My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 809: Her Beast (r-18)

"Don’t — talk to it like —"

"Shh." Her grip tightened and stroked it again, slower this time, her thumb tracing the thick vein that ran the underside of his shaft from root to crown like a river on a map leading to ruin.

"Let me look at my beast."

She looked at the twelve inches of rigid, veined, moonlit impossibility in her hand, the thick root where it emerged from his pelvis, the base girthy enough that both her hands stacked end to end still wouldn’t cover its full length.

The angry, swollen crown that was already weeping for her, the slit producing a continuous, slow leak of pre-come that trailed in shining threads across her knuckles. And the way the moonlight traced every ridge, every vein, every inch of this weapon that had permanently ruined her for all other men on the first night he’d used it and had been ruining her with increasing enthusiasm ever since.

Melissa’s thighs fell open wider in the process.

It was not a conscious decision.

Her body simply moved with her knees drawing back, hips tilting upward, the glistening, swollen, aching folds of her pussy angling toward him like a compass needle finding north.

Between her parted thighs, her sex was on full display, the outer lips flushed and puffy, parted in a soft, wet seam, the delicate inner folds visible between them, pink and slick and swollen from his mouth’s earlier ministrations.

Her clit stood erect at the apex — a small, dark, engorged pearl peeking from beneath its hood, still throbbing from the orgasm, still so sensitive that the faint displacement of air from his movements made it twitch.

And below it, her entrance — tight, wet, clenching in slow, rhythmic spasms around nothing, leaking a thin, shining trail of arousal down through the cleft of her ass and onto the sheets beneath her.

Her body was begging — a temple of wet, aching flesh offered up for the dragon’s descent.

Her body was begging; and Phei, still caged above her, simply watched with the calm, burning focus as a dragon who had already decided exactly how he would break her and put her back together.

He catalogued every flutter of her cunt, every desperate roll of her hips, every bead of sweat on her skin.

He would not rush. He would make her feel every inch of her surrender.

Melissa’s cunt fluttered and leaked while waiting for him. She rolled her hips teasingly at him in small, instinctive circles, seeking the heavy weight of his cock that hovered just out of reach as she bit her lower lip... her breath caught every time the swollen head of him brushed against her inner thigh, leaving a smear of pre-come on her skin like a mark of ownership.

Phei in reciprocation lowered his hips just enough for the thick, hot crown of his cock to press against her soaked entrance but he did not push it in, not yet and simply rested it there, letting her feel the blunt, impossible pressure of him against her fluttering desperate waiting cunt.

The contrast was obscene: the heavy, veined girth of him against the soft, slick heat of her, the way her small slit entrance kissed and clenched around the tip as if trying to pull him inside.

Phei teased her too with rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate circle, dragging the swollen head up and down her dripping slit, coating himself in her arousal, letting the thick ridge catch and tug on her swollen clit with every pass.

Her broken whimper was the sweetest sounds.

His eyes met hers. Dark. Steady. Unwavering.

"Breathe for me," he said, voice low and velvet-rough. "Take your dragon."

"Look at me, Mel," he said quietly with gentleness.

She did.

And in that moment — with her legs spread wide, her pussy dripping and aching, and the head of his cock resting against her entrance like a promise — Melissa Ryujin Tiamat surrendered the last fragment of control she had been holding onto.

Not just because he demanded it but because she finally, finally, wanted to let it go.

It was humbling and intoxicating how she obeyed his orders.

Phei felt the exact second the last lock inside her gave way.

A surge of dark triumph and aching tenderness flooded him, she was his now — truly, completely.

And he would fuck her with the intentional mastery of a god claiming his most precious offering.

He pressed forward with slow, inexorable control. The broad, flared head of his draconic cock—

Every detail of it — the spread of her thighs, the tilt of her hips, the visible clench of her pussy, the wetness that trailed from her like an invitation written in the only ink that mattered — constituted a petition so explicit that language would have been redundant.

"Inside me," she whispered with her composure completely gone now. Stripped away. What remained was raw. "Please. I need you inside me. I need — I can’t — please, Phei —"

He took himself in hand and positioned the broad, flared crown at her entrance.

The first contact stole the air from both of them.

His swollen head — thick, blunt, flushed nearly purple, the flared ridge pronounced and aggressive — pressed against the soft, wet folds of her pussy. The size disparity was obscene.

His crown alone was wider than her small slit opening, the engorged head resting against her small, glistening entrance like a battering ram poised at the gates of a cathedral — too large, too thick, too much.

Yet her body answered anyway:

Her outer lips spread around the pressure, her slick folds parting and moulding themselves to the shape of his crown, fresh arousal flooding hot against the swollen head, easing the way, whispering yes in the only language flesh could speak.

He pushed.

Gently. Forward.

The crown pressed and pressed as her entrance stretched, yielding, the tight ring of muscle dilating around the widest point of the flared head with a slowness that was equal parts exquisite and agonising — until it breached her.