Not protest. Not the word she had been building. The specific, first sound of a body receiving new information and reporting it through the only available channel, which was the mouth that was currently occupied.
He pressed.
Slowly.
The physician's pace — the minimum force to progress, giving the body time to accommodate, the anatomy of this particular threshold understood at clinical depth from ten thousand years of the Heavenly Demon's memory and six months of this life's education.
'—NMH—! NMH—!'
Her hands came to his chest.
The warrior's push-reflex. Flat palms. The full Core Formation Early output driving against the Dragon-scale fortitude and finding the wall, and her hands pressing and pressing and the wall not moving.
He continued.
Slow.
'—HNMH~!—'
Then: the specific, absolute moment. The wall inside her — not a wall, but the body's architecture at its threshold — meeting the steady, patient, unwithdrawn pressure, and giving.
'—AAHN~!!!'
