Page 77 of Dating the Dealing Demon

My heart skips a beat. “You’ll kill us both, Vicious.”

I groan as she slowly—oh so slowly—sinks, working herself onto both of my cocks. Her heat enveloping me, the pressure of her body against mine, her tightness squeezing my shafts, the weight of her, the scent of her arousal in my nose. It’s better than fucking magic. It’s home.

“So full,” she says between pants.

I don’t speak. I can barely breathe. If I don’t think about anything but her, I can hold myself back.

She lifts herself, and her eyes are half-closed as she slides back down. She rides me in a lazy rise and fall of her hips in a roll that has my tail twitching in anticipation.

My wings flap once, twice, and I lift her off the bed and slam her down onto me.

She cries out, the sound part pain, part ecstasy, and I still.

A wicked glint enters her eyes. Her hand snakes between us, and she brushes a finger over her clit. Then again. Faster.

Fuck, yes.

She grinds against me, and I thrust up into her, meeting her pace. The heels of her boots catch on my thighs in an erotic bite of pain.

A growl escapes me. The sounds she makes, the scent of her, the magic twining between us—all of it drives me wild. My claws dig into her ass, and my fangs ache with the need to bite her.

Her nails rake my chest. Val throws her head back, and she screams my name. The sight of her losing herself to pleasure, to me, sends a possessive, protective instinct through me. I roar as the first wave of my orgasm hits, and we both tumble into orgasm.

And fall back to the mattress.

She collapses onto my chest, and we lie there, sweaty, exhausted, and sated.

“Val?” I ask.

“Hmm?” She’s barely awake.

“Marry me.”

“That an order or a proposal?”

“Both?”

She smiles against my skin. “I suppose I can. As long as there’s butter pecan ice cream, a Shadowvale-stocked wardrobe, and an endless supply of sex.”

“Done.” I take the victory and claim another. “At least Dupree wasn’t in the dungeon watching you. I might’ve killed him.”

“He hasn’t come out of his room since I accidentally magicked your mom.”

“Little chicken shit.”

“I should probably check on him.”

“Don’t taunt, Vicious. I still haven’t given up the idea of tying you to the bed.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” Her bravado is only slightly diminished by her light slur and the sleepy rub of her nose against me.

I hug her close. “I’ll remember that. Rest now.”

The petals have stopped falling, but the bed is covered in them. I magic a sheet to cover us.

A chittering from the night table has me checking the bedside. Montejanus—the great and powerful soul guardian—stands on his back paws in mongoose form, his tail wrapped to cover his eyes. With his front paws, he hides his toy unicorn’s eyes.

“It’s safe now, Montejanus,” I tell him. “She’s safe.”

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