Page 137 of Devil's Deal

He wipes the liquid from my finger and I huff with annoyance. “What is it for, then?”

He guides me back to his cock, the pressure on my nape gentle but firm. “You will find out if you’re unlucky. Worship your god, little witch.”

He breathes hard, his eyes glowing with intensity. I keep looking up as I lower my mouth to him and give his cock a little kiss.

His thighs tense, and the hand on my nape curls, claws pressing into my skin. I give him another kiss, right on the wet crown, and then lick up the bead of his flavor.

He closes his eyes, his brows furrowing like he’s hurting. So I kiss him again. And again. I cover his entire length in kisses, and by the time I’m done, he’s leaked all over his cock, so I lick that up with long strokes of my tongue.

His hand that still rests on my nape is shaking.

I take him in my mouth, as deep as I can go without gagging, and suck him hard. He flexes his hips, driving himself deeper, and when I try to pull back, he presses me down so I swallow more of him, but still not all. He’s too big to fit in my mouth.

I gag around him, tears streaming down my cheeks, and he releases me with a curse. When I pull back, coughing, he takes my chin between his finger and thumb and makes me look up, drinking in my teary face. I glower at him, and he grins.

“You’ve worshiped me well,” he says with a regal nod. “But it’s time to teach you to take me deep. Just like when you took my name, it will hurt, and then it won’t.”

I wipe my tears angrily. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asks, his tail curving around him so it rests on his thigh, the triangular tip flicking with small movements. “I’m pretty sure the deal was about you pleasuring me until I came down your throat. Well, poppy girl. I can’t come down your throat if you cough it all up, can I?”

“You’re disgusting,” I say, hating that I have to agree.

Until he held me down and made me choke, I enjoyed myself. But that part spoiled it all for me, so of course, he wants more of that.

“Let me sweeten the deal.”

He pricks his finger and squeezes. A drop of crimson blood splashes right in the middle of his shaft. When I lean down to lick it off, mouth watering for a sip of his power, he holds me back.

“No licking. Take me down your throat. That’s the only way you’ll get it.”

I glare at him, my heart pounding with humiliation. “Are you training me? Like a dog?”

He laughs, warm and hearty, and I know the power balance between us has flipped. Only moments ago, he was shaking from pleasure, and I was in control. And now, he takes the power back. I imagine he doesn’t like surrendering just as much as I don’t.

We are ill-matched, indeed.

“Maybe,” he admits, his tail flicking up to my face to brush my cheek. I gasp. I had no idea it could move with such precision. “But there’s pleasure in it for us both.”

I look at that drop of blood that’s partly slid off him and onto the seat of the chair. My mouth waters. I shouldn’t want it, but it’s already here, and I am too weak to stop this now.

As I take him in my mouth, he guides my head slowly. I taste blood and he keeps going until he taps the back of my throat.

“Let me in,” he murmurs, at which point, I gag.

He lets me pull back with a soft laugh and squeezes another drop of blood on his cock. This time, I don’t wait until it all slides off. I take him deep, moaning when the coppery taste mixes with the smokiness of him. This time, I can manage a bit longer, his magic spreading its shadowy wings in my chest.

We do it a third time, and when I gag, he releases me. “Breathe for a while,” he says, looking down at me with dark satisfaction. “You’ve earned it.”

I sit back on my heels, pressing my head to his thigh. He murmurs a sound of surprise and combs his claws through my hair, which feels too good to admit. We stay like that, the moment so peaceful, I don’t want to move for fear of shattering it. The grass is soft and cool under my knees, and his thighs bracketing me are warm. I eye his cock, breathing slowly through my nose.

He’s still hard even though I’m not touching him. I suppose anticipation works just as well.

“Your god is getting cold,” Woland whispers, his hand stilling in my hair.

“You’re not my god,” I scoff but get back in position. After all, it’s a trade, and I need to hold up my end.

“I’m everyone’s god,” he says, another drop of crimson painting his cock.

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