However, I hated this moment. I did. I hated it with everything I was.
“Whoa,” one of them said. “Someone can’t hold onto her cum. Poor Thomas.”
“Yeah, but that tongue,” another hummed. “No wonder they think she’s the Blessed One. Thomas is a lucky guy, marrying her. At least mine’s still good. What about yours?”
I heaved, my heart slamming against my ribs. I was going to drown in semen.
“I taught mine to use her tongue,” he made a strange sound. “She’s good, but not this good.”
Saliva and semen fell from my mouth in streams. Everything hurt. I couldn’t even sit up.
I closed my eyes, tears pouring down my face. Was this how it would be after we married? I couldn’t handle it. I really couldn’t.
I wouldn’t survive.
The door opened and my fear spiked only to settle a hair when I felt the familiar warmth on my back.
My eyes lifted ever so slightly, taking in my hands as they shook. They were bright red, shoeprints on the back of each one.
“What the Hell?” one male exclaimed. “I thought you locked the door!”
“I did,” another growled.
Azrael laughed, but it held no joy within it. “Locks are a concept. I don’t believe in concepts. Get out,” he said, that terrifying lilt filling his voice. “She’s mine.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop panting.
“She’s Thomas’ betrothed,” one explained. “He gave us permission.”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll splatter the walls with your blood,” he sang.
Seconds later, the door shut again, and the sound of the lock flipping met my ears.
I tried to regain composure. I had to follow the rules. I had to.
I pushed myself up to my knees, everything shaking and trembling. I would be punished if I couldn’t sit still.
I felt the warmth grow and suddenly, I knew he was in front of me, crouching before me, not far away.
Something soft touched my hands, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t dare look for fear that I might accidentally see his face.
“Wipe your face, your mouth, and your chin.”
I sat there for only a second before I picked up the cloth he had placed over my hands.
My hand shook as I lifted it to my face. I tightened my grip, trying to will it not to. I wasn’t supposed to be a terrified kitten. I was supposed to be an obedient dog.
I carefully began cleaning off my face, the taste of their semen still coating my tongue, causing my stomach to twist and turn, and bile to rise in my throat.
“Your hands are bruised but not broken,” he told me, and I wondered how long he had been studying them. My mind was spinning. I didn’t trust it to tell me where his eyes were looking anymore.
“You’ll need to fix your ponytail,” he told me. “You didn’t get any cum on your clothes.”
Cum.
They had said it before, but I didn’t know what that was.
“Semen,” he said, his voice holding that icy lilt. “Cum is what the world calls it.”
