Chapter 79: Purifying the Palate**

Syris devoured her mouth, his forked tongue sweeping through her cavern, tasting her, owning her. Ren melted against his wet chest, her hands clutching his slick shoulders as her brain short-circuited from the sensory overload.

But then, Syris pulled back abruptly. He wrinkled his nose, his amethyst eyes narrowing with a look of profound displeasure.

“You smell,” he hissed, his lip curling slightly to reveal a hint of fang, “of him.”

Ren blinked, dazed. “Excuse me?”

“The cat,” Syris spat the word like a curse. “His musk is all over this… puffy shell.” He plucked disdainfully at the red puffer coat. “And it is clinging to your skin. It is offensive. I cannot mate with you while you carry the scent of another male.”

Syris’ hands found the zipper of the coat. With a decisive zip, he pulled it down.

He peeled the red nylon off her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms. Since Ren was completely naked underneath, the coat fell to the mossy ground with a soft thump, leaving her exposed to the cool cavern air and his burning gaze.

“Much better,” Syris purred, his eyes darkening as they raked over her pale, curvy form.

He didn’t give her time to cover herself. He scooped her up in his arms—effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers—and turned back toward the sacred pond.

“Now, I must clean you,” he declared.

He stepped into the water. The warmth enveloped Ren’s legs, then her hips, as he waded deeper. The water was perfect—heated by geothermal vents, smelling of minerals and clean earth.

Syris stood waist-deep, holding her floating body against his. He didn’t use a sponge. He used his hands.

“I will wash him away,” Syris whispered, his voice low and husky.

He scooped up warm water and poured it over her neck. Then, his large, cool palm followed the water. Syris’ skin was incredibly smooth—like polished river stone or high-grade satin. It glided over her skin with zero friction, a silky, tactile sensation that made Ren shiver.

He washed her shoulders. He washed her arms. He moved down to her breasts, cupping the heavy weight of them, using his thumbs to rub away any phantom touch of the tiger.

Ren let her head fall back, a moan escaping her throat. “Syris…”

“Quiet,” he murmured, his forked tongue darting out to taste a droplet of water on her collarbone. “I’m not done.”

His hand slid lower, over her stomach, and down to the junction of her thighs. He rubbed the sensitive skin there, cleaning away the sweat of the kitchen and the dungeon. His smooth fingers slipped between her folds, not to penetrate yet, but to wash. The sensation of his cool, sleek fingers against her hot, wet heat was maddening.

Ding!

[System Alert: Horniness Levels Critical] [Target: Syris (The Snake King)] [Lust Level: Off the Charts.] [Status: The snake is ready to explore the tunnel.] [Ren’s Status: Clean, Wet, and Ready.]

“You are clean now,” Syris decided, his voice rough.

He walked her backward toward the edge of the pond, where the moss grew thick and soft like a velvet carpet. He laid her down on the bank, her legs still dangling in the warm water while her upper body rested on the lush green.

He loomed over her, water cascading off his broad shoulders.

Ren looked down. Now that he was out of the water, there was no hiding them.

The Twin Swords were fully unsheathed.

They were two distinct shafts, resting side by side against his thighs. They were long, sleek, and a deep, flushed purple. They didn’t look like human anatomy; they were smoother, tapered, and possessed a terrifyingly impressive length. And there were two of them.

Ren gulped, her eyes widening. “Syris…I don’t think…”

“Hush,” Syris silenced her, kneeling between her legs. “I have waited too long for this, Little Chef.”

He grabbed her hips, pulling her down until her bottom rested on the moss. He lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders. The position opened her completely, displaying her pink, swollen center to his hungry gaze.

He lined up the left “sword.” It nudged against her entrance, the head broad and smooth.

“I will be gentle,” Syris promised, his voice strained with restraint.

He pushed forward.

Ren cried out as he breached her. He was thick. She felt her body stretching to accommodate him, the tightness bordering on pain before giving way to a feeling of incredible fullness.

“Oh god, you’re so big,” Ren whined, gripping the moss.

“And you are so tight,” Syris groaned, his jaw clenched.

He sank into her, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed. The second penis pressed harmlessly but stimulatingly against her clitoris and perineum, adding a heavy pressure that made her toes curl.

He paused, letting her adjust. He leaned down, kissing her deeply, his forked tongue mimicking the motion of his hips.

Then, he began to move.

It was a long, gliding rhythm. He pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in a single, fluid motion. The friction was incredible. His scales rubbed against her inner thighs, cool and smooth, while the heat of his orgasm built inside him.

Ren’s world narrowed down to the feeling of him stretching her, filling her. Every thrust hit a spot deep inside her that made her vision blur.

“Syris! Syris!” she chanted his name, her nails digging into his back.

“Mine,” he growled, his pace increasing. “Say it. You are mine.”

“Yours! I’m yours!”

The pleasure built rapidly. The combination of the internal stretching and the external pressure from his other member was too much. Ren felt the tension snap. She screamed, her inner walls clamping down on him as she convulsed in a powerful orgasm.

Syris roared, a primal, hissing sound. He slammed into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt. He held her there, his body shuddering as he poured his seed into her, filling her with a warmth that rivaled the hot spring.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, his face buried in her neck.

Ren lay there, panting, staring up at the glowing moss. Her body felt like jelly. She was thoroughly wrecked.

“I survived,” she whispered to herself. “I actually survived.”

Syris lifted his head. He smirked, looking far too energetic for someone who just finished.

“That,” Syris said, pulling out with a wet pop, “was merely the introduction.”

Ren’s eyes widened as she looked down.

One sword was soft. The other one was still standing at full attention, hard as a rock and ready for war.

“Round two,” Syris declared.

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