Pressing at his seam, it grew in measured pulses. Emerging from his vent in perfect sync with his languid milking. It was a slow unfurling. The flush of arousal building against his spine without the fervor of desperate breeding.
Slower.
Yet somehow… more desperate. Primal.
Exhaling a ragged breath, forcing the current through his gills, Nyx let one hand sweep down. Over her belly, the swell of their child. Catching her thigh, he draped it over his hip, pulling her open. Repositioning her with a glacial slowness. Eyes fixed to the flutter of her lashes as he purred. The frequency a thing she had no hope of fighting against.
Not really.
Hips shifting, he pulled back. Cock burrowing, seeking heat. Already greased with oily need, he caught her rim.
Crooning low in his throat, he pressed inside flesh already rendered pliant and soft. Muscles slack in forced sleep, she yielded for him. Made to embrace it.
He claimed an inch.
Spine twisting, she clenched. Brow wrinkled.
Going still, Nyx let his song drop into a range meant to bypass instinct. Pulling her thighs wider, he pushed a little deeper.
Another inch.
And then one more.
His pearls popping inside her, one by one. Catching on swollen tissue, stimulating nerves that made her hum even in the depths of her absence. It was instinct, the way she clenched around him. Milking him in return in elegant little flutters that made his vision whiten. Blurring at the edges.
Only when he found her end, when his cock kissed the mouth of her womb and nuzzled at the spongey gate he could not breach, did he release that frozen breath.
Luxury.
She was an extravagance he’d never thought he could know. An opulence unmatched by anything in any sea.
Hips moving, he withdrew.
Resuming his kneading, he began to measure her milking against his strokes. Timing her breaths. Retreating until only the ridged head of his glans remained, before he drove into her.
Absent urgency or frenzy.
Just a steady claiming.
The anxiety bled from his chest with every thrust. At last.
In the way he’d expected from his return to Vorynthar, she drained his disquiet every time he slid home.
"Nyx…"
His name slipped from her lips. Slurred, a sound mangled by sleep. Lashes fluttered for an instant, showing him a glimpse of glassy grey-gold caught the faint biolume before she was dragged back into submission.
Teeth found her throat, lips tracing the delicate gills. Inhaling her breath. "That's it," he whispered. "You don’t have to do anything, except take it. Every inch.” Every slow thrust brought him closer as he milked her. "So good for me. Taking me so deep." Tasting her gills, he licked her, drunk on the way she shuddered. "Going to fill my little queen until she drips."
Cock thickening, growing fat with the languid pace, he felt his pearls throb. Flushing with heat as he neared the end of his restraint. Chasing it. Selfish while she was open for him, he used her pretty little body to pacify his heart. Seeking calm.
Until that slow, aching calm began to shudder. Giving way to something crude. Raw and exposed.
Fucking her in earnest now, he felt his mind empty of everything else.
No Thalos throwing poisoned barbs.
No thoughts of treaties or the cowardice of his own inadequate shortfalls.
