Primal Hunger

The leafy loincloth lay in a soft, green pile at his feet. Etalcaxi stood naked and vulnerable in the root-walled sanctuary. Ixtic's moss-green eyes drank in the sight of his powerful, scarred body, and a slow, deeply satisfied smile curved her lips.

"There," she purred, the sound a possessive vibration that seemed to settle in his bones. "Perfect."

She stepped forward, closing the small space between them. She placed both her hands flat on his chest, directly over his pounding heart. Her touch was cool and firm, her palms covering him, claiming him. She did not push. She applied a gentle, irresistible pressure, an undeniable invitation downward. His breath hitched in his throat. His legs, which had carried him through battles and across mountains, suddenly felt weak. He allowed her to guide him down, his knees sinking into the incredibly soft, living carpet of moss. She guided him further back, until he was lying on the moss, his back supported by its cool, springy embrace.

She did not lie down with him. She knelt beside him, her posture one of reverence and hunger. This was a ritual, and he was the offering. Her eyes, glowing softly in the dim light of the ceiba's hollow, roamed over his body, and he felt the gaze as a physical touch.

From a cluster of vibrant, impossibly colored orchids growing from the great root beside them, she plucked a single, large petal. It was a deep, velvety violet, glistening with beads of moisture. With the utmost delicacy, she began to trace the petal over his skin. She drew it down the length of his arm, from his shoulder to his fingertips, the sensation a whisper-light trail of exquisite torture. She painted a slow, cool path across the hard planes of his chest, circling his nipples until they hardened into tight points. She swept the petal over the ridges of his abdomen, down, down, until he trembled with the effort of remaining still.

Next, she turned to a small, hollowed-out burl in the great root beside them. A pool of sweet, amber-colored sap had gathered there, thick and fragrant. She dipped her long, elegant fingers into the sap, then brought them to his skin. She anointed his shoulders, his neck, the hollow of his throat, her touch tracing patterns he could not see but could feel as a spreading, sticky warmth. The scent of it, a mix of ceiba and honey and some unknown, spicy flower, filled his senses.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice strained, breathless.

She leaned close, her lips near his ear, her wild hair brushing against his cheek. "Learning the map of you," she whispered.

Her exploration continued downward. Her gaze, direct and unapologetic, followed the path she had traced with the petal, settling on the evidence of his arousal, which had sprung to life, hard and aching, under her ministrations. There was no coyness in her eyes, no hesitation. There was a primal, beautiful hunger. She leaned down, her dark hair curtaining them from the rest of the world, and took him into her mouth.

The sensation was a lightning strike. It was a consuming, confident, and utterly wild act. This was not the practiced skill of a courtesan or the fumbling eagerness of a village girl. This was the act of a primal spirit of nature, worshiping and devouring at the same time. Her tongue was a swirl of heat and magic, her lips a perfect, warm pressure. He gasped, his hands fisting in the soft moss, his back arching off the ground as a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable washed over him. All his memories of other lovers, all his arrogant boasts of his own prowess, they all turned to ash and blew away in the fire of this moment. This was something else entirely.

Just as he felt himself nearing his limit, the pressure building, his mind beginning to shatter, she stopped. She pulled away, leaving him gasping, bereft, his body screaming in protest. She moved up his body, her own skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes dark with power and a fierce, possessive light. She straddled his hips, her position an undeniable statement of dominance, of who was leading.

"No," she commanded, her voice a low, breathy growl that was more potent than any shout. "Not yet. You will wait for me. We do this together."

She lowered herself onto him. The moment of their joining was another jolt of lightning. A shockwave of pure sensation traveled from the base of his spine to the crown of his head. It felt like being pinned to the very heart of the world, a willing sacrifice on a living altar. He felt not just her body surrounding him, but the deep, resonant pulse of the entire grove, channeled directly through her. He was no longer a separate being; he was connected to the wood, to the stone, to her.

Their rhythm began slowly, a deep, powerful cadence set by her. As their passion built, the grove responded. The deep, resonance that had been a constant presence grew louder, deeper, vibrating up from the earth, through the moss, into his back. The glowing flowers around them, the ones in her hair and the ones dotting the roots, began to pulse faster, their light intensifying, shifting from a soft glow to a bright, insistent strobing. A low tremor started deep within the earth beneath them. It was not a violent earthquake, but a powerful, rhythmic shudder that seemed to sync with their movements. The great roots of the ceiba tree, which had stood unmoving, vibrated with the force of it.

"The ground..." he panted, his voice half-delirious, his mind struggling to comprehend the sensations. "Ixtic, the ground is shaking..."

She threw her head back, a fierce, triumphant laugh escaping her lips. Her hair whipped around them, and in the pulsing light. "Yes!" she cried out, her voice full of a wild, ecstatic joy. "The earth feels us! It sings with us! Almost there!"

Her words, her fierce energy, pushed him over the edge. He felt the climax building within him, a tidal wave of power and pleasure. He cried out her name, a raw, desperate shout. She answered with a cry of her own, a sound that was both human and something more, a sound of pure, untamed nature.

They cried out together, a single, shared shout of release that was swallowed by the deep resonance of the grove. The moment their climax hit, the tremor peaked. A visible wave of soft, green energy pulsed outward from the base of the ceibra tree, a silent, beautiful shockwave. In response, the dormant, woody vines clinging to the roots all around their private chamber exploded into instantaneous bloom. Hundreds of phosphorescent flowers, their petals the color of moonlight, burst open at once, bathing their mossy bed in a dazzling, ethereal glow of white, green, and silver light. A fine, glittering dust of golden pollen drifted down from the new blossoms, a magical snow that settled on their slick, trembling bodies, making them sparkle in the sudden, brilliant light.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, utterly spent, their panting breaths the only sound in the suddenly still, brightly lit chamber. Etalcaxi lay on his back, his mind completely and utterly blown, his body tingling from head to toe. He stared up at the incredible flowers that had not been there a minute ago, their soft light illuminating the intricate patterns of the roots above. He looked at Ixtic, who was curled against his chest, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, her breathing slow and even.

A slow, dawning thought began to form in his exhausted mind. The ground had shaken with their passion. The world had erupted in a magical display of creation at the moment of his release. He had made this womanly creature cry out. He connected the dots in the only way his pride would allow.

"Did..." he began, his voice breathless, full of a childlike wonder. "Did I do that? With the flowers?"

Ixtic, nuzzling into his neck, gave a sleepy, deeply satisfied purr. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She knew the simple, beautiful arrogance of his mind. And she was happy to let her fierce little warrior believe it.

"We did it, my warrior," she murmured, her voice a smug, loving caress against his skin. "We did."

A slow, proud, deliriously happy grin spread across Etalcaxi's features. He had just had the most powerful, world-shaking experience of his life, and in his mind, it was all because of his own legendary sexual prowess. He was not just a warrior. He was a god of pleasure. He was no longer just hooked. He was hers, completely and utterly, and he thought it was his own grand victory.