Knot pulsing in his palm, Nyx snarled. A dull throb of frustration that could only be satisfied inside a pussy gushing slick.
Tail flicking, the barbs in his fins trailed through the silt.
What would it hurt? To return before he was ready. To let the reef hunger for just a little longer. He couldn’t drag her from that cave, plunge her fragile human body into the surf, and force his knot back inside—not yet—but she could take just a little more…
Gills flaring wide, a jet of milky seed drifted through the current.
He reacted.
Body coiled, he launched off the sea floor with a violent flick of his tail. Leaving thetrench that was now free of the killing, anoxic waters that had defined the Black Sea for millennia, he cut through the silt with a wild, desperate grace. He drove toward the surface, breath a steady, controlled exhale. Through the corrosive layer rich with bacterial decay, through the death-threshold where warm met cold, and very little survived. He shut his second lids and surged through the salinity sheets with a single thought in mind.
Her.
Chasing her scent.
Blind to reason, to the very real threat of his own looming death, he rose. Breaking the surface, his massive body crashed against the rocks. Soggy air searing his tender gills, he flashed pointed teeth as the sea’s buoyancy abandoned him once more. His every movement a violent, deliberate act.
The tide was low. His timing poor. The path to his bride rocky and cruel, resistant to his tricks. Unforgiving. His coils scraped stone, spines catching on jagged rock.
He loathed it.
The light. His own colossal weight. The pain of unfiltered air ripping through his gills.
But her scent.
It screamed for him.
And so he persisted.
Dragging his bulk forward, the image of a tiny human pussy glazed with his cum was a beacon he couldn’t ignore or resist.
The cave was as he left it.
Tide low, dank and dark and desolate.
Andher.
A tiny slip of a thing dressed in rags. Collapsed on her left side, her cunt on lewd display. Every inch of her skin bathed in bruises and etched in venom—he could see his mark, just there, pulsing beneath her skin. Coursing through her veins. A glow her pathetic human eyes couldn’t perceive.
Not yet.
And her belly.
His breath caught.
It was swollen and grotesque. Bulging around the copious seed he’d pumped inside.
She hadn’t spilled a drop.
Snaking closer, Nyx hefted his bulk across the damp stone. Fascinated by the implication. That she could hold so much in such a small body, the greedy little thing.
Realization struck him, then.
There was a difference. Between this bride and the last.
His first had been kept in the warm waters of a secluded lagoon, on the coast of the Aegean Sea. Every drop he’d given her washed away before his mark could sink in.
But this girl.
