The Only Thing Crocodile Can’t Control

The heavy wooden door to Crocodile’s private office in the depths of Baroque Works’ hidden headquarters clicked shut behind him with a decisive thud. The meeting with that sniveling king from Drum Island had dragged on far longer than it should have — endless whining about protection fees and “mutual benefits” from a man who could barely rule a snow-swept rock. Crocodile’s mood was already frayed, his golden hook glinting under the low light as he scanned the room.

Nerina was supposed to be here. Waiting for him, as she often did after these tedious affairs. Her absence sent a flicker of irritation through his broad chest, mixing with the ever-present hunger that only she could stir in him. At 44, the Desert King was not a man prone to sentiment, yet this 23-year-old sea princess had unraveled him completely. From the moment he’d met her father and seen her standing there — calm, unafraid, those crystal-clear light blue eyes meeting his with unflinching confidence — he’d been lost. Kidnapping her had been an impulse born of raw obsession. Her willing acceptance had only deepened it into something possessive, insane, and achingly mutual.

He exhaled a plume of cigar smoke, the thick roll clenched between his teeth, and dropped into the large leather chair behind his desk with a low growl of annoyance. “Where the hell are you, woman?” he muttered under his breath, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. His heavy-lidded eyes narrowed, the stitched scar across his nose pulling slightly as his thin eyebrows arched in that perpetual expression of condescension.

Unseen beneath the desk, Nerina Aegea bit back a soft, mischievous smile. Her long lilac hair pooled around her like silk waves, brushing against the polished wood floor. At 1.69 meters, she fit perfectly in the shadowed space, her flawless porcelain skin hidden from view, her curvaceous figure — full bust, slim waist, thick soft thighs, and that perfect backside — curled with feline grace. Boredom had led her here, a deliberate tease for the man who ruled her world as fiercely as she ruled his. She loved this side of him: the powerful Shichibukai, the ruthless Mr. 0, reduced to putty by her touch. Their bond was fire and ocean — intense, all-consuming, but built on complete trust and the freedom they’d promised each other long ago. She could do anything to him. He could claim anything from her. And they both reveled in it.

Crocodile reached for the Den Den Mushi on his desk, its snail-like form twitching slightly as he dialed. The receiver clicked, and Robin’s calm, measured voice answered on the other end. “Crocodile.”

“Robin,” he said, his tone clipped and impatient, the cigar bobbing as he spoke. “Status on the Alabasta preparations. And where is Nerina? She was meant to — “

Beneath the desk, Nerina’s light blue eyes sparkled with wicked delight. Her delicate hands, cool and smooth like sea foam, slid up his muscular thighs with deliberate slowness. She felt the powerful tension in his legs, the way his body instinctively stiffened at the unexpected touch. His voice hitched ever so slightly mid-sentence, but he powered through, gripping the Den Den Mushi tighter with his remaining hand.

“ — be waiting. Report.”

Robin’s voice continued evenly, detailing logistics in that infuriatingly professional tone. Crocodile leaned back, trying to focus, his broad shoulders tensing against the chair. He spread his legs a fraction wider without thinking, irritation and something hotter coiling in his gut. “Make it quick, Robin. I don’t have all — “

Nerina’s fingers worked the fastenings of his pants with expert precision, the fabric parting to reveal him. He was already half-hard from the mere anticipation of her presence, his thick length twitching at the brush of her breath. She leaned in, her full lashes lowering as she pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the base, then dragged her warm tongue upward in one languid stroke. Crocodile’s free hand slammed onto the desk, knuckles whitening, a low hiss escaping around his cigar.

“Everything alright, sir?” Robin asked, her voice neutral but with the faintest hint of curiosity.

“Fine,” he growled, voice deeper than usual, strained. “Continue.”

Nerina smiled against his skin, her lilac waves shifting as she took him into her mouth — slowly, deliberately, enveloping the head with wet heat. Her tongue swirled with practiced skill, tracing every ridge, every vein, as she sank deeper. The salty taste of him, the heavy musk mixed with the faint scent of his cigar smoke, only spurred her on. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure, her head bobbing in a rhythm that was pure torment. One hand stroked what she couldn’t take, firm and slick, while the other rested on his thick thigh, nails lightly grazing.

Crocodile’s breathing grew ragged. His massive frame — 2.53 meters of muscle, scars, and raw power — trembled subtly in the chair. Sweat beaded at his temple, a strand of black hair falling over his scarred face. He tried to keep his voice steady as Robin droned on about agent deployments and supply lines, but every skillful flick of Nerina’s tongue, every tight swallow around his throbbing cock, fractured his control. “Enough details,” he barked, his golden hook scraping against the desk’s edge. “Handle it. I want updates by — ah — by tomorrow.”

The moan he bit back nearly broke free as Nerina took him to the back of her throat, her light blue eyes watering slightly from the effort but gleaming with satisfaction. She hummed softly around him, the vibration shooting straight through his core. His hips bucked once, involuntarily, and he slammed his hook down harder to steady himself. The Den Den Mushi creaked in his grip.

“Understood,” Robin replied. “Is there anything else?”

Crocodile’s vision blurred at the edges. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious in his belly, his muscular arms straining, thick neck corded with tension. Nerina’s pace quickened — wet, obscene sounds barely muffled by the desk — her soft thighs pressing together as she felt her own arousal build from the power she held over him. She worshipped him with her mouth, lips stretched around his girth, tongue relentless.

“No,” he rasped, voice hoarse and dangerous. “Dismissed.”

He slammed the receiver down just as the orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. His body seized, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat despite his efforts to stifle it. Tremors wracked his powerful frame, his cock pulsing hot and heavy as he spilled into her waiting mouth. Nerina swallowed every drop without hesitation, her throat working around him, milking him through the aftershocks until he was spent and shuddering.

For a long moment, the only sound was his harsh breathing and the faint drip of melted wax from a nearby candle. Then, with a possessive growl, Crocodile reached down. His large hand tangled in her long lilac hair, gently but firmly pulling her out from under the desk and onto his lap in one fluid motion. She settled astride his thick thighs, her curvaceous body molding perfectly against his broad chest, her porcelain skin flushed, those crystal-clear eyes sparkling with mischief as she licked her lips and smiled up at him.

Crocodile’s scarred face softened in a way it did for no one else. His deep-set eyes, heavy with lingering pleasure, roamed over her — possessive, adoring, utterly insane with love. The golden hook rested carefully at her slim waist, while his other hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, the faint scent of cigar and sea salt between them.

“You perfect little siren,” he murmured, his deep voice rough and warm, laced with that relaxed drawl even now. “Driving me mad even in the middle of business. How the hell did I get so lucky with you?”

Nerina’s smile widened, her full bust pressing against him as she leaned in closer, arms looping around his thick neck. “Because you stole me… and I let you. Because this — “ she rolled her hips teasingly against him, feeling him twitch in response “ — is what we both want. Always.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and pulled her even tighter, his lips brushing hers in a searing, possessive kiss that tasted of salt and smoke and everything they were to each other. “I love you, Nerina Aegea. More than this desert, more than power. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

“And I love you,” she whispered back, nipping at his lower lip, their foreheads still touching. “My Desert King.”

In that moment, the ruthless Shichibukai and the sea princess were simply two souls bound in perfect, heated harmony — intense, obsessive, and deeply, truly in love. The world outside could burn; here, under his touch and her tease, everything was exactly as it should be.