My mouth drops open. There’s time to protest.
But nothing comes out. Because… I don’twantto protest. He just wrecked me with his mouth and fingers, and my legs fall open wide for him like they’ve been waiting all my life for this moment.
When the obscene tip of his cock presses against my entrance, stretching, I hold my breath.
Is it too late to ask about demon-to-human STDs? Am I about to light up like a radioactive glow stick down there?
But then his chest literally begins to glow as he pushes forward and breaches me with that bulbous head.
The stretch steals my breath. But not from pain.
It feels… incredible.
My eyes roll back when his hips rock, dragging that impossible girth across my clit.
Too big. He’s too big. My mind panics even as my body melts, shame and ecstasy tangling in the quake of pleasure down my spine.
What if I just… gave in?
Yes,a voice whispers, mine or his, I can’t even tell.
What exactly are his powers anyway? Besides healing and apparently knowing exactly how to ruin me?
I risk a glance down our bodies.
Mistake.
He’s monstrous. Impossibly wide, widening even further toward his base. “It won’t fit,” I gasp, clawing at the sheets.
“I will fuck you now,” he growls, hips pressing forward.
Another impossible inch. And somehow, unbelievably, my body takes him. Stretches. Yields.
I start to howl, panicked, desperate.
He bares his lion’s teeth, and his long tongue licks his glistening lip when he catches me watching him.
“Submit,” he commands, a clawed hand circling my throat. He doesn’t squeeze—justreststhere, a deadly promise. Predator and prey.
And God help me, the slight scrape of his thumb at my pulse only makes me gush more, easing his brutal passage deeper inside.
“You make me so hard and swollen,” he hisses.
I glance down. He’s right. He’s even thicker now than when we started.
“It won’t fit!” I sob, breasts heaving.
Knee braced on the bed, he spears me with that massive cock and flashes a terrifying smile. “You will. You will love to make me hard and fuck me. I will teach you how.”
And damn it, some dark, traitorous part of me already believes him.
Then his wings move.
Not flaring, not flying—fluttering.
“I call for the angel-spark over this consort,” he roars.
His massive wings curve around us, cocooning, the silken tips stroking between us?—
