"Safe," he says, scanning the empty ocean around us. "No judging eyes. No listening ears."
"Just us," I agree, my own voice barely a whisper.
"Loud," he says, a rough command against my lips.
I grin, a silent challenge.
He kisses me. It's a claiming, devastating kiss that tastes of raw salt and absolute freedom. He steals the very breath from my lungs, leaving the firm, desperate grip of his scarred hands on my waist as my only anchor to the world.
We roll, weightless and tangled, and the glorious, sharp friction of his rough, sandpaper skin dragging against my smooth scales is an electric anchor in the vastness. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he acts as an irresistible weight pulling me down into the beautiful dark.
He reaches for the flimsy clasp of my scavenged mesh vest and with a sharp tug, tears the fabric. He strips me bare. He sheds his own bindings. We float exposed in the open ocean, the water rushing against my scales, cool and invigorating, yet Kael burns like a forge against me.
He pulls me close, the size difference between us starker in the void—solid, broad, his heavy shoulders eclipsing the distant sun as his grey tail wraps around my crimson webbing to hold us steady.
"Vaelis," he growls, a raw, possessive sound.
He runs his large hands down my sides, his palms eclipsing my ribcage. He lifts my frame in the water with an impossible ease.
"Coil," he orders.
I obey instantly, wrapping my tail around his powerful hips, gripping his broad shoulders, and pulling him flush against my chest.
He guides my body down, and we lock together in the dark water. The friction of his rough skin against my most sensitive places sends a sharp, blinding thrill up my spine.
A heavy groan tears from my throat as I bury my face in the muscle of his neck.
We move, finding a heavy, driving rhythm that lacks the desperate, frantic friction of our encounters in the Silt District. This is powerful. Deliberate. He moves with the pull of the water, a heavy surge that stretches my limits and claims every empty space within me, boasting an unmatched stamina, a tireless engine of muscle and raw instinct that drives me until the world dissolves into bright blue light and pure sensation.
Every powerful forward movement carries that hum, the low, resonant vibration I crave, traveling through his broad chest and directly into my core, vibrating up my spine.
"Mine," he roars into the open water, a deafening shout that echoes in the vast emptiness.
"Mine," I scream back at the ocean, my voice ragged, my entire body a live wire.
I reach back, clawing at his broad shoulders, twisting my head to sink my teeth into the hard, scarred muscle of his bicep.
We are loud.
We are messy.
We are the only two living things in the universe, and our claim on each other is a primal force in the deep.
He increases the pace, his firm grip on my hips tightening into a bruising, flawless anchor.
"Open," he growls, the command vibrating against my back as he shifts, turning my body while keeping my tail coiled around his waist.
The change is slow, deliberate, a repositioning that speaks of intimate knowledge rather than clumsy fumbling.
He aligns our forms, my back pressed flush against the solid wall of his chest. His hands, calloused and scarred, glide down my stomach with a gentleness that disguises their strength, one arm wrapping around my waist to hold me steady while the other continues its downward exploration.
His touch is a question, and my body arches in answer.
He finds the tight, sensitive slit there, and a gasp tears from my lips, the sensation so so intense, it whites out my vision for a moment. He doesn't enter me, not yet. Instead, he circles the puckered flesh with the pad of his thumb, a slow, maddening tease that sends jolts of pleasure-pain radiating through my entire body.
My hands find support on his forearms, my fingers digging into the hard muscle as I fight to stay grounded against the onslaught of sensation.
"Kael," I breathe, his name a plea. I feel him press a soft, surprisingly tender kiss to the nape of my neck, a stark contrast to the demanding pressure of his thumb.
