The sounds she made, the unconscious submission, it… unmade him.
Nyxarion snarled, devouring her. Each swipe of his tongue was a reclamation. Every desperate, lewd suck another inch of erasure as Nyxarion feasted between her legs. Drunk on the vicious, territorial need to make her understand exactly what it meant to be his.
Circling her clit, he drew that swollen nub between his lips to savage it with attention.
Color erupted along her edges. Her whole body seizing as she wailed, bucking against his attention. "Nghh—Nyx… I… Gods… I…"
She was graceless.
Shameless.
Reduced to a writhing, sobbing creature begging for release. Mercy. Her voice cracking around every hitching syllable. "Pl-please, Nyx… I… I can’t…”
“Poor sweet thing,” he crooned, blowing a stream of cool water across her clit before he slipped two fingers inside her. Stretching her out for what was coming next.
It was building with every sweep of his tongue. Each word he murmured against glossy, swollen petals. Written in the color dancing across her belly, in the strobing light that pulsed with the alien lift growing hale beneath her navel.
She was greedy. Resplendent.
His.
“Come for me, Kore,” he said, commanding her with a merciless sweep across her clit. “Let me taste it.”
Climax tore through a violent path through her body. Locked in her spine, fins shuddering as a sob bubbled between her lips. It was raw. And the grip on his fingers as she milked him—gods, it was enough to make his cock burst from his vent with a lewd squelch.
But it was the light.
The way she ignited. Golds that bled through to crimson, rippling out from her belly in a cascade of liquid fire. Her veins burning with pleasure he could read. Taste.
Vorynthar answered.
Flaring with brilliant, blazing life, the reef detonated. A perfect mimic. Color flooded the heretical reef with Kore’s signature. The entire city bathed in the touch of their Siren. Her pleasure scrawled across the walls in sheets of gold and violet.
It was her heartbeat.
Thunderous.
Frantic.
Strobing in time with the frequency of a queen bound to the Black Sea.
A sound broke through his restraint. Something feral and possessive. With a flick of his tail, he was on her. Spreading her thighs, only so he might surge between them. Legs draped around his waist, he locked her in place.
Finding her slit without guidance, he drove inside in a single, relentless press. Not stopping until he was buried, until he bumped her end, cock nosing at the mouth of her womb.
Kissing her, he swallowed her cry in a single, greedy gulp. Lips crushed against hers, tongue plunging deep, he kissed her with bruising need. Withdrawing. Hovering at her rim, only to send his hips forward. A snap.
Again and again.
Ruthless.
A punishing rhythm that drove the breath from her lungs every time he bottomed out. Not gentle worship, it was a claiming. Of a female who’d seen what he was and commanded him to yield. Surrender. A female worthy of being his queen. Making her forget that any other had come before. Touched.
“Mine,” he rasped, forehead bumping hers. Staring into eyes that had gone glassy with agonized pleasure. Obsessing over the way her jaw grew slack, the sounds trapped in her chest he meant to tear free. “Sing for me, little Siren. Tell them all who feeds you.”
Vorynthar blazed in answer, a beacon lit by the divine flame burning in its heart.
Alive.