After Hunter's Moon

When he awoke the next morning, Goliath could still feel the warmth of her lips against his own, the slight weigh of her against his chest, the press of her arms around his neck. She was not there, so he left the others to guard the castle and flew alone to her apartment.

He arrived to find a note upon her balcony window.

Goliath,

I will be back soon.

Elisa

And so he let himself in to wait. Cagney greeted him by twining around his ankles a few times until Goliath picked him up and gave him a gentle scratch behind the ear. He rumbled a soft growl in response to the cat's purr, which seemed to please Cagney enough to knead his forearm.

With the cat still in his arms, Goliath paced the living room a few times, glancing around at the familiar furniture, the pictures, the technological accoutrements of a modern single woman. Something tickled his sense of smell after a moment, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Elisa's scent, of course, permeated the entire apartment. It surrounded him like a soft blanket. But there was something, some compelling layer atop the normal scents that drew him down the small hallway. To one side, doors to a closet, the laundry nook, and the bathroom, and to the other, the door to the bedroom.

It was standing open a few inches, and Goliath nudged it, unable to stop himself. He put the cat down.

The smell of her arousal was strongest in here, and unmistakable, and mesmerizing. Of course he had smelled it before – one did not spend months on a small boat with a woman and not become familiar with her smells. Secretly, he imagined she smelled like sun-warmed bread and oysters. Mouth-watering.

The bed was neatly made, everything tidy, and all was dark, covered by shadows. It wasn't too dim for Goliath to see, however, nor difficult at all for him to imagine her lying there. He stayed in the door, eyes slightly aglow as he permitted himself the indulgence of fantasy.

He wondered if she would sleep in the nude. His memory of the one time he'd seen her like that was easy to recall – so many times had he brought them to mind, unbidden occasionally, usually welcome. He thought of her in repose upon the soft mattress, amidst rumpled bedclothes, with her dark hair spread out beneath her. He imagined those slender hands smoothing their way slowly across her warm brown skin, stopping to tease cinnamon-colored nipples, and then dipping into ebon curls.

What sounds would she make? Sighs and gasps, murmurs of pleasure? She would spread her legs while her fingers worked between them. She would toss her head and arch her back. Sweat would form across her skin, gather in the hollow of her throat.

Goliath imagined himself joining her there. He would kneel between her wide-spread knees and replace her fingers with his lips and his tongue. He would inhale this intoxicating perfume and taste her wetness, drawing more from her depths as he drove her pleasure to new heights. And when her thighs shook with desire, when her breathing was panting and labored, when she begged for the feel of him inside of her, he would kiss and nibble his way up her body and slip into her hot, tight, slick sheath.

Gentle, at first. So very gentle, would be their love-making. He'd wrap her in his arms and wings, press kisses to her brow, whisper his devotion into her ear. She'd gasp and moan, cling to him, press her thighs against his hips. Her heels would drum against his buttocks, the base of his tail. She would find and caress the sweet spot between his wings.

And the pace would increase, faster and harder, inevitably mounting to the unbearably sweet and exquisite torture of climax. She would scream his name in love and pleasure, he would cry out, "Elisa, mine!" It would be better than anything.

And then he would hold her close, reveling in her small, shapely form, and she'd curl into him, and they'd talk of little things, and of hopes and aspirations. He would comb his fingers through her hair, and she would kiss his neck.

The sound of her familiar tread in the hallway outside came to him and he hastily pulled the door almost-closed again before retreating back into her living room. He was standing by the couch with his wings caped to hide his arousal when she opened the front door.

"Goliath," she said, grinning up at him.

He lost himself in her dark eyes, and smiled back down at her. "Hello, Elisa."