She used the grip of her tongue to anchor herself, pulling his body back toward her even as he pushed, creating a brutal friction that sent sparks of white-hot lightning through his spine.
"Mmmph!" she moaned against him, visibly enjoying the struggle.
Every time Quinlan shoved, the suction tightened, and the rhythmic twirl of her tongue around his manhood bypassed his willpower entirely.
His body was a traitor, responding to the specialized anatomy of a primordial predator designed for exactly this kind of warfare.
Quinlan felt the familiar, terrifying pressure building at the base of his spine for the third time in a few seconds. His vision blurred as he lost the battle for his own autonomy again.
His fingers dug so hard into her horns that he thought they might snap. A third, even more violent explosion of seed tore out of him, a torrent of primordial life-force that Nyxara caught with a series of rhythmic, heavy gulps.
