Page 136 of Devil's Deal

I’ve never done this before, because with whom? I always imagined this act to be degrading for the giving party, so it shocks me when my core clenches with need. A primal part of me likes kneeling at his feet and being looked at from above.

He seems like a king from the old tales, sitting on his throne. But the throne is black and gruesome rather than regal.

Because when I look closer, I realize it’s made of bones. Each armrest end is adorned with a black, human skull, and when his forearms rest on them, his palms lie on the tops of the skulls like large spiders. Looking more closely, I realize the chair’s legs and seat are made of polished, fused-together bones as well. Femurs, shinbones, hip bones… All look human, all gleam black.

“Not very eager, are you now?” he asks, amused yet tense.

I glance up. His eyes bore into me, the hunger in his face tighter. He grips the round, polished skulls with enough force I’m afraid they will crumble.

“I was admiring your throne,” I say, swallowing down my unease. “How many graves did you rob to make it?”

He laughs darkly. “Stop delaying and crawl closer.”

I shuffle forward on my knees, feeling ungainly and hot. His legs are long, and when I finally stop right in front of the edge of the chair, his warm thighs press to me from both sides. He lays his palm on the side of my head and looks at me long and hard, finally releasing a breath.

“You fit so well in here. Like you were made for me.”

I swallow with difficulty, my chest growing hot like the rest of me. This, too, should feel degrading, and yet, it sounds strangely close to affection. My hands shake when I lay them on his thighs, my eyes drawn to his hard, straining cock. I’ve never seen it from up close like this, and it surprises me how textured it is, with thick cords of veins twisting around his shaft.

Clear wetness paints his crown and trickles down the side of him. I swallow, a bit disgusted and a whole lot excited by the idea of licking it up.

“If you have any wishes, tell me,” I say, hoping for some instruction. Maybe if he tells me what to do, my lack of experience won’t be apparent.

“Darling,” he says softly, stroking my hair until I look up, my breath catching when I sink into his golden eyes. “There is only one thing I want, and it’s this. It’s perfect.”

I take in a shaky breath and lean over, my heart hammering from nerves and arousal, but he grabs my hair and gently pulls me back up. When our eyes meet, he gives me a dark, taunting smile.

“I am a god and you’re on your knees. Now worship me.”

I gasp softly, visceral need making me squirm even as a current of anger heats my belly. No, I can’t let him have the last word.

“Maybe I’ll bite you,” I say with a smirk and dive for his cock.

I take him in my mouth like I saw women do at Kupala and try to fit him in as deep as I can. When he hits the back of my throat, his shaft not even fully in, I gag and pull out, tears streaming into my eyes. Gods. This is embarrassing.

And yet, Woland gasps in pleasure, his thighs tensing on either side of me as his hips flex, his cock nudging my lips. I look up and shiver, mesmerized by how utterly focused he is on me. He’s not dismayed or mocking in the least, and I huff out a relieved breath.

Well then.

This time, I’m more careful when I put my mouth on him. I only take in the crown, running my tongue around it in exploration. He tastes like salt and smoke, and when I give him an experimental suck, trying to get more taste out of him, he grunts and tenses. When I look up, it seems like he’s in pain, but I know better.

His hands grip the skulls so tightly, his knuckles pale to light gray.

A thrill careens down my spine. I had no idea being on my knees could feel so powerful. Suddenly, I want to make this last as long as I can. I want to see what else I can do to him. Can I make him say honest things like when he’s furious?

But also, now that I see this isn’t hard at all, I’m simply curious. And so I pull back, licking my lips, and trace the largest vein running jaggedly down his shaft, right to the circle of thorns at his base. I run my finger over them. They are hard and smooth, and the sharp tips look nasty.

I press in, and Woland raises his hips with a hiss.

“Fuck!”

Where I stroked them, the thorns rise just slightly. A shimmering droplet of clear liquid appears on the tip of one.

“Leave them alone unless you want me to fuck you,” he growls, putting a possessive hand on my nape.

But I don’t obey at once. Really curious now, I gather that droplet on my finger and look up, slowly bringing it to my mouth. He curses and grabs my wrist.

“No. That’s not what it’s for.”

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