“This doesn’t mean anything,” I whisper, gripping his horns for leverage. My voice trembles—less conviction, more plea.
“Understood,” he growls, but his cock throbs against me through our clothes like it doesn’t agree.
He bites the edge of my jaw—not hard, just enough. Just enough to make me whimper.
I tear open the front of my shirt, fingers shaking. “You’re not allowed to be this hot,” I hiss.
He chuckles low. “Then take me apart.”
And I do.
I shove his armor open, tracing the lines between the red of his scales and the silver seams glowing faintly beneath. He’s all heat and muscle and war-torn hunger. My palms slide over his chest, down his abs, to the waistband of his pants.
He hisses when I slip my fingers inside. His cock pulses thick and alien and hot against my hand—ridged, scaled at the base, the tip slick with need. I stroke him slowly, watching his eyes darken to molten gold.
“You’re gonna wreck me,” I whisper.
He grins, flashing teeth. “I fucking hope so.”
I wriggle out of my pants, toss them aside. His claws rip the rest of my shirt in two. I should care. I don’t. His mouth finds my nipple—sharp teeth scraping, tongue flicking—and I arch into him, moaning.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice low and raw.
“I want your cock inside me,” I say, staring straight into his burning eyes. “Now.”
He growls like a beast unleashed and lines himself up with my pussy, still pinning me against the wall. His cock pushes into me, inch by inch, stretching me wide around his impossible size. I cry out—not in pain, but in disbelief.
He fills me like no man ever could. Deep. Full. Claiming.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “You’re huge.”
“Too much?” he rasps.
“Not enough,” I growl.
He starts to move. Deep, hard thrusts that make me bounce against the wall. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes off the walls, filthy and perfect. I dig my nails into his shoulders, feel every ridged thrust drag against every nerve inside me.
My pussy clenches around him, soaking, aching. He hits that spot over and over again, like he’s mapped it. Like he owns it.
“Yours,” I choke out before I can stop myself. “Fuck, Troka, I’m yours.”
He groans, mouth capturing mine again, bruising. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper against his lips. “You wrecked me.”
He pulls out just long enough to flip me around. Bends me over the table. My cheek hits cool metal, and then he’s behind me, sliding back into my dripping pussy with one brutal thrust.
I scream.
One of his claws drags up my spine—light, teasing—and I shudder. His other hand wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he fucks me hard and deep.
“Take it,” he snarls. “Take every inch.”
“I am,” I sob, wrecked and raw and loving every second. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
He pounds into me, relentless, until my legs tremble. Until stars dance behind my eyes. Until I’m begging him without shame.
