"I do not want to wait. I do not want to lose another day."
She reached up and touched his face. Traced the scar that cut through his eyebrow. Let her fingers trail down to his mouth, feeling the smoothness of his tusks beneath her fingertips.
"I don't want to wait, either," she whispered. "I want everything."
The shift showed in his eyes. Not control breaking—that was already broken, had shattered when he'd wept in her arms—but deeper walls crumbling. Permission granted. Restraint released.
"Then you will have it," he said. "All of it. Every piece of me."
He sat back on his heels and reached for the hem of his tunic. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and cast it aside.
Delia's breath caught.
She'd seen him without a shirt before, glimpses during the journey. But not like this. Not with him kneeling over her, firelight dancing across every plane and hollow of his torso, watching her with those burning eyes.
He was massive. His chest was a wall of muscle, his shoulders so broad they seemed to block out the world. Scars crisscrossedhis green skin, some thin and white with age, others darker and more recent. War-marks climbed his arms and wrapped around his ribs, patterns she didn't recognize but understood instinctively as significant. A ridge of darker tissue ran down his sternum, and his stomach was ridged with muscle, tapering to narrow hips and—
Her eyes dropped lower and she felt heat flood her face.
The bulge straining against his breeches was impossible to miss. Even through the leather, she could see the outline of him—thick, heavy, huge.
"You can touch me," he said quietly. "If you want."
She wanted.
Her hand trembled as she reached out. Her fingers made contact with his chest, and his whole body shuddered. The skin was warm and textured differently, like sun-warmed stone.
She let her palm flatten against him. Felt his heart pounding beneath her hand, the rhythm as wild as her own.
"I've never—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You don't need to know." He covered her hand with his own, pressing it more firmly against his chest. "There is no wrong way to touch me. Every place your hands find will be welcome."
She let him guide her exploration. Down across his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle. Around the curve of his ribs, where the war-marks swirled like water. Down to his stomach, the ridges there clenching beneath her touch.
When her fingers reached the waist of his breeches, she hesitated.
"May I?" she whispered.
His laugh was strained. "You never need to ask that."
Her hands shook as she worked at the laces. The leather was soft, well-worn, and the knots gave way easily enough. She pulled the laces free, and he helped her push the breeches down, kicking them away.
And then he was bare before her, and Delia forgot how to breathe.
He was… not like a human man. Similar enough that the basic shape registered, but every detail screamed other. Larger. Rougher. Built for something primal.
His cock jutted thick and heavy from a dense thatch of coarse black hair, and there were deliberate, sculpted bands of firmer flesh, four or five of them spaced along the length from just below the head to the swollen root. Each ridge was thick and rounded, slightly raised, like the segments of some ancient, armored creature. The head was broad and blunt, slightly mushroomed, a shade lighter green than the shaft, with a wide slit already weeping a thick bead of precum that slid slowly down the first ridge and disappeared into the next valley. Below that, his balls hung low and heavy in a dusky, slightly textured sac.
She couldn’t look away. The sheer scale of him sent a fresh wave of slick heat pooling between her legs. He could split her open. He could fill her until she couldn't breathe. And the terrifying, intoxicating truth was that she wanted him to try.
He wrapped one massive hand around the base and gave himself a slow, deliberate stroke. The ridges flexed and shifted under his grip.
“You’re staring,” he said, voice rough with amusement and barely-leashed want.
“I—” She swallowed hard, cheeks burning. “I’ve never… seen anything like that.”
His thumb brushed over the first ridge, smearing the bead of precum down the length. “They’re for pleasure,” he told her, eyes locked on hers. “They’ll stretch you open slowly. Make you come harder than you thought possible.”
