Marathin’s thumb moved from her lips to her cheek, stroking it adoringly. “Yes. They are the strongest among us; they are bigger and more powerful, and thus need a mate who can withstand their magic when they mount. Unfortunately, only the purest of Breeders are capable of that, and as you are so rare... our Lords are not producing enough progeny.”
Selma paled and swallowed hard; that did not sound pleasant from the Breeder’s perspective! Then again, she wasn’t planning on letting anyone mount her, Lord or otherwise.
With an inward shudder, she released the rather intimidating mental images Marathin’s words had conjured and focused on the problem at hand—getting all the information she could out of the demon who’d tricked her.
“So you’re not a Lord?”
He shook his head, a regretful frown pulling on his dark eyebrows as his thumb swiped back over her lips. “I am not, so I will not be bidding for the pleasure of claiming you. A pity—I find myself enjoying your spark.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Bidding—you’re going to… sell me at auction? That’s what the note said.”
No matter his assurance that he didn’t plan to have her bred like cattle, he sure didn’t help the picture the more he revealed about their customs. She briefly wondered if there would be a line of scared, kidnapped women up for sale, being paraded around an arena for perverted demons’ viewing pleasure.
“Yes, though monetary compensation is only a part of the price for claiming a Breeder. It is a complicated system—do not worry yourself with such matters, sweetness. Whoever your mate will be, he will ensure your well-being.”
She couldn’t hold back a disbelieving scoff at his dismissive attitude. “My well-being? I am expected to serve as broodmare for some oversized demon, but of course he won’t rape me, I’ll just magically lust for my owner, and now you tell me that he will care for my well-being! Who the fuck are you to think you can determine my life? Your kind has ruined me, and now...“
She gasped for air, a refreshing rush of rage blazing through her. “Now you act as if any of this is for my sake? Fuck you, and fuck your precious Lords!”
The demon took in her raging outburst with complete calm. The hand still cupping her cheek stroked over her chin, undeterred by her attempt at slapping it away, as his gaze dipped lower.
“Ah, I suppose I did neglect to tell you exactly how that pretty little ring I gave you works. You see...” He moved his hand to her shoulder, fingers trailing down her side until they got to her waistband. “You will lust for him, or whoever touches it. One small twist, and you will spread your legs and beg to get fucked by anyone and anything with a cock. It is only a safety measure, of course, to ensure that new Breeders allow frequent matings while they’re getting used to their new lives.”
“I will never want anything from monsters!” Selma spat, jerking away from his touch but getting stopped when her back hit the wall. “And I will never willingly let you touch me again. You’re a fraud and a rapist and... Nnh!”
His eyes held a mildly curiosity as he slipped a hand inside her pants and twisted the ring on her clit before she could dodge him.
The sharp shock that rocked through her whole body took her breath away, but several seconds passed before the full wave of sensation hit her. Pain was the first to register, and her face contorted in agony that was soon dulled by dark desire unlike anything she’d experienced before.
She felt the magic enter her body from that cursed circle of metal, shuddered as it seeped into her flesh and penetrated all the way to her bones. It traveled up her spine in tight pulses that left her fumbling blindly for support, until it finally clouded her brain in a hormonal fog.
Every cell in her body was on fire, every breath making her linen clothes rub painfully against her skin.
When she finally regained her vision, she realized she’d fisted both hands in Marathin’s shirt. He was watching her with an amused quirk of his full lips, one mocking eyebrow raised in question.
She growled, the sound of a furious mountain lion, not because of what he’d done to her—but because of what he wasn’t doing.
Gone was her fear—gone was her care that he’d deceived her, trapped her. All she wanted, all she needed…
She hurled herself at him with a strangled cry, using his shirt for leverage to pull herself up against him, stretching for his mouth. Unfortunately, he was much taller than her, and instead of bending his neck and kissing her like every instinct in her suddenly throbbing body was screaming for him to do, he just... looked at her. As if that was helping anything!
Angrily, she let go of his shirt and reached up, grabbing the smooth, black strands of his hair and forcefully pulling him down where she could reach.
His surprised laugh cut short when their lips finally crashed together. Selma moaned in relief and opened her mouth to better taste that sweet heat emitting from him, all the while clenching her fingers in his clothes and hair to keep him from moving away. She needed him as close as he could possibly get.
Thankfully he responded to her need, parting his lips just enough for her tongue to dart in between. She moaned again, white sparks firing off behind her closed eyelids at the taste and feel of his tongue, and though it soothed part of her wild craving, it also sparked another—deeper—desire.
With desperate haste, she started pulling at his shirt with the hand she didn’t have locked around the back of his neck to keep his mouth where it belonged, and succeeded in untucking half of it from his pants before he could react.
Marathin grinned against her lips and grabbed both her hands in his, encompassing them with ease before he pulled a few inches away from her face. “Now, now, Miss Lehmann—” Her impatient whine interrupted him, and he cocked a teasing eyebrow at her. “I specifically recall you stating that you would never want anything from ‘monsters’ not two minutes ago, and I feel a little uncomfortable with a patient of mine trying to undress me in my own office.”
He dared mock her! Selma snarled at him; it was his job to make her feel good, not to taunt her for something he had caused.
“Touch me, you fucking prick!”
The demon’s grin widened at her language. “I’d love to, but I wouldn’t want you to feel violated, my sweet. If you want me to take you, you don’t get to deny me again later. Is that clear?”
The thought of violation was laughable at that point—somewhere, she understood he’d caused the wild haze of lust to take over her now-burning body, but it mattered little to her. What he was and what he had done was irrelevant, because he was everything she needed right then—the only one who could give her the release she so desperately craved. If she’d had the strength, she’d have happily forced him without remorse.
