“Come for me,” I say against her mouth. “Let me feel it. Let me hear you.”
She comes with her head thrown back, her throat exposed, her voice rising in a pure note that resonates through the water like a bell. I feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the place where we're joined. Her body convulses around my cock, milking me, and I thrust harder, deeper, chasing my own release.
When I come, it's with a force that steals my breath. I fill her with everything I have. Four years of longing and absence and the careful distance I've maintained since I returned. She gasps as she feels it, her pupils dilating, her tail tightening around me.
The second orgasm follows almost immediately, her body still sensitive and trembling from the first. She convulses around my cock, milking me for more, and I give it to her. I give her everything.
“Again,” I say, still moving inside her. “I want to feel you come again.”
“Muir, I don’t know if I can?—”
“You can.” I adjust the angle, finding that place deep inside her that makes her voice break. “You will.”
I thrust harder, using the water to support her weight as I drive into her. My cock curves and flexes inside her, stroking places that make her shake and gasp and sing. Her voice rises in frequencies that only I can hear. Pleasure and need and four years of absence finally breaking open.
She comes again, and again, each climax more intense than the last. By the fourth, she's sobbing with it, her body shaking sohard I have to hold her steady. Her voice has gone raw and beautiful, singing pleasure in a language older than words.
When we're finally spent—both of us shaking, breathless, barely able to hold each other—we drift.
The lake carries us gently, patiently, toward the secret alcove in the north cove. The place where the water has carved out privacy, where the lake bottom rises to create a shallow shelf covered in soft sand. We surface there, into the small pocket of air sheltered by the overhang of willows and stone.
She transforms as we reach the shore. Scales recede and her tail splits into legs, the vibrant indigo fading into the warm brown of her human skin. The transformation is gentle, unhurried, as natural as breathing.
I remain as I am here in the shallows—half-seal, half-human, caught in the in-between that is what I become in deep water.
She lies back on the sand, her chest heaving, her hair spread around her like a dark halo. The moonlight filters through the willow branches, dappling her skin in silver and shadow. Her thighs are slick with lake water and our combined arousal, glistening in the filtered light.
I move over her, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that is slower now, more deliberate. She tastes of lake water and salt and the particular sweetness that belongs to her alone. When I pull back, she's looking at me with dark eyes that are soft and hungry at once.
“I'm not done with you,” I tell her.
“Good,” she breathes. “Don't be.”
I kiss my way down her body—her throat, her collarbones, the soft curve of her breasts. I take my time with each one, sucking her nipples until they're hard and she's arching into my mouth with small desperate sounds. Her hands find my hair, holding me to her, and when I bite down gently, she gasps my name.
I continue lower, kissing down her stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thighs. She's trembling now, her legs falling open in invitation. When I reach the place between her legs, I pause, looking up at her.
Her dark eyes are luminous in the filtered moonlight. Her lips are parted, her breath coming fast.
“Please,” she says.
I lower my mouth to her.
She's slick and swollen from our mating in the water, sensitive in ways that make her gasp at the first touch of my tongue. I can taste myself on her—salt and musk mixed with her own sweetness—and the combination makes me groan against her.
I take my time, savoring her. I lick along her folds, teasing, learning again what makes her voice break, what makes her hips lift off the sand in desperate seeking. When I find her clit with my tongue, she cries out, her thighs trembling on either side of my head.
“Muir—oh god?—”
I circle it slowly, then faster, then slow again. I slide two fingers inside her while I work her with my mouth, feeling how she clenches around them, still sensitive from the orgasms in the water. She's so wet—lake water and arousal and my release stillinside her—and the obscene sound of my fingers moving in and out of her makes my cock throb with renewed need.
Her song starts low. A hum that resonates in her chest, in her throat. As I work her higher, the song grows, filling the small alcove with sound that echoes off the stone and water.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
I add a third finger, stretching her, and curl them to find that place inside her that makes her voice rise. At the same time, I suck her clit into my mouth, and she breaks.
When she comes, her voice rises in a pure note that seems to shake the very air. Her thighs clamp around my head, her hands fisting in my hair, her body convulsing with the force of it.