My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 808: The Altar and The Offering (r-18)

Melissa was still trembling even when he rose from between her thighs, shivering in the silver aftermath — small, involuntary convulsions rolling through her body like the final ripples of a stone dropped into very deep water.

Her thighs were slick, glistening with her own arousal and the wet evidence of his mouth’s devotion.

The heavy, musky scent of her thoroughly wet eaten pussy filled the space between them, thick and intoxicating, a silent confession of how completely he had already owned her pleasure.

Her eyes were closed as her chest heaved in long, shuddering draws of breath that made her breasts rise and fall in the moonlight with the slow, hypnotic rhythm of tides governed by something older than the ocean — nipples still dark and stiff and swollen, still bearing the faint indentations of his teeth, still catching the silver light at their peaks like small beacons signalling surrender.

Phei planted one hand beside her head, then the other, caging her in the architecture of his arms.

Every movement was measured, intentional like a patient predator who already knew the kill was his.

His knees settled between her thighs — gently parting them wider, making room for the breadth of his hips—

—and when his shadow fell across her body, her eyes opened again.

She looked up at him.

And the expression on her face — flushed, tear-streaked, lips swollen and trembling, eyes carrying the dark, bottomless hunger like she just been ruined and wanted, with every atom of her being, to be ruined again — nearly broke his restraint entirely.

Phei felt the surge of dark, possessive satisfaction roll through him like liquid fire. She was offering him, once more like all the times, the one thing she gave no one else: complete, willing surrender.

He would not squander it and would take her with masterful precision, every thrust a deliberate act of worship and conquest.

"Hi," she whispered.

He laughed softly against his will to just devour her. "Hi."

"That was..." She swallowed. Her throat bobbed.

A fresh shiver rolled through her. "That was unfair. You can’t — you can’t just do that to a person and then look at them like — like that —"

"Like what?"

"Like you’re not finished."

Phei lowered himself until his mouth was beside her ear, his chest grazed her nipples — and the light contact made her hiss through her teeth, her back arching violently, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting crescents into his skin.

His breath was furnace-hot against her ear, carrying the low, draconic rumble of something ancient and hungry.

"You know I’m not finished," he said.

"Mmm — I know — I can feel —" She could feel it.

His cock was pressed against her inner thigh, it was hard, heavy, radiating heat through the fabric of his trousers like a furnace that had grown tired of being contained.

Even through the barrier of clothing, the sheer mass of it was unmistakable against her slick skin.

The rigid length running from her knee almost to her hip and the thick, pulsing weight of it.

The way it throbbed against her thigh with its own heartbeat, impatient, insistent, alive.

Her hand slid down his chest down the ridged plane of his stomach finding his waistband — and her fingers didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask permission.

She tugged. He helped her lifting his hips letting her drag the fabric down.

And his cock sprang free; all twelve inches of it.

The moonlight found it before her hand did — silver pooling along the brutal length of the shaft, illuminating every detail with the indifferent, exquisite clarity of a spotlight that did not understand modesty.

It stood at full attention, jutting from his hips at an angle that defied gravity, thick as her forearm and then some, the shaft a topography of sin — dark veins ran its length like roots of an ancient tree, some thick as her little finger, others branching into smaller tributaries that pulsed visibly with each beat of his heart.

The skin was taut, flushed deep — darker at the base where the veins converged, lighter along the top where the moonlight caught the rigid curvature.

And at the summit was the crown that anticipated impaling her little pussy.

His cock was not something that her pussy ever got used too.

The crown flared wide, swollen, flushed a bruised, furious purple-red, the ridge of the glans pronounced and aggressive, the slit at its tip weeping a thick, clear bead of pre-come that caught the light and stretched into a thin, glistening thread as gravity pulled it slowly downward toward her belly.

The sight alone made her cunt clench and flutter in helpless anticipation.

That monstrous, draconic cock had ruined her for any other man the first night he’d used it on her — and every night since had only deepened the addiction.

Twelve inches of draconic cock thick enough that when Melissa’s hand closed around the shaft — instinctive, hungry, her fingers wrapping the heated steel of him — her fingertips fell short of her thumb by more than an inch.

She couldn’t encircle him, could never encircle him.

The inadequacy of her grip against his girth was its own obscene poetry.

"Gods," she breathed.

Her eyes were fixed on it, but not with fear — she knew this cock, knew every vein and ridge and curve of it, had taken it inside her hundreds of times — but with the kind of reverent, breathless hunger that repetition could not diminish.

The kind of awe that renewed itself every time she was confronted with the sheer, unreasonable reality of what this man carried between his legs.

"Fuck... every time. Every single time, and it still —"

"Still what?"

"It still makes me feel like a virgin about to be split in half again."

With a trembling laugh, her hand stroked him — one long, slow pull from base to crown, her palm dragging over every vein, feeling each one pulse against her grip, feeling the shaft throb and swell under her touch.

The crown emerged from her fist glistening, the pre-come smeared across the swollen head in a wet sheen.

She swept her thumb across the slit — slowly, deliberately — collecting the slick fluid and spreading it over the flared ridge, and the groan that tore from Phei’s chest was low enough to vibrate through both their bodies and into the mattress beneath them.

Phei let her stroke him for a few more heartbeats, savoring the sight of her elegant fingers struggling to contain what belonged inside her.

Then his hand closed over her wrist — firm, gentle, absolute and stilled her.

"Mmm." She smiled.

That devastating, composed smile; lying naked and trembling beneath a man whose cock she was currently seizing with her hand, and who still somehow managed to look like she was the one in control.

"There he is... my beast."