Page 32 of Craving His Venom

At length, I rise, walking around the table to stand beside him. My breath feels shallow. The desperation to push away my nightmares and the heightened awareness of him swirl into one. He lifts his head, startled, and that’s when I see it—something raw in his eyes. As though he’s just as restless, just as torn between caution and the gravity of what draws us together.

I don’t know who moves first. Perhaps we shift in tandem. One moment, there’s a step of space between us, the next I’m within his reach, and his hand brushes my arm. His touch is light, but the heat crackles through me. My robe slips, exposing more of my collarbone than I realize, and his gaze zeroes in, a flicker of dark hunger sparking in the lamplight.

“Mira,” he murmurs, voice low. That single word pulses with more emotion than I ever heard from him before.

I part my lips to reply, but the swirling need in my chest erupts, pushing me forward. Gently, I rest my palm on his chest, feeling the firm plane of muscle beneath his robe. He inhales sharply, as though my touch is a shock. Something hums in the air—a final surrender to whatever’s been building between us.

He bends his head, lips grazing my temple, and the simple brush ignites a trembling in my limbs. I tilt my face up, and our gazes lock. Time compresses to this single heartbeat. Then his mouth finds mine.

The kiss is tentative at first, a question poised in the darkness. But the moment my fingers tighten in the fabric of his robe, he unleashes the tension coiled within him. His lipspress harder, stealing my breath, and I gasp, the sound muffled between us. His tail slides around my waist, reeling me closer so no space remains.

My body heats, a flush prickling down my neck, chest fluttering with a cocktail of surprise and hunger. All those nights of uncertain longing flare into a scorching reality. I can barely keep up with the surge of sensations—his mouth, demanding yet reverent, the scrape of a fang along my lower lip, the strong coil of scales pressing into my hips.

He draws back slightly, voice rough. “If this is too much?—”

I shake my head, heart pounding. “No,” I manage, though breathless. “I want to forget the nightmares, if only for tonight.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest, one that resonates through my entire body. “Then let me chase them away.”

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 thetexture 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 downin 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 myentrance. 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.

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