Page 66 of Shadowed

Her hands are on my horns. She grips them the way she grips her picks—sure, precise, both hands wrapped around the charcoal spirals—and she pulls me down and her mouth finds my throat and her teeth press.

The bite sends a bolt through my rut. My hips jerk. My cock slams into her and the prehensile tip grinds the place that makes her scream and she screams against my throat and the vibration of it makes my balls pull tight.

"Harder." Her voice wrecked. Not the fencing register—something underneath it. Raw. "I said everything. I meant it."

Everything.

I pull out. The sound she makes—a desperate, guttural whimper at the loss of me—nearly ends my restraint entirely. My cock hangs heavy between my thighs, dripping with her slick, the prehensile curve reaching back toward her cunt like a compass finding north.

"Turn over."

She turns. Onto her stomach. Her back—the long warm line of it, the shadow-marks spreading across her shoulder blades now, dark patterns blooming on golden-brown skin. She looks over her shoulder. Eyes blown. Lips parted.

I grip her hips. Lift. Her arse in the air, her cheek against the sheet, and I push in from behind and the angle is brutal. My cock sinks to the root and curves against her front wall and she grunts—a low punched-out sound that makes my vision narrow.

My shadows unleash.

Not the controlled tendrils of the first two nights. Everything. Dozens of contact points—her wrists pinned above her head, her ankles held, the arches of her feet, the sensitive backs of her knees. Shadows at her nipples—not circling this time, flattening, squeezing both at once in a rhythmic pulse timed to my thrusts. A thick tendril at her throat, tightening immediately. Her air narrows and her cunt clenches and the sound she makes is my name strangled to a single syllable.

"Cal —"

I slam in. Her body jolts. The tendril at her throat holds and her moan comes out choked, airless, and my cock grinds the deep spot and she convulses around me.

"You asked for everything." My voice is a ruin. The composure is gone—stripped out of me the moment shecrouched in my corridor and took my ward apart with bare hands. "This is everything."

My shadows thicken. Two tendrils slide down her belly—not for her clit, not yet. Lower. Pressing against her cunt from the outside while my cock works inside, and the sensation of being touched from both sides at once makes her sob.

"Oh fuck—that's —"

A shadow tendril presses alongside my cock.

Inside her. Thin enough not to stretch her past endurance but thick enough that she feels it—shadow-dense, cool against my hot cock, sliding in beside me. Her body seizes. Her mouth opens on a sound that isn't a word—a raw, guttural, broken thing—and her cunt grips both intrusions and my own cock pulses through the tendril. A doubled sensation. Every pulse of her walls against the shadow feeds back to me through the dark.

"Too—I can't—it's too —"

"You can." I thrust. The cock and the tendril move together—filling her, stretching her, the shadow tendril curling against her front wall while my cock grinds the spot behind it and the pressure between them is —

She screams. Comes. Her whole body clamping down and shaking and the sound is animal—not her name for it, not her fencing voice, just a raw howl that rips from her chest and her cunt milks both intrusions in rhythmic waves and my rut surges so hard my vision sparks.

I pull the tendril out. She gasps at the loss. Slick floods from her—my pre-release mixed with her slick, soaking the sheet beneath us. My cock is still inside her, still grinding, and the shadow at her throat releases and she drags air and sobs.

"Again." My hips snap. "Give me that sound again."

The tendril slides back in. Her body opens for it—her cunt stretching to take both, the walls fluttering, and the moan thatpours out of her is long and wrecked and she shoves her face into the mattress.

"Don't hide." My hand in her hair. Pulling. Her head comes up and the sounds come with it—mewling, gasping, broken grunts with every thrust. "I want to hear every sound you make."

The shadow at her throat tightens. Her air thins. The tendril at her nipples pinch and pull and my cock drives into her alongside the shadow tendril and I'm close—my knot throbbing at the base, ready to swell, my balls tight and heavy—but I hold. Because she asked for everything and I haven't given her everything yet.

I add a second tendril.

Not inside. At her clit. Pressing, circling, the shadow-tip tracing the swollen bud in tight firm circles while my cock and the internal tendril fill her and the one at her throat controls her air and the ones at her nipples twist.

She shatters.

Silent. The shadow collar tight enough that the scream has no voice. Her body convulsing in waves—cunt clenching, thighs shaking, spine arching—and all of it echoes through the tendril inside her. Every clench doubled. Every pulse echoed.

The soul-damage fractures.