The moon bled silver over the jagged cliffs, and the tide whispered like a confessor. I, a gargoyle carved from living obsidian, no longer a stone sentinel of forgotten cathedrals, had dragged my prize from the breaking waves—a mermaid princess, her skin like bioluminescent pearls, her hair a storm of seafoam green.

She spat saltwater and names at me, but I didn't care. Her tail, a mossy green with scales like dark emeralds, slapped the wet sand as I laid her out. Her cunt, pink and dripping with the sea's wetness and her own mortal arousal, was exposed beneath the fold of her scaly slit. I could smell her—musk and ocean brine—and my rock-hard cock, cold as a river stone but throbbing with a heat I could barely control, rose to greet her thighs.

"You can't," she hissed, her fins fluttering. "My kind—your kind—this is heresy."

I leaned over her, my claws tracing the curve of her waist. "And yet your body answers." My finger slid down her belly. She bucked. My digit found her clit—it swollen, like a pearl begging to be pressed. She gasped, a breathless sound that echoed off the cliffs. Fuck, she was wet, sopping, a slick mess spread over her scales.

I guided my girthy shaft to her entrance, resting its mushroom head against that tight, salty quim. She gripped the stone floor of the shore, her nails scraping, then arched as I pushed. The first inch dragged against her walls—a velvet vice