Page 81 of Devil May Lie

“You’re getting weird on me.” He turned his head, catching Madden’s eye over his shoulder. “What’s up? Should we stop?”

“Do you want to?”

“Of course not.”

Madden drove the toy in with more force, growling when that had Berga groaning for him. “Be sure. Be absolutely sure.”

Because Madden wasn’t going to let him go after this. No matter what.

“Just,” Berga pushed back against the plug, “fuck me already. With your cock.”

“You gave in to me, Butcher,” Madden said, pulling the toy free and resituating himself so he could line up his crown between those cheeks. “Remember that later, yeah?”

He buried himself to the hilt with one hard thrust that had him instantly questioning if he wasn’t already burning alive.

Chapter 20:

“Faster.”

Berga bent backward, bracing himself on Madden’s thigh as he picked up the pace. He’d lost track of how many rounds they’d already gone, but the sun had long since started its descent, and there was only a faint light still coming in from the windows. His left hand held onto the Mad King’s bicep, the muscle taut beneath his hold.

Since when were muscular guys his type?

Maybe they weren’t.

Maybe it was just Madden.

He rode him hard, thoughts piecing together only to fragment seconds later whenever that massive cock scraped against his inner walls just right. Sex had never been this amazing before. But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was it wasn’t just about the sex.

It would be less complicated if Berga could say otherwise. If he’d grown addicted to Madden’s smell and the sound of his moans. If Berga could blame this as some awakening, some realization that he actually liked to bottom after all, he would, but he wasn’t the best at lying, not even to himself.

He’d only caught the tail end of the conversation with Kelevra, but it’d set something off in him anyway, a panic to rival the one he’d felt at the Docks the other night. There may not have been any hint of the girl in the pink dress—yet—but it was obvious Berga needed to settle some things.

Only, the second they’d started talking about it, he’d realized he was still too confused to do it. He couldn’t tell Madden he wanted to date him because he wasn’t sure he really did.

Berga wanted him. Full stop.

But could that be enough?

Madden had been willing to roll over and take it up the ass for him even though that wasn’t his preference either. Was that what a relationship was? Was it compromise? If Berga agreed to date him just to keep him around, to keep him from leaving, was that compromise as well, or was it something else?

Manipulation?

What was manipulation really?

Impression and a spiked drink?

A white lie told to suppress a hungry, inexplicable longing?

“You’re thinking too much, Butcher,” Madden scolded. “That makes me feel like I’m not good enough for you.” He flipped their positions, pinning Berga on his back in an instant, his cock buried deep all the while. Once he’d settled completely over him, arms at either side of Berga’s head, elbows pressed against the space between his neck and shoulders to keep him in place, he started moving again.

Madden fucked him hard enough the bed shook and Berga momentarily lost the ability to think straight for the millionth time that day—Night? Was it night already?

This wasn’t what he’d intended at the Docks. But what if one taste, one touch, wasn’t enough?

Was this a punishment?

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