"Intrigued."
A tendril slides between my legs, finding me wet and ready. I arch at the contact, but it's not enough. Another joins it, stretching me carefully while he watches my face. His eyes never leave mine as the tendrils work, preparing me for his size.
"You're going to be the death of me," I pant.
"Never. But I might remake you."
He replaces the tendrils with his mouth, and I nearly come off the bed. His tongue is longer than a human’s, more flexible. He uses it to devastating effect while shadow tendrils hold my hips steady. I fight against the restraints, not to escape but for the sensation of being held.
"Please," I gasp. "I need."
He knows what I need. The bond tells him. He moves up my body, kissing every mark he left on my skin. When he finally enters me, it's slow, careful, letting me adjust to each ridge. The stretch burns perfectly. My body remembers him, welcomes him, pulls him deeper.
"Say my name," he demands when he's fully seated.
"Nezavek."
"Again."
"Nezavek." I roll my hips, making us both groan. "My Nezavek."
He starts to move, slow and deep. Each ridge catches and drags, sending sparks through me. The tendrils are still everywhere. One wraps around my throat, not choking but present. Another plays with my breasts. More hold my wrists and ankles, keeping me spread for him.
"I can feel what you feel," he says, his voice rough with surprise. "Every sensation doubled."
"Both ways," I gasp, because I feel it too. His pleasure mixing with mine, reflecting and amplifying.
The pace increases. I meet him thrust for thrust, using my legs to pull him deeper. Something builds between us, not just physical but deeper. The bond stretches, expands, reaches for completion.
"Don't stop," I tell him. "Whatever happens, don't stop."
His control fractures. He fucks me harder, the tendrils tightening their hold. Not painful but absolute. I'm surrounded by him, filled by him, claimed by him. And I'm claiming him right back, my nails leaving impossible marks on his shadow-flesh, my teeth finding his shoulder.
"I choose you," I say against his skin. "Completely. Permanently. No escape clause."
The bond snaps into place.
The sensation defies description. Every barrier between us dissolves. I feel his consciousness settle against mine like a second skeleton. His memories, his emotions, his existence becomes accessible but separate. We're two books on the same shelf, pages touching but stories distinct.
The physical pleasure crests at the same moment. I come hard enough that my back arches completely off the bed, my body clenching around him. He follows immediately, and I feel the ridges expanding, locking us together like before. But this time I'm ready for it, welcoming the sensation of being held deep, unable to separate. The locking feels different than against the wall, less desperate, more deliberate. A choice rather than a claiming. He fills me with his release, and the marking goes deeper than before. I feel it rewriting something fundamental, adding his essence to mine at a molecular level.
We stay locked together, both panting, both shaking from the intensity. I deliberately clench around him, remembering how it made the ridges pulse last time.
He groans. "You're learning."
"I'm a quick study."
"Going to use that against me?"
"Every chance I get."
The ridges pulse again, sending aftershocks through me. Last time, the lock released quickly, both of us too angry and desperate to savor it. This time, I relax into it, feeling how the ridges shift and adjust, keeping him perfectly seated inside me.
"It feels different," I say. "The locking. Less urgent."
"Because you're not fighting it," he says against my throat. "Or me."
"Good thing I like danger."
