It’s slow. Devastating. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize me, like he’s afraid if he blinks I’ll be gone. I kiss him back just as desperate, clutching the back of his neck, sliding my fingers into the thick curls of his golden mane.
When my lips part, he groans. The sound vibrates through my ribs.
I unlace his shirt with shaking fingers. My knuckles brush his chest, and the heat of him makes me gasp. The fabric falls away, and I see him again—truly see him. Every scar. Every ridge of corded muscle. The tattoos across his ribs, old and faded. The way his skin shimmers like stone kissed by firelight.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“So are you.”
He strips me gently—cloak first, then belt. His touch is reverent, like every inch of skin is a story he’s trying not to miss. When my tunic slips down, and my breasts are bare, he still hesitates.
Then he groans.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs.
I pull him toward the bed. I don’t want slow anymore. I want him. I want the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.
We fall into the sheets. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down to me. He kisses my throat, my collarbone, the center of my chest. His mouth is worship. His body, a temple built to ruin me.
I arch beneath him when his tongue circles my nipple, my hands lost in his hair. His horns graze my shoulder as he shifts, mouth moving lower, lower, until he’s between my thighs.
“Kragna…” I breathe.
He spreads my legs and just stares.
Then he lowers his head.
The first stroke of his tongue over my pussy makes my back arch off the bed. I cry out—no warning, no mercy. His tongue is thick, deliberate. He licks slowly, dragging over my clit, then teasing my entrance. He eats like it’s instinct, like he needs this, like tasting me is more important than breathing.
My fingers tangle in his mane. I tug. He groans against me and the vibration makes me scream.
“Fuck—don’t stop?—”
He doesn’t.
He slides his tongue inside me, curling, tasting, teasing until I’m shaking. My thighs clamp around his ears. My hips grind against his mouth. The heat builds too fast.
I come—shaking, gasping, broken.
He keeps licking until I sob, until my legs won’t stop trembling.
When he finally moves up my body, I’m breathless and raw. I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock—thick, hard, already leaking.
“You’re so fucking big,” I whisper.
“You still want it?” he growls, voice low.
“Inside,” I beg. “Now.”
He doesn’t ask again. He just lines himself up and pushes.
The stretch burns. He’s so big, it feels like I might break. But I want this. I wanthim. I meet his eyes and nod.
“Keep going,” I whisper.
He pushes deeper.
My breath catches. My back bows. My pussy clenches around him, tight and wet and pulsing. Inch by inch, he fills me, until he’s buried to the hilt.
