Her legs began to spasm, her hips lifted to meet every thrust of my fingers. I spread them wider, not because it was necessary, but because I wanted to see every muscle tighten, wanted to feel her open for me until there was no room for denial or doubt. I drew her closer, sucked the magical spot, circled it, then released, letting her teeter on the edge before plunging my tongue deep inside, tasting her, building her back up. She was glorious like this: untethered, stripped of every defense, her body nothing but nerve and electric need.
"Frygg," I gasped, feeling my own control slipping. Precum leaked down my shaft in anticipation of it being buried insideher. It didn't matter. I didn't stop. I hooked my fingers, pressed hard against a spot inside her that seemed to correlate to the one outside that so unraveled her. I was right, she went rigid. Her eyes flew open, not blue now but black-shot, pupils blown, unblinking. For a heartbeat, she stopped breathing, then came apart in a series of short, feral cries, her entire frame locked in place, then shuddered as the wave crashed over.
I slowed, gentled my grip, kissing her through the aftermath, licking up the mess I'd made. Her taste lingered in my mouth, addictive. When I finally rose, she was slumped against the back of the chair. I braced an arm to either side of her, caging her in, unable to stop myself from staring at the flush creeping up her throat and across her face.
Her breath evened, but she stayed still, eyes closed, lips parted. When she finally found words, her voice was hoarse. "That… is not… how human sex works."
I smiled, slow and hungry. "I'm not human." I made no move to hide my own need. My erection pressed against her.
She gave a ragged laugh, then opened her eyes, meeting mine. She let go of my hair. When I looked up, she smiled at me, triumphant, but also a little stunned. Her dress was rucked to her hips, one breast had escaped its containment, and she made no effort to fix either problem. She dragged me upwards by the front of my armor and said, "You next."
She caught her breath only long enough to get her hands under my tunic, but then stopped, pulled back, squinting as if recalibrating. "Wait," she stopped, running her fingers over my side. "What is this?"
I shrugged. "A scar, from the First Collapse."
She traced it, a fractal line of darkness that wound from my hip to my sternum, and when her touch reached the center, I shivered involuntarily. "Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore." But for the first time in eons, I felt my nerves under the destroyed skin respond to touch.
She pressed her palm flat against it, then leaned in and kissed the spot gently. I nearly lost control. I had no vocabulary for this; it was a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, gentleness so precise it threatened to undo every defense I'd spent many mortal lifetimes constructing.
She reached for my belt and undid it with surgical efficiency. In moments, she had me exposed, and her hand was around my cock, so small a hand, and yet so hungry. She studied me with the academic detachment of a woman who has dissected the idea of wanting, only to discover it has teeth.
"Jesus Christ," she exhaled softly. Then, more reverently, "You weren't kidding about the evolutionary advantage, were you?"
"No," the word was more a groan than a statement.
She tested the weight of me, then thumbed the slit, rolling her palm over the head. I arched into her, unable to keep from growling softly. "Careful," I warned, "I haven't?—"
She cut me off. "Good."
And then she took me in her mouth, slowly, with purpose, and every theory I had ever built about control burned away in the heat of her. She was careful of her teeth, but not shy about using them to remind me she could do damage. I held her face, refusing to move, forcing stillness even as every cell inside me howled for motion.
"By the great abyss, stop, female, or I'll come right now."
She paused only for a quick moment. "That's the general idea."
I lost it then. I came, barely catching myself before I could hurt her, holding her at the base of me and letting the rest go with a violence that nearly bent the deck plates.
She swallowed, then leaned back and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "You taste like copper and starlight," she hummed, hazy and pleased.
"Is that a compliment?"
She grinned. "You tell me."
We sat there for a minute, both of us stunned, both of us blinking in the silence that followed. The only sounds were the hum of the ship and the new whine of an overheating circuit. I could smell her now—on my hands, on my face—and it was the most intimate thing I had ever experienced.
She was the first to break the peace. "So, that's what it's like to fuck a god." She said it in the tone of someone crossing an item off a list.
I got to my feet and scooped her up, easy as breathing. "Not yet," I told her. "We're only halfway there."
She shrieked, but made no further protest when I carried her down the corridor to my quarters, where I unceremoniously dropped her on the bed. We shed out of the last of our clothing, staring at each other's bodies. Naked, she looked like a goddess, taking my breath away with every inch of exposed skin.
Her core was already soaked and eager, but when I guided her down, I felt her tense at my size. I held her underneath me, watching her eyes widen as she felt the pressure. Every instinct demanded I push into her, claim her completely, but I remained still, jaw clenched with restraint.
"Slowly," I murmured against her throat, my voice barely recognizable. "Take only what you can."
She nodded, determination in her eyes as I lowered myself inch by agonizing inch. The tight heat of her enveloping me was exquisite torture. Her body trembled with the effort of accommodation, stretching around me as if she had been crafted precisely for this union. When she finally took all of me, a sound escaped her, half pain, half wonder.
