This time, I initiate.
I rise in the water. I take his hand, his massive, clawed hand, and I press my lips to his wet knuckles.
I rise further, tussling water, and I kiss his massive, scarred chest, right over his heart.
He groans.
It is a deep, shuddering sound of need. He pulls me against him in the water. Our bodies slam together, slick, wet, naked.
He claims my mouth.
This kiss is not curious or clumsy.
It is knowing.
It is deep and wet and skilled. He is remembering. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine, tasting me, devouring me.
He plays with my body expertly as if he has done this a thousand times. His hands are everywhere, knowing where to touch. He rubs his calloused palm over my nipple, and I arch against him, gasping into his mouth.
He lifts me. Easily.
My back hits the slick, warm rock wall of the spring. The hot water sloshes around my waist.
He groans my name, a deep, possessive rumble. "Betty..."
He lowers his massive head. His mouth closes over my breast. His suckling is strong, pulling a gasp from my throat. His rough tongue lashes the peak. His tusks frame me, a primal, dangerous, exhilarating caress.
He moves lower.
His mouth replaces his hand. His tongue finds my center.
It is overwhelming. The size of his mouth. The roughness of his tongue. The heat of the water and him.
I cry out. My voice echoes in the cavern.
"Threk! Gods, Threk, please!"
He rises, his need obvious. He is massive and ready. He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his thick, solid waist.
He aligns himself at my entrance. He doesn't just press; he is a hot, blunt, enormous weight, a promise of the power he is about to unleash. He is asking, his eyes locked on mine.
I nod. My breath catches, my body craves him like a deep, aching need. I lift my hips in the water, a silent, desperate plea, taking him.
He pushes.
It is a slow, agonizing, overwhelming invasion. A scream tears from my throat as he impales me against the wall, his entire, massive length sinking into me. He fills me. He stretches me. The size difference is stark and terrifying, a burning, tearing pressure, but my body was ready. I was open and aching, and this is the answer. He is a mountain, and he is inside me, claiming every single inch until he is buried to the hilt.
He stays still for a long, eternal moment, his entire body vibrating with a control that seems impossible. His tusks frame my face, his hot breath ghosting over my lips.
Slowly, he pulls back, just an inch, before pressing in again.
It is a slow, deep, reverent plundering that makes my vision white out at the edges. The pleasure is a shock, so deep and full it consumes the pain. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I am lost. I am his. My hands claw at his massive, wet shoulders, my nails scraping uselessly against his tough hide, desperate for purchase.
"Threk," I gasp, my voice a raw, shredded thing I don't recognize. The slow, deep worship is maddening. I don't want reverence. I want the storm. "More! Don't be gentle! Please... faster!"
My words, my screamed demand, are the trigger. I feel the exact moment his iron control breaks.
The savage I saw in the woods, the one I begged for, returns.
