Amber light moves across his chest and shoulders, finding the ridges of muscle I only felt as pressure and warmth against my palms. His collarbone is sharp. His chest is broad and hard, muscle layered like he was carved for function, not decoration.
The scales begin at the sides of his ribs, small and fine, dark as obsidian. Each scale is a tiny mirror reflecting gold and amber, the pattern shifting as he breathes. The scales run in ridges down his sidesand curve inward toward his groin, framing the flat of his stomach where the skin is still skin, smooth and warm and vulnerable between all that armor. I follow the lines of him with my eyes and the shyness is still there but it’s crowded out now by something hungrier.
He is magnificent. The word arrives in my head and I don’t argue with it.
“Are you ready to see all of me, human?” My gaze flies to his face, pulling up from his groin where I’d been staring. I try to ignore the flush climbing my neck.
His fingers unsnap the catch at his waist. “If at any time you want to stop, tell me.”
His face is a mask of intent and seriousness. He means what he says. I swallow and nod. “I… that is… keep going.”
There’s no way I want to stop. I want all of him. To be consumed by him and consume him in return. He’s under my skin now, sinking into my bones. This male, who I hardly know, is one I don’t want to let go.
I don’t do this. Aching for a male isn’t in my wiring. Solving problems is what I do. Give me a tangled subroutine or a corrupted data stack and I’ll lose six hours without looking up. But give me a person who wants to get close and I’ll find three exit routes before they finish their first sentence. Vulnerability is a bug. I debug vulnerability.
This ache for him isn’t physical. Physical would be simpler. Physical would let me keep my walls up while our bodies did the talking. But Zavin gets past the walls. I don’t even feel them come down.
I want this. I want him. Not just his body, though yes, absolutely that. I want the way he looked at me when he lifted his face. Like I was his whole world and he’d move the planet for me.
He pushes his trousers down, kicking off the material.
He has two cocks, both erect, both thick and long. The upper curves slightly toward his stomach, the lower hangs straighter and heavier, and beneath them his sac is dark and smooth. He lifts a hand and palms them together, stroking slowly from root to tip. A bead of moisture glistens at the head of the upper one.
“Oh my gods.” The words fall out of me before I can stop them. My eyes go wide. My brain stutters, tries to process, comes up blank. Two. He has two cocks. Both erect, both thick, both long enough that my body clenches at the thought of taking even one of them.
His expression flickers. Something shifts behind his eyes, a door I’ve never seen before cracking open just a fraction. He goes very still.
“Is it…” He stops. His jaw tightens and releases. “I know it’s not what you expected. If this is too much—“
The Crime Lord of House Sethrak, who holds a planet in his fist, who has killed without flinching, who looks me in the eye while my arousal is still wet on his lips, sounds almost shy. Almost afraid. The uncertainty in his voice reaches into my chest and squeezes.
“It’s not too much!” I blurt and then cringe. “I mean, I’m not afraid of anything about you, Zavin.”
His throat moves. “You’re certain.”
“I’m sitting naked on your bed, Zavin. I’ve been certain.”
The tension in his shoulders eases. Just a little. Not all the way. He’s still waiting. I hold out my hand. “Come here. I’d like to taste you. Now you’ve… tasted me.”
His eyes glow with fire as he steps between my knees.
I have to tilt my head back to see his face. His cocks are inches from my face, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him, close enough that if I leaned forward my lips would touch the tip of the upper one. My mouth waters at the thought.
The upper cock curves in a graceful arc that lifts it toward his ribbed abdomen. Thick and heavy, the scales are fine and tiny. The head is a darker shade than the shaft, flushed deep and smooth, and at the tip a bead of moisture is gathering.
The lower cock is straighter. A little heavier. The ridge along the underside of it is more pronounced, and the scales that frame his hips carry faintly onto the base of the shaft in delicate dark lines before giving way to skin. Beneath them both his sac is smooth and darker still, drawn up tight against his form.
He’s perfect.
I lift both hands and wrap them around his cocks. The skin is hot and soft over the hardness beneath. The scales feel like velvet in my palms. His cocks pulse against my palms, each with its own heartbeat. I stroke upward and he shudders, his stomach muscles going tight, his tail curling around my calf.
I look up at his deep groan, to see his face tilted up, eyes closed, hair trailing down his back. His hands flex at his muscular thighs and his throat bobs when he swallows.
He’s holding himself back. Leaving himself open so I can explore.
I lean forward and run my tongue up the length of the lower cock. A deep shudder works through his frame. His taste floods my mouth, salt and musk and something metallic and alive. I take the head between my lips and suck. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding. Grounding himself. His tail winds higher around my leg. I switch to the upper cock and lave my tongue across the sensitive underside. His hips jerk forward.
I take him deeper. One cock in my mouth, the other in my hand, stroking in rhythm. His breathing goes ragged. His claws flex at his sides, retracting and extending, the soft scratch of them against his own palm the only indicator of how close he is. His sac tightens. The taste of him intensifies. I want more. I want all of it.
