He didn’t need to be told again. Keeping his grip clamped around my sides, he lifted me up, then drove me back down again—a grunt tripping from his throat each time. The pace quickened. His biceps flexed, the flames in his eyes bringing beads of sweat to my brow.
Blood continued to dribble from his wound, coated his abs and stained my dress. A pool of crimson gathered in his lap, and next thing I knew, we were fucking in it.
When his hands fell away from my hips, one palming my ass and the other knotting in my hair, I took control and bounced on his member with a rhythm that kept up with the one he’d set. The rippling of his ridges gliding in and out of my pussy had me slack-jawed. His huge black tongue wriggled out to lap up the bead of drool leaking from the corner of my mouth.
Thick fingers tightened in my hair, making my skull sting as he pushed my head down to direct my attention to my lap. “Lift your dress, but don’t stop.”
I did as I was told, gathering the fabric as best I could while continuing to ride him. The dress was soaking, and when I lifted it up, what met me was obscene. His thick, ribbed member pistoned into me, a creamy ring of my own arousal gathered around the base of his shaft. Blood was everywhere.
I rocked my hips, the sound of my own animal noises, along with the wet slap of his body meeting mine, driving me into a delirious state of madness.
“S–so… cl-close,” I stammered between moans.
He drove his hips up to meet me half way. Ferocious, unhinged movements that rattled my skull turned my brain to soup. “Come for me, my queen.”
The demon lord of death painted a lick to my mouth, the kiss sweet while the rest of his body slammed into me with brutal resolve.
I screamed as this otherworldly sensation took me by the throat.
Then, out of nowhere, a jar appeared in Belial’s hand and he held it to my mouth. My hot breath clouded the glass and he clapped the lid onto the jar in an instant, as if not to let whatever he’d captured loose.
Delirious and confused, I went limp against his chest. “W-what’s that?”
“A woman’s pleasured breath. It was the last ingredient we needed for the spell.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rayven
Sap from a carnivorous tree.
Flesh of thine enemy.
Pleasured breath of a woman.
Those were the three ingredients we needed to bring my disintegrated tree back from the dead.
Now, all that was left was for Belial to work a bit of necromancy.
My once pristine white dress was now ripped and smeared with demon blood; I looked like I’d just survived a vicious fight.
After closing his neck wound, Belial shifted back to his human form, his all-black ball attire, perfectly tailored for his athletic form, appearing on him in a surge of magical energy. A dark streak of red still stood out on his pale, unmarred neck.
Next, the festive holiday decorations draped his antlers in place of his usual silvery charms and chains.
I waited for his mask to materialize. Seconds passed.
“You forgot your mask.”
“No, I didn’t,” he mused, his eyes shining with that dark mirth he wore so well.
“What?” I sucked in a breath as I gaped at his scarred face. He rarely showed this form to anyone who didn’t reside in the castle, let alone his bare face. “But you never show your human face at these events.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “After a year of you telling me how much you love this face, scars and all, why not show it off more? Any one else’s opinion be damned.”
It wasn’t just the scars that he hated; it was the fact that demons thought humans were weak. Showing off their old mortal face was considered weak to some.
The last demons to voice that opinion were now dead. So, if anyone else was stupid enough to comment on his face, and how it wasn’t fitting for a demon lord, he’d cut them down—so long as I didn’t beat him to it.
