Just the specific, full pulse of his release directly into her throat, bypassing her mouth entirely — thick, hot ropes firing straight past her tongue in long, sustained bursts that she had no mechanism to spit because there was nowhere for them to go except down.
Her eyes went wide.
Then wider.
Then rolled.
The seed filling her throat faster than her swallow reflex could manage, backing up, rising, her nose beginning to leak — thin, white, running from both nostrils down her upper lip in twin streams while her eyes kept rolling and her hands gripped his thighs with white knuckles.
Her consciousness began to narrow.
The edges of her vision going dark and soft at the same time.
His hand glowed briefly.
A warm pulse that moved from his palm through her skull and down her spine, the healing magic finding the oxygen deficit and correcting it cleanly, her body rebooting from the inside before she fully tipped over the edge.
She blinked.
Then coughed.
He released her head.
