“Fuck me,” she whispers, and that is all the encouragement I need.
I plunge inside her in one swift motion, filling her completely. She cries out, arching up to meet me, her body already tightening around me like a glove. Then I begin to move, driving deep with every stroke, angling my hips so that the ridge of scales at my base rub against her clit.
Her eyes flutter closed, and her mouth opens in a silent cry of pleasure. I release her wrists and bury my hands in her hair instead, cradling her head as I thrust faster into her impossibly tight heat, my tail squeezing her thighs harder as I rut her without restraint.
The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard banging against the wall, but neither of us care. We’re lost to everything but this: the slide of skin against scales, the sounds of our ragged breaths, the rising tide of our shared desire.
“Yes,” she moans, her legs wrapping around me to pull me closer. “God, yes. Just like that.”
I oblige, pumping steadily into her, her pussy squeezing me with every thrust. My control is slipping, my instincts driving me to claim her fully. I can’t stop myself from saying her name, over and over like some kind of mantra or invocation.
She responds in kind, whispering words that have no meaning but that nevertheless fill me with a fierce joy. Our rhythm becomes more erratic, our bodies straining against each other in search of release. I am close—so close—but I don’t want this to end. Not yet. Not when being inside her feels so good, so right.
Then Aubrey does something that destroys the last remnants of my control. She looks up at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire. “Come for me,” she says, her voice husky. “I want to feel you come inside me.”
My hips snap forward at her demand, driving deep and hard. Once, twice, three times—and then I’m lost, spilling myself within her, my cock pulsing as her walls clamp and flutter around me, milking me until my cum trickles down her thighs. My vision blurs and I let out a long, shuddering breath as the tension finally leaves my body.
After a moment, I remember to release her thighs from my grasp. She winces a little as she stretches her arms, and I feel a pang of guilt for having held her too tightly. But when I start to move away, she wraps her legs around me again, holding me in place.
“Stay,” she murmurs. “Please.”
I hesitate, unsure. “Are you certain? I’m… rather heavy.”
She laughs softly. “You’re fine. I like the way you feel on top of me.”
“In that case…” I say, then gently wrap my body around her.
She lets out a contented sigh and snuggles closer, her head resting on my chest. I stroke her hair, marveling at its texture. Every time I think I’ve discovered everything about her, there is some new detail to learn, some hidden facet of her being that surprises and delights me anew.
We lie there for a while, not speaking, just existing together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps itis. Perhaps this is how it should always have been, how it was always meant to be.
As my heartbeat slows, I feel myself relax into the mattress, my body growing heavy with satisfaction. I have never felt so complete before. So at peace. This woman has given me a gift beyond measure: her trust, her affection, her very self. And I will do everything in my power to ensure she never regrets that decision.
I will cherish her, protect her, make her happy in whatever way I can.
Because Aubrey is mine, and a naga always protects what’s his.
Chapter 17
Questions Without Answers
Aubrey
I’ve learned a lotof interesting things since starting work at a magical pawn shop. Like how naga scales feel impossibly smooth against bare skin. Or that when your boyfriend has a fifteen-foot tail, “Netflix and chill” takes on whole newmeanings, especially when said tail decides to get handsy—or should I say tailsy?—during the quiet parts.
But the most surprising discovery?
How easily extraordinary becomes ordinary.
Two weeks into whatever this is between Sundar and me, I’ve stopped jumping when his tail sneaks around my waist while I’m cataloging collectibles. The way he carries me up to his apartment after closing—coiled around me like the world’s sexiest elevator—feels natural now. Even Mrs. Brindlewood’s knowing smirks when she catches us pressed together in the storeroom barely make me blush anymore.
“You’re humming again,” Maggie points out over our morning coffee. We’re squeezed into our tiny kitchen, and I’m probably burning the eggs, but I can’t stop smiling. “God, you’re disgustingly happy. Did snake daddy rock your world again last night?”
I jerk enough to accidentally scramble the eggs. “Uh. I will pay you actual money to never call him that again.”
She grins wickedly. “Fine. But seriously, Bree. I haven’t seen you this happy in… maybe ever?”
I want to brush it off with a joke, but she’s right. Everything feels different now. Better. Like I had been watching life in black and white, and suddenly someone turned on the color.
