He packs around me.
I feel his tendrils coil and slip over top of mine like a sleeve, like he had this morning. The sensation is hot. A warm glove that strokes me with every thrust.
Lenora gushes.
A thick, sticky mess that soaks the sheets. Her back rises and falls with every desperate plunge of her hips as she impales herself over and over with greedy slams.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop!” she screams, head thrown back as she cums again. “It hurts so much but … oh God, fuck me, Marcus. Hurt me harder.”
We both snarl as we’re given our orders.
We fuck her.
We pound her with a vicious violence that moves the bed. At her back entrance, the demon forces in thin tendrils I feel writhing through the membrane and Lenora wails. She claws at the headboard and nearly rips my dick off with the seizing of her body.
“So … good!” she chokes out. “So much … I can’t stop!”
“Who said you’re allowed to stop, pet? Open wider. We’re not done with your cunt.”
I never thought I would agree with the demon, but when he flips her onto her stomach, I don’t need to be told what to do.
I take her hips and bottom out. I sink to the base and hiss through my teeth when she seizes with the pain and cums.
“You keep cumming. How many is that now?”
Wheezing, Lenora shakes her head, face mashed into the pillow.
“I’ve counted eight,”the demon taunts.“Such a greedy … how do you say it in French?Petite cochonne?”
I bark a laugh at the term with its two meanings. I doubt he’s calling her a little pig. But dirty little slut … I don’t argue.
“Sale petite cochonne,”I agree, calling her a filthy little slut.
Lenora may not be listening when I pull free of the perfect slit and leave the demon to enjoy himself. I sit back with my cock hard and glossy and watch him rail her. He’s much stronger and she’s gripping the headboard bars with white knuckles. At my angle, I have a perfect view of her opening contract with every plunge.
I’m so invested in the view, I almost jump when something in the room croaks. A weak sound of pain that has my head snapping around.
Sarai Duval.
I’d forgotten about her.
What’s left of her lies facedown on the carpet in a thick puddle of mutilated flesh and discarded parts. No part of her is recognizable in the sheen of crimson covering every inch.
But it’s her blue eyes staring into mine that catches my fascination. They have always been so clear, so seductive. I remember the few times we crossed paths during parties and events, and she’d slink through the crowd in some scandalous number, hair a gold crown and our eyes would meet.
For those seconds, I considered the possibility. She was clearly interested and I hadn’t touched a woman in far too long. Ourfamilies were at peace and any bad blood between us was under the metaphorical bridge.
What could it hurt?
What stopped me was the fact that I don’t sleep with married women. They may be willing to turn a blind eye on their vows, but I wouldn’t help them.
Still the harder reality was that her eyes weren’t the warm brown of melted chocolate. Her crown wasn’t a cluster of thick raven wings.
Sarai Duval was a carefully curated beauty, but she held no candle to Lenora.
“Please.”
Her feeble croak jars me from my thoughts and I focus once more.
