“Theron… oh fuck, beast—suck my tits harder, make them yours, mark them with your mouth,” she sighs, nails digging into my fur, urging me deeper. The pleasure builds, her breath ragged, vision softening as I worship her, her breasts swelling under my lips, each pull a vow of eternal love.
My hand slides between her thighs, finding her pussy soaked, fingers teasing her clit, drawing a shuddering moan. “Yes, beast—rub my clit, make my cunt sing for you!” she cries, hips bucking against my hand, juices coating my fingers.
She pulls back, chest heaving, and kneels on the furs, hearthlight gilding her skin like a goddess. Her lips stretch around my cock, sucking with greedy reverence, tongue tracing every ridge, savoring my musky taste that makes her moan like a whore in heat. Her fingers slide to my ass, teasing the tight ring, then sliding inside, stroking my prostate in rhythm with her mouth, making me growl, the sound shaking the cedar walls.
“Fuck, Eurydice, your mouth’s a paradise—suck your beast’s cock deep, choke on it,” I groan, hands tangling in her hair, guiding her gently as she bobs, her throat tightening around me, drool spilling down her chin. She curls her finger deeper, milking me, her mouth relentless, loving how my massive frame trembles, my power bending to her filthy will.
“Suck harder, my slut—make your beast roar for you,” I growl, hips twitching, balls tightening as she worships me with slutty devotion.
“Ride me, my cherished mate,” I rumble, lifting her with ease, amber eyes blazing with love and lust.
She straddles me on the furs, gripping my rune-carved horns like sacred reins, my fur warm and rough against her thighs, scraping deliciously.
“Fuck me, my beast—fill my holes, make me scream,” she moans, easing onto my cock, her pussy stretching with a delicious ache, juices squelching as she sinks down, grinding slow and hard.
“It’s so thick, beast—stretching my pussy perfectly,” she gasps, circling her hips like a wanton goddess. She shifts, guiding my slick shaft to her ass, the tight pucker yielding slowly,the searing stretch drawing a low, slutty moan that echoes through the room.
“Fuck my ass, Theron—claim it deep, make it yours,” she begs, taking me inch by inch until I’m buried balls-deep, her body trembling. She rides me with a tender, relentless rhythm, hips rolling sensually, horns my anchor, the air thick with cedar, sweat, and the wet slap of our bodies. “Pound my ass harder, beast—make me your anal whore!” she cries, grinding down, her pussy dripping onto the furs.
I lift her gently, laying her back on the furs, lips returning to her breasts, sucking with quiet hunger, tongue lapping like a slow storm, pushing her toward ecstasy with exquisite torment.
“More… please, beast—devour my tits, make me cum,” she breathes, nails raking my fur, pleasure building like a warm hearth, her pussy clenching emptily. My mouth persists, biting softly, her breasts tingling with ecstasy, vision blurring as she clings to me, moaning like a wanton goddess. “Bite harder, Theron—make my nipples scream for your cock!” I growl, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing slow, teasing circles, her juices soaking my hand. “Cum for me, my love—let your beast feel your pussy weep,” I rumble, her hips bucking wildly.
“Finish me, my love,” she whispers, voice urgent with desperate need. I guide her to her hands and knees, furs soft beneath her, the hearth’s warmth enveloping us. I thrust into her pussy, slow but deep, doggy style, my cock gliding in and out, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.
“Oh fuck, beast—fuck my cunt deep, make it yours!” she moans, pushing back hard, meeting my rhythm, demanding more. My hands grip her hips, fur brushing her skin, each thrust a vow of forever.
“Deeper, Theron—pound me like your breeding bitch!” she cries, pussy clenching tight, pleasure swelling like a tidal wave. I reach around, pinching her clit, and her orgasm blooms, asearing wave that crashes through her, her cry shaking the furs as her pussy pulses, milking me, juices dripping, her body collapsing, lost in ecstasy.
I ease her down, turning her gently, cock brushing her lips. She wakes, eyes fluttering, and I murmur,
“Drink me, Eurydice—taste your beast’s love.” She sucks eagerly, lips sealed tight, swallowing my hot, thick release, moaning like a slut as it floods her throat, her body trembling with aftershocks, the hearthlight dimming. We collapse, tangled in cedar, fur, and sweat. I trace her cheek, heart full. “Forever,” I whisper, her nod my vow, the room holding us in its glowing embrace.
36
EURYDICE
The next morning dawns clear and crystalline, the sky painted in shades of pearl and rose that speak of winter's gentlest moods. Milthar lies beneath a blanket of fresh snow that fell during the night, transforming the familiar harbor town into something from a winter fairy tale. The rooftops gleam white as seafoam, while icicles hang like crystal chimes from the eaves of houses where warm lights glow behind frost-painted windows.
I wake in Theron's arms, in his bed, in his cottage that now feels like our sanctuary, and for a moment I simply lie still and marvel at the simple miracle of consciousness returning naturally. No phosphorescent glow, no honey-salt water, no whispers of the drowned trying to steal my dreams. Just morning light streaming through real windows, the scent of pine logs burning in the hearth, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
From somewhere in the harbor comes the sound of children's voices, bright and clear in the crisp air. I slip from the bed without waking Theron, wrapping myself in his heavy cloak, and make my way to the window that overlooks the town. Below, a procession of children winds through the snow-dusted streets,each one carrying a small paper boat with a tiny lit candle nestled inside. The tradition of the Morning Boats, performed on the day after the winter solstice to honor those lost to the sea and celebrate the return of the light.
I've watched this ceremony every year since coming to Milthar, touched by its simple beauty but never fully understanding its deeper meaning. Now, after walking in the halls of the drowned, after seeing the faces of children who will never grow up, the tradition feels different—more poignant, more personal, weighted with knowledge I wish I didn't possess.
I dress quickly in the simplest clothes I can find—wool dress and heavy boots, a thick shawl that smells of cedar and home. Theron stirs as I move about the room, his amber eyes opening to track my movements with the contented awareness of a man who knows his beloved is safe and near.
"Where are you going, my heart?" he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep but warm with love.
"To say goodbye," I tell him, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "To thank the sea for what it returned instead of cursing it for what it tried to take."
He nods, understanding immediately. "I'll join you when I've made myself presentable. This is something we should do together."
But first, I need to do this alone—one last conversation with the waters that became our enemy and, in the end, allowed us safe passage home.
I join the procession of children as it winds down toward the harbor, their small faces bright with excitement and solemnity in equal measure. They know this ceremony matters, even if they don't fully understand why. Their paper boats are works of art—carefully folded, decorated with symbols of hope and remembrance, each candle flame steady despite the winter breeze.
At the water's edge, I kneel on stones made slippery by snow and spray, and carefully place my owncandle-boaton the gentle waves. The craft is simple—just white paper folded with the skill Theron taught me, holding a small candle that casts golden light on the water around it. But as I set it free, I whisper words I never thought I'd speak to the sea that once tried to claim me:
