He hissed when I stroked, the sound sharp in the enclosed space. The tip of his cock moved, that fleshy appendage curling toward my touch.
Fascinating.
I stroked again, learning the shape of him. The scales at the base were smooth, gave way to flesh that was softer. The veins pulsed under my palm. Wetness leaked from the tip, coating my hand.
His tail unwound from my waist, only to slide between my legs. The tip found my entrance, pressed carefully. Testing.
I rolled my hips, taking it deeper. The stretch was different from fingers, thicker, the texture of scales foreign and perfect. My head fell back, a moan escaping.
He worked his tail slowly, in and out, building a rhythm that had me panting. His hand found my breast, thumb circling my nipple through the bandages. The dual sensation was almost too much.
"I need you," I said. The words came out broken, desperate. "Now."
He withdrew his tail. I whimpered at the loss, empty and aching.
Then he was moving me, positioning me. On my back would hurt too much, put pressure on the wounds. He sat, his back against the cave wall, and lifted me onto his lap.
I straddled him, my knees on either side of his hips. The position put me in control, let me set the pace. Good.
His hands steadied me, one on my hip, the other on my thigh. His cock pressed against my entrance, hard and hot and right there.
I sank down.
The stretch was immediate, overwhelming. My body protested the intrusion, muscles clenching around somethingtoo big, too different. I stopped, breathing hard, giving myself time to adjust.
"Slow," he said. His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "Take your time."
I lowered another inch. The burn intensified, pleasure and pain blurring together. The ridges of his cock dragged against my inner walls, hitting places that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
Halfway. I could feel him inside me, filling me, the pressure bordering on too much. My thighs trembled with the effort of holding still.
His tail wrapped around my waist again, supporting some of my weight. The gesture was gentle, caring, at odds with the primal need I could see in his eyes.
I took the rest of him in one movement.
We both made sounds. His was a growl that shook his chest. Mine was closer to a scream, pleasure spiking so sharp it almost hurt.
I was so full. The sensation was unlike anything I'd experienced. Every nerve ending inside me was firing, my body stretched around him, accommodating the invasion through sheer determination.
I didn't move. Couldn't. Just sat there, impaled on his cock, trying to remember how to breathe.
His hands flexed on my hips.
"Give me a second."
"Take all the time you need." But his tail tightened, a small betrayal of how much control this was costing him.
The fleshy tip of his cock moved inside me. I felt it curl, press against my inner walls, explore. The sensation sent electricity racing up my spine.
"What the fuck is that?" I gasped.
"Sensitive." The word came out strangled. "Helps with … connection."
Connection. Right. The thing moved again, found a spot that made me see white. I clenched around him involuntarily.
He groaned, his head falling back against the cave wall. "You're going to kill me."
"Good."
