I shook my head even as my pussy tightened around him, and my ass squeezed the beads.
“Liar,” he hissed, slamming into me so hard that the wooden bed scraped along the floor.
His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head up before he bottomed out in me, hitting against my cervix until pain bloomed through my lower belly. I gasped as it took my breath away.
“Are you going to cum for me, Lucia?” he hissed fucking me harder.
“Oh God, no,” I whispered, not wanting to enjoy this act, but then he started to tug on the beads.
“You can't hide from this. I can already feel your pussy fluttering around me,” he said, pulling more beads out.
“COME!” he roared, yanking the beads out while he drove himself back inside me, impaling me on his cock and trapping me on the bed.
To my horror, I came as fast as lightning. It stole my breath with the force of the pain and pleasure. The sick pain of him pulling the beads out and the pleasure of having his cock plunge into me. His fingers moved around my neck, both hands gripping me while he continued to use me.
I could still feel myself pulsate around him when he grunted, squeezing my neck so hard that I started to choke and gasp for air—hot, wet semen spurt inside of me. I tried to turn my head because I couldn't breathe, but he released his grip. My head fell on the bed.
“Ah. There it is.” His long tongue licked my shoulder blade. “My heir quickens. Feel how your body welcomes me.”
“What?” I said, dazed and trying to comprehend his words.
Fingers probed my belly before they vanished.
“Becoming a demon’s bride comes with a price, Lucia,” he whispered, but when I turned around, he was gone.
His semen slowly dripped out of me, and I sagged on the bed.
Chapter 3
Lucia
The alarm screamed, and I reached to silence it, but the movement sent a deep, throbbing ache radiating through my hips and my thighs—a soreness that felt too much like the memory of hands.
Something heavy and wrong anchored me to the bed when I tried to sit up.
I threw back the covers to see the massive bump before I clawed at my nightdress. My stomach swelled grotesquely. The skin stretched taut and mottled with angry veins. Not the gentle curve of a first-trimester bump, but this was the belly of a woman ready to give birth.
“No. No, no, no—”
I could already hear the accusations and backbiting. The thought of facing Mother Superior made me queasy. I stared at my belly, half-expecting to see something moving beneath the skin.
The ring.
I glanced at my finger, but it was gone. In its place, seared into my finger like a cattle brand. There was a downward-pointing triangle, and below it was an inverted cross.
My gaze flew to the wall. The crucifix still hung upside down, the Christ figure’s face twisted in what looked like mocking agony. I looked away from it, the shame and guilt eating me up, and that's when I saw the rosary beads beside my alarm clock.
They were darker, sitting in a pool of an oily substance.
Last night hadn’t been a dream.
I quickly shoved my loose black habit over my nightdress before I waddled—God, the word itself was a humiliation—to Margaret’s room, not waiting for permission before bursting in.
“I think I was attacked by a demon last night,” I blurted the words out so quickly they sounded garbled.
Margaret froze with her coif halfway to her head. “Did you sneak wine into your room?” She laughed, but it died when I lifted my habit.
Her wrinkled face paled in horror. “Holy shit. That wasn’t there yesterday.”
