Chapter 27: Raven Wants To Mate**

Chapter 27: Chapter 27: Raven Wants To Mate**

The first thing Michael registered was heat.

Not the dry scorch of injury or the lingering sting of Qi backlash.

This was thick. Liquid. Almost syrupy.

Michael’s fingers twitched slightly as he squeezed whatever he was touching.

Whatever it was, it was incredibly soft.

It felt almost like a woman’s soft, yielding curves pressed against his, like he’d buried his arm between two warm, living marshmallows—and they’d decided to keep him forever.

After a long while, his eyelids finally peeled open.

Soft morning light filtered through gaps between the wooden shutters, spilling pale golden strips across the room.

His vision was blurry at first.

Ceiling beams.

A large bed.

A wooden bedside table.

A tray of still-warm bread.

A pitcher of water.

Michael stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for several seconds before his sluggish mind finally began putting the pieces together.

’This is...’

He turned his head slightly.

The movement made his neck ache, but the pain was nothing compared to what he remembered.

The scarred wooden posts. The rough walls. And somewhere below, the distant clatter of tankards and muffled voices.

Michael narrowed his eyes.

’Wait...’

The memories came rushing back.

The tavern.

The fight.

Grolm.

Raven.

Seraphine.

His eyes widened slightly. ’This is most likely the same tavern I collapsed in after the fight, right?’

’Phew... it seems Seraphine handled it,’ he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ’Of course she did.’

He started to sink back into the mattress for another few selfish moments of rest—

Then the warmth shifted.

A small, breathy sound slipped out from under the covers. Soft. Needy. Almost a whimper.

Michael’s body went rigid. He reached down, pinched the edge of the blanket, and peeled it back with deliberate care.

Lying against him, head and one hand resting on his bare chest, was Raven.

The same brute of a woman whose attack had sent him into unconsciousness.

Her vivid red hair, streaked with black, spilled across the pillow and over his skin like liquid fire. One of her cat ears twitched in sleep. She wore only an oversized white shirt—his shirt, he realized—the buttons undone so far that the soft inner curves of her full breasts pressed bare and warm against his ribs.

Every slow breath made the fabric shift. Her nipples, already slightly hardened from the cool morning air, scraped against the thin material with tiny, unconscious friction. Each scrape drew another soft, throaty sound from her lips.

The shirt had ridden high up her back, leaving the full, tanned swell of her ass completely exposed. A scrap of black panties was sunk deep between the cheeks, the thin fabric stretched tight enough to outline every soft crease.

Michael swallowed.

His gaze tracked the slow rise and fall of those heavy breasts—the underside of one had spilled free entirely, warm skin flush against his side.

The sight alone was enough.

Ten inches of thick, heavy cock lifted under the sheet in a single steady surge, tenting the fabric without hesitation.

He glanced down at it, the corner of his mouth curling.

"Hey, big guy."

As if stirred by the sudden movement under the blanket, Raven’s hand stretched out toward him.

Before Michael could pull away, her fingers found the thick, throbbing heat under the sheet. She tried to close around the full girth—and failed. Her hand simply wasn’t big enough. The realization made her eyes twitch behind closed lids. Her soft fingertips trailed over the swollen head instead, exploring, before she began to stroke.

Slow. Firm. Up only half the length and back down, the pad of her thumb dragging deliberately over the sensitive tip on every pass.

Michael’s breath hitched hard. ’Fuck... it’s been so long.’

Maybe that was why he felt so raw. So hypersensitive. Every lazy pull of her sleeping hand sent a sharp jolt straight up his spine. His hips twitched once, involuntary, chasing the heat of her grip as thick precum beaded and smeared under her fingers.

She kept going. Steady. Unhurried. Like her body already knew exactly how he liked it.

Then, after a long, torturous stretch of those slow strokes, her hand finally slipped away.

Michael exhaled—but before the relief could settle, Raven’s eyes opened. Slow. Groggy. Still heavy with sleep.

Her golden eyes squinted slightly against the dim light, then snapped fully open when she realized Michael was already awake and staring directly at her.

Both cat ears immediately shot upright, as she pushed herself fully upright, the sudden movement making her breasts sway heavily beneath the open shirt.

For a second, she simply stared at him, her pupils blown wide.

Michael cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?" He asked, like he hadn’t just been about to cum from her stroking him. "And where even is this? Is Seraphine around?"

Raven’s head dropped. Her ears flattened, and a visible flush crawled up her neck.

Then she jerked her chin back up, and the words burst out of her in a rush.

"I’m so sorry for hitting you with that much force two days ago!"

She quickly lowered her head again, fumbling with the front of her shirt as she tried to pull the fabric closed over her chest—but kept failing.

"I didn’t know you were conducting the test given by Her Highness. I thought you were just some random—"

Michael watched the fierce cat-girl from the tavern turn into a stammering mess and felt a quiet laugh rise in his chest.

He reached out and rested his palm on top of her head, between her twitching ears, giving her a light pat.

"Don’t worry about it. I was the one who got carried away in the first place."

Raven froze.

Her ears slowly lifted.

She looked up at him, clearly expecting anger, resentment, or at the very least some smug remark about how badly she had beaten him.

Instead, Michael was simply smiling.

There was no accusation in his eyes.

No trace of anger.

Just a strangely genuine smile.

Raven blinked.

’He... really isn’t angry?’

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want Michael to forgive her. But according to what her men downstairs had told her, he was a heartless demon who only knew how to talk trash and beat people up.

Yet the man sitting in front of her now was completely different.

He looked almost... harmless.

’I can’t believe I thought ill of someone chosen by Her Highness.’

A strange warmth spread through Raven’s chest.

Her tail, which had been hanging stiffly behind her, gave a small involuntary flick.

Then another.

She tried to suppress the sudden urge to smile.

She failed.

"Thanks..."

The word came out quieter than she intended.

Michael raised an eyebrow.

Raven stared at him for another second.

Then her expression suddenly brightened.

Before she could overthink it, she launched forward, straddling his thighs in one smooth motion and looping her arms around his neck.

"Thanks a lot!"

Michael blinked. ’...Well, that escalated quickly.’

Raven, meanwhile, hugged him tightly, her ears perked up and her tail swishing behind her.

However, as she shifted around more and more on his thighs, she eventually dragged over something that had no business being there.

Michael went rigid.

So did she.

Raven’s breath hitched. Between her legs, pressed flush against the damp heat of her folds, was a thick, scorching length of pure heat and hardness. It felt like a brand—impossibly long, ridged, and throbbing with a slow, heavy pulse that matched the sudden frantic beat of her heart.

Her panties might as well have been air; because every tiny shift made the fat head of him nudge right against her clit through the soaked cotton, sending a sharp spark up her spine.

For one dizzy second she thought it had to be something else. Some thick heated pipe. Some impossible mistake. Because nothing human should feel that big, that hot, that aggressively alive while trapped against her most private place.

Then she looked down.

The outline was unmistakable. A heavy, veined ridge tenting his shorts, the thick crown of it nestled right between her pussy lips, only the flimsy black panties and his zipper keeping them from skin-on-skin. She could feel the heat of him radiating straight into her cunt. Could feel how wet she already was.

Raven’s face went from pink to deep, burning crimson. Her breath caught. "Is that... your..."

Michael’s voice came out low, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth even as his hands flexed hard on her waist, fighting the urge to pull her down harder.

"Yeah." he said with a small exhale. "It happens sometimes."

She dropped her forehead against his chest, hiding, but her hips betrayed her—giving the tiniest, helpless grind that dragged her soaked slit along the full length of him.

A soft, involuntary sound slipped out of her throat. He was so thick. So fucking hard. The heat of him was soaking through the thin barrier, making her pussy clench around nothing, greedy and aching.

Her next words were barely a whisper, lips moving against his shirt, voice small and shaky with something that wasn’t just embarrassment.

"Did this... happen because of me?"

As she spoke, her hips betrayed her again.

A small, unconscious roll—slow, almost curious—dragged the now-damp crotch of her panties along the thick underside of his cock.

The thin black fabric was already clinging, translucent where her arousal had soaked through, and the motion made every ridge of him slide against her soft, wet folds.

Both of them felt it. The heat. The slick drag. The way the fat head of his dick nudged up against her clit and stayed there for a trembling second before she settled again.

She didn’t even seem to notice she was doing it.

Raven lifted her face, completely flushed, golden eyes wide and searching his. Her voice came out soft, almost disbelieving.

"Is... is my body that attractive?"

Michael’s gaze sharpened. ’Haah. Here it comes. The classic line. Does she actually think I’ll fuck anything that wears a skirt?’

A small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the thought finished. ’Good thing I only do that with the pretty ones. Sometimes.’

He nodded once—slow, deliberate, settling into the exact flustered delivery he had seen a hundred hentai protagonists use. The kind of nod that said ’yes, you’re the reason I’m this hard’, without actually saying the words.

Raven’s breath caught.

She shifted again, the motion pressing her soft, heavy breasts more firmly against his chest. The open shirt gaped wider. One dark, stiff nipple peeked free, brushing directly against his skin with every shaky inhale she took.

The contact was electric—warm, soft, and unmistakably deliberate even if she didn’t mean it to be. He could feel the tight little peak dragging across his sternum, leaving a faint trail of heat.

As she spoke again, her voice came out quieter, almost shy, but the question was clear. And filthy.

"Should I... help you with it?"

She swallowed, ears flicking once. Her hips gave the tiniest, restless twitch, grinding the soaked crotch of her panties harder against the throbbing length trapped between them.

"I’m already nearing my mating season," she whispered.

"I can let you breed me..." Her voice dropped even lower, almost reverent, ears flicking hard against his collarbone. "As thanks for forgiving me."