Cerise had dreams.
Several of them involved a faceless woman in a purple dress, laughing and laughing and laughing. A few others involved a horse running at her through the grass in a wide-open field, full speed, and the moment it struck her, she fused with it to become a centaur, skidding to a halt. There was also a dream where Marren was there, on his knees in his cell, begging her not to choose him. And a dream where she was laying on her back, in a sumptuous soft bed, and he was on top of her, smiling, her fingers running over his broad, smooth shoulders. And a horrifying dream where she was a centaur, and he was too, and she looked back over her shoulder at him, and he reared up to mount her, and when he landed, she actually *enjoyed* the feel of his body pressing down on her, and the faceless woman laughed and laughed and laughed again —
She woke suddenly, breathing hard. That last dream — . The moon was high overhead, nearly full, and she was laying on her side in the grass, breathing hard, her body almost shaking from the memory. She couldn’t decide which troubled her more, the vision of the laughing, faceless Sorceress, or the strange sinking feeling that came from the thought that some small part of her might actually like what happened in that dream. Marren was a nice boy, an attractive boy, but — she didn’t want to be thinking about sex. Not like this.
Her eyes slowly closed again, but before they shut, she caught a glimpse of Marren on the other side of the fire —
— and held her breath.
He was laying some distance from the fire, slightly obscured by a bush, his body contorted into a pretzel, his human half leaning back over his equine body, and his hands — his hands — Cerise couldn’t believe what she was seeing. His equine shaft was long and hard and straight, and both of his hands were working it as fast and forcefully as they could, given how difficult it was for him to reach it.
She froze. His eyes opened for a moment to catch a glimpse of her over the bush, and seeing her, his movements redoubled. He was — doing that — and there was no doubt now that he was thinking about her while he did it.
His eyes closed again, and she swallowed hard, trying not to move too much. She didn’t know whether to be horrified or flattered. She didn’t object to the notion that boys did such things, but — she also wasn’t used to being *present* for it either. — well, except for that one time that she’d let Darius go all the way — but that seemed like a lifetime ago. She gave Marren a little leeway for trying to be discreet about it: He was some distance from her, with the fire in between, and it looked like he’d attempted to do it in private but was accidentally visible, and it was the middle of the night, and if she hadn’t had such bizarre dreams, she’d probably never have known it happened.
He went a little faster, and suddenly his body stiffened, and all of the sudden white, sticky goo, shimmering in the moonlight, started squirting out of him.
Her eyes went wide, and she tried not to gasp at the sight. It wasn’t just that it was such a primal, masculine thing to see, but that there was so *much* of it. He kept squirting and squirting, volley after volley, with it splattering all over his forelegs and barrel and arm. Finally, it slowed, but not before there was a huge mess to clean up. Cerise shook her head, boggling: If he’d done that inside her, she was sure she’d have burst.
She realized her nipples were hard in the cool night air, and she was more aroused than she wanted to be. That was *hot*, something she’d never imagined she’d see, and she was having a hard time keeping her tail from swishing rapidly.
His eyes slowly started to open as his breathing slowed, and she quickly shut hers.
“Shoot,” he said softly, and she heard him shuffle a bit and stand up. “What a mess.”
There was a soft clopping sound, and as it started to get farther away, she peeked one eye open. He was heading down toward the little river in the valley, presumably to clean up.
She lay back in the grass, staring up at the stars and the moon. So — he’d done that. But — as much as she wanted to be horrified by it, she wasn’t. She’d felt like a hideous freak after the Sorceress did this to her, but at least in his view, she must have been attractive. She hadn’t seen her own face since she’d been changed, so maybe she still looked — well, at least like herself, and he’d seemed to accept it. If a human man had done that, she was sure she’d have felt horrible and violated, but somehow, watching Marren do the same thing made her feel calm and comforted. She couldn’t imagine having sex in this body for real, but the fact that *someone* still wanted her, and that he wasn’t a completely awful person — that made her feel somehow better than she had in a long time.