13. Chapter Thirteen #2
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.
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 the contrast. 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.