Page 67 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The taste of her is still on my tongue, a lingering reminder that restraint is a fragile, crumbling thing.

The fire between us has burned unchecked for too long. I have fought against it, denied the pull, convinced myself that control was something unshakable. But control shattered the moment her lips met mine.

She is not my mate. Yet, the way she looks at me, as if she is just as ruined by this as I am makes the word meaningless.

The room is heavy with silence, with the weight of what has just happened. She does not pull away, does not flee like she should. The golden glow of the hearth flickers over her skin, painting her in hues of fire and shadow.

Her breathing is uneven, her hands still curled against my chest. As if she does not trust herself to let go.

I press my forehead against hers, my own breath a tattered thing. Every fiber in my body screams to take, to claim, to ruin.

But I will not force her.

Even now, when my blood burns and my self-control frays at the edges, I wait.

She is the one who moves first.

Her fingers slide up, slow and tentative, tracing the sharp edge of my jaw. "You said you’d never let me go," she murmurs, voice unsteady.

The words settle deep in my core, a binding far stronger than fate.

"I meant it."

Her lashes lower, a war waging behind those storm-filled eyes. Fear and defiance, hesitation and need.

"I should hate you," she whispers.

A slow exhale. "I should let you go."

Neither of us does what we should.

Her lips part, and whatever restraint remains in me snaps.

The kiss is not gentle. It is fury and longing tangled together, an inevitable destruction.

Her hands thread into my hair, gripping as if she fears I might pull away. I will not.

She meets my desperation with her own, rising to meet the storm of my hunger. There is no hesitation, no room for uncertainty.

The space between us vanishes, the final barrier between us obliterated.

Her breath hitches as I lift her, carrying her to the bed, but she does not resist.

The air between us crackles with tension, a palpable energy that threatens to consume us both. Her body arches instinctively as I settle over her, my twin lengths pressing against her thigh, the barbs catching lightly on her soft skin.

She gasps, her eyes widening as she feels the unique texture of me for the first time. I can see the flicker of apprehension in her gaze, but it’s quickly drowned out by something darker, something hungry.

“Xirath,” she breathes, her voice trembling. Her hands slide down my chest, fingers trembling as they explore the ridges of my scales, the heat of my skin. She’s curious, hesitant, but there’s a fire in her that refuses to be extinguished. I can feel it in the way her hips shift beneath me, the way her breath quickens when my lower hemipenis brushes against her core.

I lean down, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Tell me to stop,” I growl, my voice rough with need. “Tell me, and I will.”

She doesn’t. Instead, her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging into my scales as she pulls me closer. “Don’t you dare,” she whispers, her voice fierce despite its softness. Her defiance ignites something primal in me, a hunger that I can no longer suppress.

My hands slide down her body, mapping every curve, every dip, as if committing her to memory.

When my fingers find her entrance, she’s already wet, her body betraying the desire she tries so hard to mask. I stroke her gently, teasing her, watching as her breath hitches and her hips buck against my hand. Her moan is soft, almost a whimper, but it’s enough to send a jolt of heat straight to my cocks.

I position myself, the tip of my lower hemipenis pressing against her. Her eyes lock with mine, wide and filled with a mix of fear and anticipation. “It’s… different,” she murmurs, her voice shaky. “I didn’t expect…”

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