Lillian’s breath hitched as Aragog’s massive, calloused hands settled on her hips. At 25, she’d never felt a presence like his—250 years of battle-honed power thrumming under scarred, olive skin. His dark eyes held centuries of knowledge, and right now, they were devouring her.

“Your fire,” his voice was a gravelly rumble, “it calls to me.”

She didn’t wait, her fingers scrambling for the leather strap of his loincloth. The thick hide gave way, and her eyes widened. His dick was a fucking monument. Long, thick, and already leaking pre-cum from its broad, purple head. Veins pulsed along the shaft like ancient tributaries.

“I need to taste,” Lillian breathed, dropping to her knees. The musky, primal scent of him filled her nose. She didn’t just lick; she engulfed the crown, her tongue swirling around the sensitive slit, drinking the salty bead of his arousal. A guttural groan ripped from Aragog’s chest. His hands fisted in her hair, not forcing, but claiming.

“Your mouth is a paradise, little flame,” he growled.

But she wanted more. Standing, she ripped her own tunic open, letting her full tits bounce free. His gaze burned. He palmed one, his thumb roughly circling her stiff nipple before he bent and sucked it deep, his tongue flicking and teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out.

His other hand slid between her legs, finding her soaked pussy through her thin leggings. “Drenched for me,” he muttered approvingly, before shredding