His hand tightens in my hair and he pulls me off him. Gently. Carefully. His chest heaves.
“You need to stop now.”
“Zavin.”
“I want to give you more pleasure and if you keep on doing that, I’m afraid I’ll be done before I’m ready to be. Lie back.”
He follows me down, his form covering mine. His chest presses to my breasts, hard muscle sinking into soft flesh. The scales along his ribs brush my sides, cool against my flushed skin, and I shiver at thecontrast. His hair falls around my face. There’s nothing but him now. His weight. His smell. His breath going ragged above me.
He shifts his hips. His upper cock grinds against my clit.
I cry out. The sound rips out of me and he does it again, a slow roll that drags his shaft along the length of my slit. I’m wet from my own wanting and he’s slick from my tongue and the slide of him is devastating. Too good. Not enough. I need more.
“Gods, you feel so good in my arms, Miro,” he groans.
He sucks my nipple. Pulls my flesh deep into the warmth of his mouth and his forked tongue flicks against the peak. One side strokes the sensitive underside of my nipple while the other hits the tip, two points of contact from a single stroke.
His hand finds my other breast. His thumb circles that nipple in slow passes while his lips work the first. Suck. Flick. Suck again. The sensations layer over each other. His lips on one breast, his hand on the other, his cock grinding my clit. I can’t separate them anymore. Tongue and thumb and shaft all blur into a single pulse that runs from my nipples to my core and back again.
I’m climbing already. He just drags an orgasm out of me with his tongue and somehow I’m already coiling for the next one. My hips rock against his cock, chasing the friction, chasing him, chasing the peak that’s building too fast at the base of my spine.
He makes a sound low in his throat. It vibrates through my nipple, through his lips still sealed around me. His dark hair spills across my stomach. His eyes squeeze shut. Concentration. Or desperation. His hips keep grinding against my clit and the head of him catches me on every pass, slick and hot and unrelenting.
I grip his shoulders. His scales warm under my palms. Hotter than before.
“Please.” The word tears out of me. “Please, I need you inside me.”
He shifts his weight. His tail wraps around my thigh and spreads me wider. The tip of his lower cock presses against my entrance and he waits, meeting my eyes. “You’ll feel me for days after this. Do you still want it?”
I hear: Do you still want me?
There’s no answer I can give that isn’t: “Yes.”
The stretch of him filling me draws a long moan from somewhere I don’t know I have. He moves slowly, giving me time to adjust, his eyes never leaving my face until his hips meet mine.
He stays buried within me, his upper cock pressed flat against my clit, his lower cock embedded deep. I’m so full. Sparks jolt through my abdomen as he begins to move grinding against me with every thrust. The rhythm builds, slow at first, then faster. His tail coils around my thigh. Then it releases and slides higher, curling around my throat. The possessiveness of it has me clenching around him.
His thrusts deepen. His lips find my throat above where his tail rests, then my jaw, then my mouth. He kisses me through his own ragged breathing. He’s straining for control, holding himself back.
“More, Zavin. Please. I want more,” I gasp.
He comes up onto his biceps, driving into me harder. The grinding of his upper cock against my clit is relentless. His tail tightens fractionally at my throat and his lips find my breast again. My climax slams through me. Everything behind my eyes goes white. I scream. I scream his name and my nails rake down his back and my body clamps around him in pulses that don’t stop.
Somewhere in the white noise a thought surfaces, clear and sharp: This is what surrender feels like. This. Him. Now. Then even that dissolves.
His rhythm breaks and he grinds into me. The first pulse of his release hits my walls. Hot. So hot it borders on burning, a flood ofwarmth that spreads inside me, his cock twitching within me as he spills and spills.
His groan presses into the curve of my neck. Raw. Undone. It vibrates against my skin and travels down my spine. His upper cock throbs and I feel the first hot spill of him stripe across my stomach. It coats me in thick, warm pulses, sliding down the groove of my hip and pooling in the dip of my navel. He’s coming on me and in me at the same time. The sensation is obscene and overwhelming: the deep, rhythmic clench of him inside, the slick heat of him outside. I can sense him everywhere. Inside me. On me. Marking me. His groan breaks against my throat like he can’t believe what his body is doing, like even he doesn’t know he can let go so completely.
He shudders. A full-body shake that starts in his shoulders and rolls down through his chest, his hips, the tail still coiled around my throat. I grip the back of his neck. His skin burns under my palm. His hips jerk in small, involuntary thrusts as the last pulses of his release empty into me.
His breathing is wrecked. Ragged pulls of air against my neck that come too fast and too shallow. He winds his arms around me and rolls us onto our sides in one motion, still buried within me, still locked against me. His tail wraps around my hips and cinches tight, holding us together, holding himself deep. I sense the flex of it against my lower back, the proprietary curl of it keeping me exactly where he wants me. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t separate. He just holds me there, still joined, still pulsing, his breath slowly steadying against my throat while his tail keeps us sealed.
His hearts pounds under my palm where I’ve pressed it flat against his sternum. “I didn’t know it could be this,” he says.
I’m still catching my breath. “Didn’t know what?”
“That it could be this different. With you. Because of you.”
