Page 29 of The Devils' Darling

“Distracting you, remember?” I purr.

I apply a little more pressure—not enough to penetrate him, but enough to make him think I might. He lets out a sound that’s purely primal, and, for a second, I think he’s going to yank out of my grip and spread my legs and fuck me hard, but instead he gasps.

“Christ, I’m going to come.”

“Do it,” I encourage him. “Come all over me. I love how much you come for me, Kirill.”

“Oh, fuck,” he shouts.

Warmth hits me, splattering on my mouth, throat, and cheeks. I close my eyes just in time as a powerful spurt kisses my forehead. When he’s finished, he’s panting.

“I can’t clean you up,” he says, “but I covered up their filth.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I need to taste you.”

He shuffles about, and I find myself propped up at an odd angle. I gasp as my panties are pulled to one side. He lies on his back on the floor, positioning himself beneath me. His hot mouth against me is a shock when I can’t see a thing.

It’s so silent and dark in this room that all I can do is feel.

He works me with his tongue, flicking my clit and groaning against me as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. I know he must be tasting himself, too—it’s not been long since he came inside me. Lots of men would be disgusted at the thought of tasting themselves, but not him.

He grabs my hips, holding me in place as he sucks and licks and nibbles. I cling to the bars, grinding my pussy into his face.

My core has nothing to clamp down around, and he senses my needs.

Roughly, he pushes two fingers inside me and curls them to hit the fleshy pad of my G-spot. Guttural moans escape me, and I cry his name. Chasing my high, I’m barely aware of the words spilling from my lips.

“Oh, yes, Kirill, don’t stop. I’m so close… more, give me more.”

My climax builds, and I forget where I am. He’s taking me away from the horrors of our situation, just as I did for him. Tension and heat build at my core, spreading outward, pleasure cascading over my skin.

I come in soft, powerful waves, and the tears come with it, too.

The release takes away some of the terror but only seems to enable the sadness.

Kirill slides out from under me. His big hands cup my cheeks and brush the tears away. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m going to die here,” I say. “Kirill, I can’t stay kneeling like this. Everything hurts. If they don’t take the collar off, I will end up fainting, or worse having a seizure, and then I’ll choke.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll fucking hold you up.”

“I’m so exhausted.” I close my eyes and press my forehead to the bars. It’s not only choking I’m afraid of. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I last took any meds, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before a seizure hits.

In the dark, Kirill helps put my sweatpants back on, and then he goes to the bars.

“Hey,” he shouts. “Hey, we need to talk to you. Fuckers, come down here. Hey.”

He moves away from me, the loss of his heat adding another layer of despair.

He must have one of the bowls in his hands because he bangs the metal against the floor of the cage. “Hey, fuckers, come down here.”

I grab hold of the bars and hold myself up, the sheer exhaustion washing over me, threatening to drag me under.

The sound of heavy booted feet at the door has me sobbing in gratitude.

The light flashes on, and I groan and slam my eyes shut against the glare. Gradually, I edge them open again, and I draw a breath of shock.

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