Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
He doesn’t stop. He keeps working me with his tongue as pressure builds, pulling my body tighter and tighter. I reach out wildly and my hands find his horns, then hold on with everything they have. And then I’m coming, the orgasm hitting me with the strength of a rogue wave, unexpected and violent.
Azazel eases his tongue out of me but doesn’t move away. He kisses my pussy as if he can’t get enough the taste, as if he never wants to stop. He nuzzles one thigh and then the other, nipping me lightly in the way I like sometimes, before moving back to roll the flat of his tongue against my clit.
This was a mistake.
I can’t find the breath to say so, to tell him to stop. That’s why I grip his horns tighter, why I arch closer. Not because I want to. Not because I know what comes next, how he can go for hours, alternating his attention so that I’m never quite overstimulated to the point of commanding him to stop instead of begging for more.
My second orgasm seems to build on the first. And then the third adds even more. And on and on, until I’m wrung out and limp, my hands falling to the table as I blink up at the stone ceiling.
“This was a mistake,” I rasp.
He moves back instantly. Azazel carefully disentangles my legs from his horns and stands. He cups my face, his gentleness unwanted, and yet . . . I close my eyes and lean against his palm. Just a little.
The moment I realize what I’ve done, I try to retreat. Azazel is already moving, scooping me into his arms. I’ve never felt so small in my life, and if there’s a part of me that wants to nuzzle up to him, it’s only the post-orgasm haze confusing my senses. “Put me down.”
He ignores me, walking out of the room and through the halls with what feels like dizzying speed. Or maybe it just feels that way, since spare moments later he’s shouldering open the familiar door to my bedroom.
I expect—dread, hope for—him to enter the room, lay me on the bed, and continue what we started. Instead, he sets me on my feet and holds my shoulders until he’s sure I’m steady.
I wish I were as sure. My body feels like it belongs to someone else, limbs loose and heart pounding. I look up at him, and if there’s any consolation to how shaken I am, it’s that Azazel appears equally so. His chest rises and falls with harsh breathing, and his cock is a long line against his pants.
I swallow. “You—”
He cups my cheek again, something in his eyes that I can’t quite define. “Hate me if you must, Eve. Punish me all you like. I can take it.” He kisses me, the lightest brush of his lips against mine, and then takes one large step away and then another. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
I can’t corral my racing thoughts enough to think. “Stay.” I blink up at him as if he summoned the word against my will. Surely I didn’t just expose myself in this horribly vulnerable way.
He doesn’t close the distance, doesn’t stop his retreat. “Not tonight, Eve. Not like this.” Then he goes, shutting the door softly behind him.
Leaving me alone.
I hate how my heart drops in my chest. I hate how it feels like he’s rejecting me when I’m the one who set the tone for the night. I especially hate how it feels like I set out to punish him but only ended up punishing myself.
Seconds tick by, my body cooling even though my heart rate isn’t returning to anywhere close to normal. He could have fucked me until dawn, and I wouldn’t have done anything but beg him for more.
And through it all, he didn’t disobey me once. He didn’t speak. He didn’t push. He simply gave, paying penance with his mouth despite our mutual desire for more.
It doesn’t make sense for his restraint to make me even angrier. It’s not fair—I can recognize that—but I’m not in the mood to be fair. Not anytime in this century.
I march into the bathroom and wrench on the shower. Because of course they have indoor plumbing in the fucking demon realm, and I loathe that I’m grateful for it. I yank off my rumpled dress and step beneath the blistering spray. I press my hands to the tiled wall and duck my head, letting the water cascade over me, blocking out the rest of the world. All of it does little to reset my mind and emotions.
This accomplished nothing. Pleasure usually unwinds me, but I’m more tense than when I marched to dinner, ready to fight. I sigh and shut off the water. I don’t know what I’m more pissed about. That Azazel just made me come until my body went limp . . . or that he walked away. It shouldn’t matter. I hate him for what he’s done; wanting him to choose me is a fool’s game. Unfortunately, that lost little girl inside me, the one who was always passed over, time and time again, is a ghost I can never quite vanquish. It hurts to be left. Far more than it should.