Page 58 of Craving His Venom

“Thendon’t stop.”

He flips me onto my side, spooning me, lifting my top leg to his hip. The shift lets him grind in from behind, the angle wicked and intimate. My breasts are pressed to the thin mattress, hips lifted, his massive body curled behind mine as he drives in, holding both cocks tight inside me.

“Fuck—yes Vahziryn?—”

My orgasm crests like a storm breaking.

My pussy clenches violently, spasming around him as I cry out, face buried in the bedding. My body shudders uncontrollably, the pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain. I swear I see light. The stretch, the grind, the barbs—it all converges anderupts.

He shouts my name, thrusts faltering.

Then he slams fully into me, barbs catching deep as his cock jerks. One—maybe both—spurts hot, thick come into me, filling me until it leaks around the edges. The sensation is molten, raw, and when he keeps grinding slowly through his release, it sends aftershocks pulsing through me.

His tail coils possessively around my belly, one hand splayed across my lower abdomen, as if shielding both me and the child inside.

“I should’ve pulled out,” he mutters, breathless. “I couldn’t?—”

“I didn’t want you to,” I whisper, cheek pressed to his chest. “I needed to feel that you were still mine.”

He cradles my head, voice trembling. “You’re everything, Mira. You defied the council. You’recarryingmy future. And I’ve never loved anything as fiercely as I love you right now.”

Tears blur my vision.

We collapse onto the cot, limbs entwined, breathing as one. The flickering lamplight bathes our damp skin in a muted glow. I cradle his face, tears trailing down my cheeks. He presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, eyes shining with fierce devotion. For afew precious moments, all the strife and political turmoil vanish, replaced by the living truth that we choose each other despite every obstacle.

Eventually, the reality of our situation returns. We can’t linger indefinitely. The guards might notice his absence. He lifts his head, tail slowly unwinding from my thigh. “We have to prepare,” he whispers, voice heavy. “A public tribunal awaits in three days. They’ll fight to brand us criminals. But maybe we can rally some support.”

I nod, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I’ll stand by your side when we face them again. I won’t be silent again.”

He rolls off me, pulling me up gently. We right our clothes, hearts still thrumming with aftershocks of pleasure and dread. In the hush of the lamp’s glow, he cups my cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes, voice trembling. “For coming here. For risking everything so we might have a chance.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. “I’d do it again, no matter how dark. If we yield to their cruelty, we lose more than land or titles—we lose who we are.”

He kisses me, a tender press of lips that promises unity. “We must plan carefully. The city’s crowd saw your boldness. Some might sympathize. I’ll contact old allies, or those disillusioned with the council’s tyranny. We can turn public opinion enough to make them hesitate before condemning our child.”

Hope flutters in my chest, tenuous yet bright. “Then we fight, not just for ourselves but for every life their laws would crush.”

He nods, tail curling around my waist in a final embrace. “I must slip out now. The guard who turned a blind eye for me can’t stall forever.” A flicker of desperation crosses his face. “Be safe. I’ll do all I can to ensure your comfort here. Talli and Crick remain near, correct?”

“Yes,” I say, voice quivering with emotion. “They stand watch outside.”

He gives a brief nod, tail brushing me in farewell. My hand clenches around his for one last moment, our parted fingers a silent vow. Then he’s gone, slipping through the door. It latches shut behind him with a quiet finality, leaving me in the lamplit hush, body still thrumming from the intensity of our union.

I slump on the cot, fingers splayed over my abdomen. My thoughts spin with a mix of dread and determination. We’ve forced the council’s hand into a public tribunal. We risk everything in three days. But we also hold a chance to shatter the illusions that bind naga tradition.

The lamplight flickers, reflecting in my tear-filled gaze. I imagine standing before the council, my voice unwavering, the child in my womb the living proof that love can cross boundaries. Let them try to chain me or brand me monstrous. I have Vahziryn’s devotion, and he has mine. Together, we might carve a new path—one that defies their ancient fear.

Exhaling, I curl beneath the threadbare blanket. My body aches from exhaustion and the aftermath of our stolen intimacy, but my heart glows with a fierce light that no law can extinguish. The upcoming tribunal looms like a thundercloud, yet I sense the faint hum of possibility pulsing beneath the terror.

If we succeed, we might reshape naga law. If we fail, we face condemnation. Either way, I refuse to let my child inherit a world ruled by blind prejudice. My eyes fall shut as the memory of his scaled arms and whispered promises lulls me into a fitful slumber. Time rushes forward, unstoppable, carrying me toward the day we confront the council and risk everything for the bond we’ve forged in love and defiance.

16

MIRA

The day of the tribunal arrives in a haze of jittery dread and determined resolve. I wake in the same cramped chamber where the council has confined me, heart hammering even before consciousness fully claims me. My dreams were turbulent—scenes of the council dais looming, of Vahziryn reaching for me while serpentine shadows tried to yank me away. I sit up on the thin cot, cradling my still-aching body. My stomach turns, but I force the nausea down, reminding myself of the child in my womb who needs me calm and focused.

Sunlight trickles through a barred window, casting stripes on the floor. Outside the city hums with an undercurrent of tension, as though the entire High Nest braces for confrontation. Word must have spread that there would be a public hearing. I sense a crowd forming even now—nobles drawn by scandal, merchants seeking gossip, a restless populace yearning for a show. The council thrives on spectacle, and we’re about to give them one.

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