Page 25

The words unravel me. We come together again, this time with less restraint.

His tail tightens, forcing me to arch against him, and I release a soft moan at the friction of his firm torso and scaled limbs.

Our mouths move feverishly, each kiss a desperate promise.

My robe slips lower, baring more of my shoulders and back, and I sense the cool library air on my flushed skin.

A swirl of adrenaline and desire spurs me to push the scrolls aside on the table, clearing space.

He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the edge.

My legs dangle, brushing his sides, and the novelty of being perched with him looming so close sends a rush of excitement through my veins.

He devours me with his gaze, tail coiled around my waist to keep me steady.

“Mira,” he says again, voice shaken, as though the simple act of naming me is an anchor. His hands trace the edges of my robe, sliding it open with reverent slowness, exposing the curve of my thighs. I tremble, somewhere between vulnerability and fierce want, a swirl of both.

His lips travel down my neck, placing searing kisses that make me whimper.

My fingers thread into his hair, feeling the texture of each obsidian strand.

When he hesitates at the hollow of my throat, I lift his chin, silently pleading for more.

The intensity in his gaze is enough to make me ache, and I realize I’m far from frightened.

Eager, yes. Overwhelmed, certainly. But not afraid.

He slips the robe from my shoulders, revealing the softness of my skin.

His scaled forearms are mesmerizing in the lantern’s glow, shifting as he cups my waist, sliding upward.

The sensation is both gentle and commanding, a promise of power at his fingertips.

My breath catches when his palms cradle my breasts, thumbs stroking.

A low, involuntary moan escapes me, and I see a hungry flicker pass through his eyes.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, voice raw, though I sense the last thing he wants is to halt.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.

That quiet invitation unleashes him. He kisses me fiercely, stealing the breath from my lungs.

With a deft motion, he shifts me so that I’m half-reclined on the table, his tail hooking around my thigh, prying me open to make room for his body.

My entire being vibrates with anticipation.

Each brush of his scales against my bare skin ignites sensations I never imagined.

The friction, the sense of his coiled power, stirs my deepest urges.

When his hand moves lower, grazing the sensitive skin near my belly, I arch involuntarily, a gasp caught in my throat.

He explores with careful intensity, reading my every reaction.

Despite the fiery rush, I sense his underlying care—he’s not trying to hurt me.

Rather, he appears enthralled by each shiver, determined to learn how to please me.

Heat blossoms under his fingers, each caress priming me for something more.

My thoughts grow hazy, replaced by pure sensation and the thunder of my pulse.

The coiling tail around me shifts, pressing into the curve of my hip.

My eyes drift down in time to see him undo the folds of his robe, baring the scaled expanse of his lower body.

It’s then I catch my first glimpse of his arousal—double shafts, thick and ridged, each a dark wine-red color marbled with gold.

My chest tightens in a mix of astonishment and apprehension.

Barbs line them in faint ridges, not enough to tear but clearly designed for anchoring.

A shiver courses through me—fear and a strange thrill colliding.

Sensing my reaction, he stills, gaze heavy with concern. “Mira. If it frightens you?—”

I swallow, forcing myself to breathe. “It does,” I whisper honestly. Then, gathering courage, “But I trust you.”

He exhales raggedly. “I won’t hurt you.” Gently, he touches my cheek, thumb brushing my lips. “You’ll guide me. If it’s too much, say the word.”

I nod, letting the tension ease a fraction. “I trust you,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, something primal and reverent flashing through them. Slowly, he positions himself between my thighs, his hands braced at either side of my hips as though steadying himself—for me, or against his own restraint.

The first press of his cock makes my breath catch.

He’s thick—wider than anything I’ve ever taken—and there are two.

One on top of the other, separated by an inch of sensitive, ridged space that nestles against my folds like a second mouth.

The head of his lower shaft nudges my pussy, the slick ridge of the upper cock resting above it, gliding against my clit with every slight adjustment of his hips.

I gasp, the sudden pleasure laced with instinctive tension.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’ll feel full, Mira. But not harmed. Never harmed.”

He inches forward, and my pussy stretches around the first cock, heat blooming through my core as the barbs slide past my entrance.

I brace myself for pain, but it’s not pain—it’s pressure and friction and the strangest kind of pleasure, like I’m being molded from the inside out.

The barbs don’t hurt; they pull and tease at my sensitive walls, designed to stay, to anchor him inside me.

“Oh—Gods,” I breathe, nails digging into his arms.

“You feel like fire,” he grits, sweat beading at his temples. “So wet. So warm. You’re taking me so fucking well.”

The second shaft presses in next, gliding in a little higher, and the sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My pussy clenches, stretched obscenely around both thick cocks. The space between them—slick and textured—rubs against my clit with every shallow thrust.

My mind shatters into sensation.

The burn, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of being split and claimed by a creature so entirely not human—and yet so devastatingly tender in the way he watches my face for every flicker of discomfort or pleasure.

“Talk to me,” I choke out. “Tell me what this feels like for you.”

He lowers his mouth to my neck, teeth scraping gently before he whispers, “It feels like worship. Like I’m inside a dream I never dared have. You’re wrapped around both my cocks and I still want more. Gods, Mira. I want to fuck you until your nightmares forget your name.”

A moan bursts from my lips.

He begins to move—short, grinding thrusts at first, the barbs dragging along my slick inner walls with friction that borders on too intense. My pussy flutters around him, already slick, already aching.

“Vahziryn,” I pant, rocking into him, needing more. “Harder. I can take it.”

His restraint crumbles.

He grabs my hips, dragging me flush against him, and his tail loops beneath me to tilt my pelvis at the perfect angle. Each thrust plunges deep, the twin cocks stroking places I didn’t even know existed. I cry out, raw sounds echoing off the library walls, my thighs trembling.

“Fuck,” I gasp. “You’re so deep—I can feel you in my belly.”

“I’m not stopping until you come for me, Mira. Until you scream my name.”

My body is a livewire. Every nerve ending pulses with need. The barbs on his cocks scrape deliciously with every movement, and the ridge between them—gods, that sensitive spot—grinds against my clit until I’m mindless, hips jerking, legs locking around his waist.

Then he shifts.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts me off the table and spins, bracing my back against a shelf.

Books tumble from their place, parchment fluttering to the floor, but I don’t care.

I barely register anything except the way his body covers mine, his cock still buried deep in my pussy, his lips crashing into mine with a growl.

“I want to see your face when you fall apart,” he rasps.

He drives up into me, relentless now, and I shatter with every stroke. The friction is exquisite, the barbs tugging at just the right rhythm, my pussy spasming around both shafts. The orgasm builds fast, cresting like a wave I can’t outrun.

“Please Vahziryn—don’t stop?—”

“I won’t,” he promises, voice dark and thick with need. “Come for me, Mira. Let me feel your cunt clench around both my cocks.”

His words tear something loose inside me. My climax rips through me, violent and unrelenting. My whole body shakes as I scream his name, and he doesn’t stop—he thrusts through it, prolonging the ecstasy, barbs dragging every aftershock into something deeper.

I’m still coming when he releases a deep, broken growl and slams fully into me.

One cock jerks inside me, spilling hot, thick seed that floods my pussy.

The other twitches, grinding against my clit and smearing me in heat.

I feel every pulse, every throb, the space between his cocks pressed tight against me as his orgasm crashes over him.

He trembles, forehead falling to my shoulder, arms locked around me like he might never let go.

We stay like that, panting, trembling, bodies still joined, every inch of me slick and pulsing. His cocks remain inside me, the barbs holding us together. My pussy throbs in time with my heartbeat, stretched and satisfied.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” I whisper.

His voice is low, reverent. “I didn’t know I could feel like this at all.”

He kisses me again, softer this time, and I melt into it, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. When he finally pulls out—slowly, carefully—I whimper at the loss. A rush of warmth drips down my thigh, and he groans at the sight.

“I need to taste you,” he says, voice rough with desire. And just like that, I know the night is far from over.

We remain tangled, foreheads pressed together, lungs desperate for air.

My vision sparkles at the edges, but I cling to him, mind swimming in a haze of aftershocks.

At last, he stirs, carefully withdrawing with a shudder.

The double shafts slip free, leaving me trembling, the barbs a final flutter of sensation that fades into a blissful ache.

He scoops me into his arms, ignoring the scattered scrolls and the disheveled table.

My limbs feel boneless, as though I can’t stand.

He carries me with surprising tenderness, tail curling protectively around my calf.

Leaving the library behind, he navigates dim corridors until we reach a small, private chamber I’ve never seen—a space lined with a single bed draped in simple linens, faintly scented by crushed herbs.

He sets me down gently, pressing a cautious kiss to my forehead.

My robe is half off, but I can’t summon the energy to care.

Exhaustion seeps in, combined with the euphoria still buzzing under my skin.

He settles beside me, tail coiling in a way that encloses me against him, forming a living barricade.

Silence envelops us, broken only by our slowing breaths.

My eyes flutter shut, head sinking onto his chest, ear pressed to the steady thud of his heart.

The swirl of my nightmare lingers in distant memory, a specter banished by the reality of this moment.

I feel oddly safe, a notion that stirs an uneasy warmth in my chest. I never believed I’d trust a naga warlord, yet here I am, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his breath.

He runs a hand over my hair, voice low. “Mira.” The word holds a note of wonder, as if he’s never spoken it quite like this before.

I breathe out, letting my exhaustion speak for me. “You chased the nightmares away,” I say softly, eyes drifting shut.

He doesn’t answer, but his hold tightens, tail coiling a fraction closer. After a moment, his lips graze the top of my head, an unspoken vow lingering in the hush. My heart twists, but the pull of sleep claims me before I can dwell on the significance of what just transpired.

I slip under, carried by the hush and the warmth of his coils, free of the nightmares that once plagued my nights.

His presence is a fortress around me, and for the first time in a long while, I let go of fear, surrendering to the stillness of rest. And as I drift away, I realize that trusting him in this vulnerable act might be the bravest or most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

Yet for tonight, the risk feels worth it, cradled by his scaled arms in a truce born of passion and fleeting peace.