. Each stroke a full, slow conquest of that deep territory. My own control was a fraying thread. The visual of her, pliant and utterly claimed in my arms, the feel of that impossibly deep sheath milking me—it was too much.
“Greer, I’m—”
“Yes. Now. Fill it up. I want to feel it way up there.”
The permission undid me. My hips stuttered, lost their rhythm. I buried myself to the root, past the ring, into that deep pocket, and let go.
It was a different kind of release than before. Deeper. More internal. A hot, pulse-pouring rush that had no place to go but to settle in that deepest basin, a claimed territory flooding with my seed. She gasped, her body absorbing the impact of each thick jet, her inner muscles clasping and fluttering in slow, drawing pulls.
It went on, a long, continuous possession. When it finally ended, I was shuddering as much as she was, spent in a way that felt cellular.
We stayed like that, fused, for a long time. The city’s light crept across the floor. Eventually, I softened and slipped out, followed by a hot, messy trickle that painted her inner thigh. She made a small, satisfied sound and pressed her face into the pillow.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my heart a drum in the quiet. Her hand found mine on the sheets, her fingers lacing through mine. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
“You’re full of surprises, Hardin,” she said, her voice raspy with sleep and sex.
“Says the woman who can sniff out weapons deals and have multiple screaming orgasms in the same evening.”
She chuckled, a rough, warm sound. “Priorities.” She was silent for a minute. “That… the deep part. I’ve never felt that before. My anatomy’s a little different, remember?”
“I noticed.”
“It was…” She searched for the word. “Significant.”
I turned my head to look at her. Her profile was serene in the gloom, her ear twitching. “Good significant?”
“Shut up and come here.” She tugged my hand, rolling onto her side to face me. I shifted to mirror her. Her green eyes gleamed, reflective in the dark, studying my face with an unnerving focus. The playfulness was returning, edged with something softer, more curious. “You’re stuck with me now, you know. At least for the rest of this heat cycle.”