Page 33 of Craving His Venom

“Oh—Gods,” I breathe, nails digging into his arms.

“You feel like fire,” he grits, sweat beading at his temples. “So wet. So warm. You’re taking me so fucking well.”

The second shaft presses in next, gliding in a little higher, and the sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My pussy clenches, stretched obscenely around both thick cocks. The space between them—slick and textured—rubs against my clit with every shallow thrust.

My mind shatters into sensation.

The burn, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of being split and claimed by a creature so entirely not human—and yet so devastatingly tender in the way he watches my face for every flicker of discomfort or pleasure.

“Talk to me,” I choke out. “Tell me what this feels like for you.”

He lowers his mouth to my neck, teeth scraping gently before he whispers, “It feels like worship. Like I’m inside a dream I never dared have. You’re wrapped around both my cocks and I still want more. Gods, Mira. I want to fuck you until your nightmares forget your name.”

A moan bursts from my lips.

He begins to move—short, grinding thrusts at first, the barbs dragging along my slick inner walls with friction that borders on too intense. My pussy flutters around him, already slick, already aching.

“Vahziryn,” I pant, rocking into him, needing more. “Harder. I can take it.”

His restraint crumbles.

He grabs my hips, dragging me flush against him, and his tail loops beneath me to tilt my pelvis at the perfect angle. Each thrust plunges deep, the twin cocks stroking places I didn’t even know existed. I cry out, raw sounds echoing off the library walls, my thighs trembling.

“Fuck,” I gasp. “You’re so deep—I can feel you in my belly.”

“I’m not stopping until you come for me, Mira. Until you scream my name.”

My body is a livewire. Every nerve ending pulses with need. The barbs on his cocks scrape deliciously with every movement, and the ridge between them—gods, that sensitive spot—grinds against my clit until I’m mindless, hips jerking, legs locking around his waist.

Then he shifts.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts me off the table and spins, bracing my back against a shelf. Books tumble from their place, parchment fluttering to the floor, but I don’t care. I barely register anything except the way his body covers mine, his cock still buried deep in my pussy, his lips crashing into mine with a growl.

“I want to see your face when you fall apart,” he rasps.

He drives up into me, relentless now, and I shatter with every stroke. The friction is exquisite, the barbs tugging at just the right rhythm, my pussy spasming around both shafts. The orgasm builds fast, cresting like a wave I can’t outrun.

“Please Vahziryn—don’t stop?—”

“I won’t,” he promises, voice dark and thick with need. “Come for me, Mira. Let me feel your cunt clench around both my cocks.”

His words tear something loose inside me. My climax rips through me, violent and unrelenting. My whole body shakes as I scream his name, and he doesn’t stop—he thrusts throughit, prolonging the ecstasy, barbs dragging every aftershock into something deeper.

I’m still coming when he releases a deep, broken growl and slams fully into me. One cock jerks inside me, spilling hot, thick seed that floods my pussy. The other twitches, grinding against my clit and smearing me in heat. I feel every pulse, every throb, the space between his cocks pressed tight against me as his orgasm crashes over him.

He trembles, forehead falling to my shoulder, arms locked around me like he might never let go.

We stay like that, panting, trembling, bodies still joined, every inch of me slick and pulsing. His cocks remain inside me, the barbs holding us together. My pussy throbs in time with my heartbeat, stretched and satisfied.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” I whisper.

His voice is low, reverent. “I didn’t know I could feel like this at all.”

He kisses me again, softer this time, and I melt into it, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. When he finally pulls out—slowly, carefully—I whimper at the loss. A rush of warmth drips down my thigh, and he groans at the sight.

“I need to taste you,” he says, voice rough with desire. And just like that, I know the night is far from over.

We remain tangled, foreheads pressed together, lungs desperate for air. My vision sparkles at the edges, but I cling to him, mind swimming in a haze of aftershocks. At last, he stirs, carefully withdrawing with a shudder. The double shafts slip free, leaving me trembling, the barbs a final flutter of sensation that fades into a blissful ache.

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