I laugh, breathless. “You’re delusional.”
He growls. “Quiet, female.”
Then his mouth is on my throat, dragging heat across my pulse. His tongue flicks over my collarbone. His claws skim along my ribs, down my belly, circling the skin just above my mound until I’m writhing.
“Takhiss,” I pant.
“Say it again.”
“Takhiss,” I moan, back arching when he dips lower, shoulders bracing between my thighs. His hands hook beneath my knees and spread me wide.
The first lick is slow. Deep. His tongue is thick, ridged, velveted with friction. My hips buck, and he growls in pleasure—like I’m the meal he’s been starving for.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp.
He doesn’t speak. He devours.
Each stroke is measured, strategic, like he’s learning my body in real-time and storing every reaction. My breath breaks. My fingers dig into his scaled shoulders, and I come undone on his tongue, a sharp, shattering high that hits too fast and too hard.
He doesn’t stop.
“Too much,” I gasp.
He chuckles against me. “You taste like fire.”
Then he’s kissing up my belly, licking a path up to my breast. His tongue flicks over my nipple and I see stars. I want to melt into him. I want him inside me so bad it’s painful.
“Takhiss,” I beg. “I need you.”
His eyes glow like twin suns as he rises to his knees. “You’ll have me.”
He strips the rest of his armor and what’s beneath. And holy stars—he’s massive.
Thick. Long. Ridged. Dark green and black, just like the rest of him. Veins pulse along the shaft, and the tip glistens with slick.
“You’re not going to fit,” I whisper, eyes wide.
He leans down, kisses the corner of my mouth. “I will. Slowly.”
And he does.
Every inch stretches me. My body trembles with the ache, the burn, the impossible fullness. He pushes in with patience that borders on sacred, pausing every time I gasp. His thumb finds my clit and rubs gentle circles, coaxing me open.
“Just a little more,” he growls.
I whimper, and he stills.
“You okay?”
“Better than okay,” I breathe. “Move.”
He pulls back. Thrusts shallow. My nails claw his back. The angle hits something deep and I sob his name. Then he starts to fuck me in earnest—deep, controlled thrusts that steal the breath from my lungs.
“You’re mine,” he snarls.
“Yes,” I cry. “Yours.”
He moves faster. Harder. Each thrust rocks me into the mat. The heat coil flares beside us, casting orange light over his muscles, his scales, the sweat slicking down his chest. His hips grind, cock plunging into me again and again.
