Page 114 of Devil's Deal

I don’t dare move. Everything hurts, my skin raw and scalded, my mind split open with the pain. I pant, but my throat is burned, too, as if the heat poured in through my mouth right into my lungs and stomach, burning everything on the way.

“I can’t decide whether you’re a complete fool or a cunning vixen,” Woland’s cool voice comes from nearby, the sound of it like purest relief.

I moan from how good it feels. His voice is like a cool blanket alleviating the pain and rawness of my skin.

“Don’t make those sounds,” he says. “I’m angry with you. Angry enough to get started on my final plan.”

“W-what is it?” I try to ask boldly, but what comes out of my mouth is a scratchy whisper.

“Oh, for Nawie’s sake,” he growls. “How can you be so mortal when you…”

But he breaks off with a curse. I try to open my eyes, but I’m not sure I manage. I barely feel my eyelids, and the quality of darkness around me doesn’t change. It’s pitch black and utterly soothing after the blinding light and heat the poludnica blasted me with.

A moment later, Woland’s large, cool hand rests on my forehead. Powerful relief spreads from it into my brain, down my spine, and into every inch of me. I sigh and moan, my fingers twitching, my toes pointing from pleasure. He curses through it all, and once the flood of bliss slows down to a trickle, he snatches his hand away.

And suddenly, I feel fine, apart from a headache and a tender spot right between my collarbones. This time, when I open my eyes, I see the soft textures of shadows surrounding me. Woland’s face looms above mine, his eyes glowing.

“I left you some pain in the hopes it will teach you something,” he says with annoyance. “This was beyond foolish, Jaga. I won’t always be able to save you.”

“I knew you’d come for me,” I say with a stupid grin, partly to irritate him further, partly to express my relief and gratitude. “Thank you. Even though it’s completely your fault I got hurt.”

He growls under his breath, brushing his hand roughly over his face. His eyes are closed. “If you’d only give in, you would never be hurt again.”

I snort at that. “What if I like to get hurt from time to time?”

He opens his eyes, giving me a speculative look. “Do you, now?”

He wraps his long fingers around my throat, his eyes focused on mine as he squeezes gradually harder until I choke against his hold. He doesn’t let go, his mouth curving in a predatory smile.

“Like this, poppy girl?” he whispers, his voice sending shivers across my flesh.

I nod. My torn dress hikes up my thighs, and then his fingers are right there, plucking at me as I slowly suffocate. And it shouldn’t be arousing, it should be anything but, yet I respond to his touch with embarrassing eagerness.

My legs fall open and I arch, pushing my pussy into his hand as if she’s a cat begging for a stroke.

Woland’s eyes grow hooded, and he squeezes my throat harder, his claws digging into my skin. I’m not sure, because the lack of air and the intense pleasure muddle my brain, but it seems like he’s bargaining with himself.

“Just one,” he murmurs, his touch growing harder, insistent to the point of pain. “Just to see.”

I shudder, desperately trying to draw in a breath, and he pinches my clit in the best possible way. A painful, shocking orgasm tears out of me, my scream of pleasure and agony blocked in my throat as he squeezes it harder. His fingers meet around my neck.

Ecstasy rolls through me, slamming up the column of my spine, making my eyes roll back. I seize, on the verge of dying from bliss, when it suddenly ends, and I can breathe again. My throat is bruised and tight, and I shake all over, but gods.

Was it magic or skill? I don’t know. All I know is, I can never replicate this on my own. No one else can, either.

I watch him with glazed eyes, my entire being sated and drunk on the orgasm he gave me. Woland avoids my gaze, his neutral mask shuttering his face. When I look down, his cock is hard and pulsing, arousal trickling down the side.

“Do you…” I try to ask, but only a wheeze comes out. I want to ask if he’d like me to touch him. My hands tingle with the eagerness to feel him in my palm, to give him pleasure.

But Woland closes his eyes, mouthing a silent, “Fuck.”

When he opens them, he looks cold, and all attempts at seduction die on my tongue. He touches a single finger to my throat, healing it, and then, his shadows disperse, taking him away. I sit up, blinking, alone in the sunny wheat field.

Right in front of me lies Magda, pale and lifeless. The poludnica is nowhere to be seen.

And now it’s my turn to curse.

Chapter thirty-eight

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