Page 41 of Naga's Mate

Rising from my damp sheets feels like moving through dense fluid, every movement requiring concentrated effort. The thin silk robe clings to my moisture-slicked skin as I make my way toward Nezzar's chamber. By the time I reach his door, I can barely stand straight, my legs trembling from the exertion of fighting my body's need to assume the omega presentation posture ingrained in my DNA.

I don't knock. Heat-driven need strips away social niceties like caustic acid dissolving metal.

His chamber maintains higher humidity than human comfort typically allows, the atmosphere heavy with mineral-rich moisture that supports naga physiology. Specialized lighting casts everything in blue-green ambiance reminiscent of deep ocean waters. Scent-enhancing plants that I helped cultivate line the walls, their biochemical emissions designed to amplify pheromones—a choice I now realize was deliberate preparation for this very moment.

At the center of the chamber, a healing pool occupies most of the floor space—not water in the conventional sense but a suspension of nutrients and minerals maintained at precise temperature. Nezzar reclines in its depths, scales gleaming with iridescent patterns that shift as he detects my entrance.

His upper body rises from the pool with liquid grace, nutrient-rich solution streaming from his powerful form in rivulets that trace the defined musculature of his torso before disappearing into the more serpentine lower half. Even in the dim lighting, I see the moment his control fractures—pupils contracting to microscopic slits, scales rippling across his skin in waves of emerald and sapphire, tongue darting out so rapidly it blurs in the humid air. The unmistakable bulge beneath his scales betrays his growing arousal, his cocks already stirring within their protective slit.

"I choose this," I state, the words emerging with surprising steadiness despite the inferno consuming me from within. My hands move to the sash of my robe, untying it with deliberate slowness before letting the garment slide from my shoulders to pool at my feet. "Not because of biology alone, but with full understanding of what it means."

Naked before him, I'm hypersensitive to every change heat has wrought in my body—nipples taut and flushed dark rose, skin gleaming with perspiration, thighs visibly damp with evidence of my readiness, pulse visibly hammering at the claiming mark on my neck. The cool air against my overheated flesh sends violent tremors racing along my spine.

He rises fully from the healing pool, liquid cascading from his massive form. His control appears held by the thinnest thread as my heat scent intensifies in the humid air between us. Scales ripple across his skin in patterns that signal extreme arousal—not just patches now but nearly complete transformation.

"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice barely recognizable, roughened to something primal and hungry. Yet even now, with his twin members visibly emerging from their concealed slit and his entire body trembling with restraint, he offers me this final chance to retreat.

My answer comes not through words but action. I step directly into his space, close enough to feel the radiant heat of his scales against my bare skin. Then, with deliberate intent that transforms biological imperative into conscious choice, I tilt my head to expose my neck—the claiming scar visible against my pale skin.

The gesture carries unmistakable meaning in omega biology—submission, acceptance, invitation. But it means something entirely different when offered rather than coerced, when chosen rather than compelled.

His response is immediate and overwhelming. Powerful hands grasp my waist, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I'm suddenly airborne, suspended by coils that wrap around my thighs and waist with predatory precision. His tongue sweeps across my claiming mark, sampling the concentrated pheromones my scent gland produces.

"I've missed this," he murmurs against my throat, fangs grazing the sensitive skin without breaking it. "Missed being inside you. Missed the taste of your surrender."

A sound escapes me, high and desperate, as one thick coil slides between my thighs, the smooth scales a shocking contrast against my fevered flesh. It doesn't penetrate, just glides through the abundant moisture, gathering my wetness as it passes teasingly over my sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Look at you," he hisses, golden eyes burning into mine. "Already prepared for me. Your body remembers its rightful alpha, even if your mind tried to forget."

The words send fresh heat coursing through me, another wave of wetness gathering at my core. My hips move involuntarily, seeking firmer contact.

"Please," I gasp, the first of many entreaties that will fall from my lips tonight.

"Please what, little scientist?" His tail tip circles my entrance without pushing inside, the teasing contact almost worse than no touch at all. "Use your words. Tell me exactly what you need."

"I need—" My voice breaks as another coil wraps around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing a conscious effort. The edge of danger only heightens my arousal, omega instinct recognizing the dominance display on a cellular level. "Need you inside me. Need to be filled completely."

His answering sound vibrates through his entire serpentine form and into mine. "Not yet. I'm going to savor you first. Make you beg properly for what you need."

Multiple coils move with terrifying coordination, repositioning me with brutal efficiency. I find myself suspended in midair, arms secured above my head by one powerful coil, legs spread wide by two others. I'm completely exposed and vulnerable, displayed like a biological specimen for his examination.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, one scaled finger tracing the evidence of my arousal. The touch is both too much and nowhere near enough. "So ready for me. So prepared to be claimed and filled."

Another coil moves up my body, its tip circling one sensitive peak before flicking across it with deliberate precision. The dual sensations—the coil between my legs teasing my entrance while another torments my breast—draw a broken sound from my throat.

"That's it," Nezzar encourages, his control giving way to rut-driven hunger. "Let me hear how desperate my little omega is."

Two coils now focus on my breasts, encircling them to squeeze and lift while their tips tease my nipples with merciless accuracy. Another explores my mouth, sliding between my lips in unmistakable simulation of what his members will soon do elsewhere. The invasion would horrify me under any other circumstances, but heat-driven need transforms it into yet another erotic torment.

"Look how beautifully you submit," he growls, watching me accept his coil with evident satisfaction. "Your body knows exactly what it was made for, doesn't it?"

I try to answer, but the coil in my mouth makes speech impossible. All I can manage is a muffled sound as another moves between my spread thighs, this one finally pushing into my entrance—but only the tip, nowhere near enough to satisfy the aching emptiness inside.

"Do you want more?" he asks, the coil between my legs pushing in another inch before retreating. "Tell me how badly you need to be filled."

The coil slides from my mouth, leaving me gasping. "Please," I plead, dignity abandoned in the face of overwhelming need. "Please fill me. I need you inside me. Need to be claimed and taken and—just take me already!"

"Not yet," he counters, the sadistic denial drawing another desperate sound from my throat. "You tried to leave me. Tried to reject our bond. Now you'll learn what it means to truly submit."

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