“I know,” he says.
He does not hurry.
His tail slides under the waistband. Not removing them. Just there, the tip pressing against me through the last layer. I pressback. My quiet moan makes him press the tip more firmly into me.
He strips the pants from my legs with his tail. One fluid motion. I am bare in his loops and the compound hits everywhere and my back arches off the coils.
The seam is open. Both shafts heavy and dark in the low light. I know them now. I have memorized their weight and heat with my hands.
He lifts me. His coils arrange my body, tilting me back, supporting me from shoulders to hips. I am cradled inside him, open, held. He positions the first shaft at my entrance and holds there.
“Ask me again,” he says.
“Please.”
An agonizing moment passes before he enters me in one slow push. The compound floods from his surface into mine and the stretch is familiar and still overwhelming. I grip the nearest coil and my fingers greedily dig in.
He sets the pace. Not me. His coils control the rhythm, a slow compression that guides me onto him and pulls me back. Each stroke deep. Unhurried. He watches my face while he moves inside me. Reading every change. Learning what makes my breath catch, what makes my eyes close, what makes my hips roll against the coils. He is cataloguing my pleasure and using everything he learns as fast as he learns it.
The second shaft presses against me. He does not wait for me to guide it. He tilts my hips with his coils and presses the second in alongside the first.
Both. The stretch doubles. Both responding to each other. One flexes, the other shifts. My breath leaves my body and comes back wrong.
I don’t care.
His hand finds my breast again, teasing the nipple with a soft touch that nearly puts me over the top. His tongue seals flat against my throat. His tail curls tight around my thigh, holding me open. Both shafts moving inside me in a rhythm that says I’m his, and I am being touched by everything he has.
“Don’t let go,” I say.
He answers by driving deeper, both at once, igniting every nerve in my body. His coils lock around me and the thrust hits something that empties my skull. I hear my own voice from very far away saying his name in a way that is not his name. It is what his name becomes when there is nothing left of me to shape it.
“Don’t stop,” I say. “I want to feel you come.”
VADH
Ihave been careful with her. Every time. Measured. I have held still and let her come to me and let her set the pace and I have kept myself in check.
I am done.
I do not stop. The teal on her skin is bright in the dark, my color answering from inside her body. I take her hips in both hands, and I drive into her with a rhythm my body has wanted since I first entered her, using the full length of my coils and the full weight of my lower body, nothing held in reserve.
Her back arches. Her hands claw at the coils beneath her. Both shafts driving together, harder than they’ve ever been. The compression of my coils follow the thrust. She tries to speak, but is past language.
I pull her up from the coils. I crave her against me. I desire her face. I lift her with one arm and pin her against my chest, both shafts still buried deep. Her legs wrap around the narrowing where my torso meets the serpentine. I hold her there. Face to face. Her mouth open. Her eyes barely focused.
“Bryn.”
She grips the scales behind my jaw. Her fingers dig in. Her body clenches around both shafts in contractions that fire down the nerve line. I lose the ability to think in straight lines.
I lay her down. My coils form a bed beneath her. She is on her back, and I pin her wrists with one hand and drive with the other gripping her hip and the angle hits something that makes her voice crack and her body lock. She screams.
The primitive shriek makes me push deeper and feel every muscle inside her.
Her hand finds the back of my neck. She pulls my face down.
“Stay with me,” she says against my mouth.
Her breath is on my lips. Half an inch of air, and even now, even inside her, I hold it.
