I position myself between her legs, the head of my cock slicking through her wetness. She inhales sharply, lightning skittering over her ribs.
I pause. “Tell me to come to you.”
“Come to me,” she whispers, voice shaking. Then, louder, like she’s daring the world: “Torin, I want you.”
My control fractures.
I push inside her slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to feel me, to take me. She’s tight around me even after her release, heat gripping me like a fist. Her eyes flutter shut and her mouth falls open on a silent gasp.
“So full,” she breathes.
I shudder, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You’re perfect.”
She laughs softly, breathless. “That’s not the word diplomats use.”
“It’s the only word I have.”
I pull back slightly, watching her face as I slide into her again, deeper this time. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into myskin. Lightning dances between us, crawling up my arms, kissing my scales.
My water magic answers, a cool surge that flows through my veins and into hers, soothing the sting, making the stretch turn into pleasure.
“Tell me if you need me to slow down,” I manage.
“Don’t you dare,” she pants, and then her mouth finds mine and the kiss steals the last of my restraint.
I move.
Not fast at first—steady, building—letting us find the rhythm together. Each thrust makes her gasp, makes the bond flare brighter. Her hips meet mine, greedy now, taking what she wants without apology.
We fit. Like storm and sea. Like the impossible becoming inevitable.
Her fingers find my gills again, stroking lightly, and I nearly come on the spot.
“Zara,” I warn, voice breaking.
She smiles against my mouth. “That’s what you like?”
“That’s what makes me fall apart,” I admit, and the honesty makes her eyes soften.
“Good,” she whispers. “I want you to fall apart with me.”
I brace my hand under her thigh, lifting her, changing the angle. The next thrust hits something inside her that makes her cry out, lightning exploding in a bright halo.
“There,” she gasps. “There—don’t stop.”
I don’t.
I drive into her, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the grotto, mingling with her ragged breath and my broken groans. The moss-light flickers with every pulse of magic, turning the cave into a living thing around us.
The bond is everywhere—in my blood, in hers, in the space between our mouths when we break a kiss to breathe. It feedsher pleasure into me and mine into her until it’s impossible to tell where she ends and I begin.
“Torin,” she moans, my name a plea, a command.
“I’ve got you,” I swear, kissing her throat, her jaw, her lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her hands clutch my shoulders, lightning spilling out in patterns that crawl over my scales. My water magic surges to meet it, weaving through the electricity instead of fighting it, turning it into a deep, steady heat that settles in my bones.
The pressure builds—in her, in me, in the bond itself—spiraling tighter with every thrust.
