Page 37 of Sinadim

“Please!” she gasped, trying to lunge back. To catch his length in that fluttering sheath and swallow him to the root.

He grunted and caught the cheek of her ass in the hand not working his shaft. Keeping her pinned and spread as his balls drew tight to his body. “Patience,” he snarled through his teeth as the first jet of cum exploded against her clenching slit. “You don’t”—he grunted, shivering as his thighs flexed—“don’t need a knot to catch a belly full of my brats.”

Tail rising in an arrogant sail, he painted her cunt with a pearlescent sheen. Pumping rope after rope of semen against spread lips, hushing her when a desperate whine crackled up from the bottom of her lungs.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed, sitting back on his thighs once more. Inspecting his work, he paused to catch his breath. “So brave for me. So ready.”

A fractured sob spilled over her lips, then. Incoherent begging that held no meaning but needed no translation.

He hushed her anyway. Using the back of his knuckles to collect that spilled cream before it began to run, he guided it home. Stuffing her fluttering slit with patient, deliberate strokes, he packed her cunt with cum.

Catching every last drop.

“Take a breath, now,” he murmured and set the head of his over-sensitive dick into the mess. Driving it in with his thumb, Sinadim sheathed himself at last. Bullying his way inside with a single, powerful stroke that didn’t relent until he felt himself bend where she ended, he used the anvil flare to push his seed deep as he might.

“There,” he breathed, rocking against her cervix just to feel her flutter around his girth. “Nice and deep. Karahmet seed is potent enough that perhaps you don’t need my knot⁠—”

She issued a wordless snarl and tried to twist. Lunging despite the way he’d pinned her, she barred blunted Hathorian canines and hissed. Ears pressed flat to her scalp.

Dismounting her as he fell, Sinadim laughed, tumbling back against his bedding. Cock standing proud and sticky, knot aching to bloom and be milked dry.

“Come,” he cooed, enticing the furious little thing with the promise of more. Lifting one knee to make space for her between his thighs. “You made a mess, brave girl. Come swallow it down and convince me you can take more.”

She didn’t say a word.

She simply turned in place, took him by the root, and licked him from tip to base—and back again. Greedy for every glob of missed cream, she lapped at his cock as if it were the most luxurious dessert.

Sinadim threaded his fingers through her hair. Caressing and petting as she worshipped him, he made no effort to seize control, allowing her to explore. To test her limits when she tried to take him into her throat—and gagged. Choking and slobbering in a way that made him grin as he watched. The back of her throat kissing his slit with a unique combination of suction and pressure.

“Take everything you want,” he murmured, gathering a fist full of silky hair. Keeping it free of lips stretched wide as they might go. “Do what feels right and learn what you like.” His claws extended as she gobbled him down, catching in her hair no matter how hard he fought his need to control her movements.

“Is that… good?” she asked on a gasp, coming up for a sip of breath. Watching him with inky black pools of wanton desire, she continued to stroke him. Playing with his balls. Teasing his base where his knot would swell and lock them together. “I…” She blinked, hesitating, despite the way her tongue darted out to catch a string of cum. “Veli would use my throat⁠—”

“And now he can’t,” Sinadim murmured, thumbing her bottom lip. Applying gentle force to banish her ghosts.

“Never again,” she whispered, meeting his eye in a way that made him lurch in her dainty hand.

It was the promise of Anhur fire blazing in her gaze. A whisper of something righteous that clashed with the genteel Hathorian nature of the female trying to pump his balls dry.

It was… something he’d seen gleaming in Teliah’s fierce, proud gaze when she’d won the right to seek his hand, her claws still wet with the blood of her opponent.

A moment passed between them.

Alpha and Omega.

Anhur and Hathorian.

An instant held between, where neither was above the other. Neither below.

And then, “My prince,” Balkazar called from beyond the tent. His voice stiff and uncomfortable. “The camp has been prepared to weather the storm. I have provisions for you and the girl⁠—”

Something wicked gleamed in Sinadim’s eyes, then. Something devious and taboo. A thing he saw reflected in the inky dark mirrors reflected in the eyes of the female nursing at the head of his cock.

And with a grin that flooded his veins with dangerous levels of testosterone, a simple command fell from his lips.

“Come in.”

11