Page 47 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

I suck one dark pink tip into my mouth and enjoy myself, echoing the steady rhythm of my hips as they slap into hers. One breast, then the others, while Marina’s magical pussy sucks my cock in deeper, swirling around it with so much dexterity it almost feels like tiny fingers are massaging it.

“I don’t deserve you. Goddess.”

“Demon,” she corrects.

“Demons want to do evil. Do you?” I ask sternly, swatting her ass.

“No!” she yelps in surprise.

“Then you’re not a demon, girl.”

“What I am—”

“Isn’t about some title. You’re Marina. Beautiful, badass Marina. My Marina. Monster Marina, sure, Mutant Marina, sure, I don’t fucking care as long as you’re mine.”

Do I sound over the top? I am.

Marina grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me flat to her, then rolls so she is straddling me, riding me faster and harder than normal bodies can go. It’s sex on steroids, and for a moment, I’m back to that dizzying wonder if my heart or cock will explode first.

Marina does—a sheet of juice gushing from her when she plants herself all the way down, insides milking me until I pop while watching her in the throes of her pleasure, a writhing, gasping mess on my cock.

Beautiful disaster. Beautiful kinds of crazy, this woman who screams in ecstasy as she engulfs me, who makes the edges ofmy vision go black with the force of my orgasm—and then who cuddles me with shaking arms and says, “Shower, then waffles?”

I don’t have any air left after that breakneck finish. I just nod.

“I THINK I MADE TOOmany.”

I look at the stack of six waffles Marina puts in front of me.

“Uh. Maybe. I don’t know. But—you know what you do with leftover waffles?”

Marina shakes her head, eyes wide in shock. “No, I’ve never had that problem. Who could leave waffles?”

“I have a feeling you’ll handle my leftovers, but—bacon sandwiches. A waffle-bacon-and-pimento cheese sandwich is the nectar of the gods. Well, my grandfather thought so. I don’t think pimento cheese is gonna work on pumpkin spice waffles.”

Marina thinks. “Cream cheese, cinnamon, and chocolate? We can have them for dessert?”

“I like the way your mind works, baby. Now...” I catch her fingers as we sit at the table. “Tell me what you need to tell me about your life. Your past. Whatever you want. I’m going to listen.”

EATING WAFFLES WHILEour bare feet tangle and tease under the table makes it easier to talk. I stare at the puddle of sweet brown maple syrup around my waffles, not at him.

“My kind have never married. We are not supposed to belong to anyone but our overlord. Koshchei.”

I can feel Kev tense angrily, but he stays quiet.

“He can claim any one of his rusalka and breed with her. The chosen handmaids are never seen again.”

“That’s some cult shit, right there.”

I shrug. The supernatural world is quite cultish in many ways, I suppose. It’s harder to see it unless you’ve lived a normal life. I steal a glance out the window. I can just see trees and the edges of the taller buildings on campus, but I don’t care. To me, Pine Ridge is home, a paranormal kind of normal, and I love it.

“We believe he owns us, body and soul. He believes it.” It’s true, but since Kev still can’t quite see what I am (although I think he believes me when I say it) I’m not going to try to drive home that it’s not just a belief, it’s a reality.

Kev’s fork slams into his plate, but he keeps quiet.

“If... If someone were to be our— If a man were my soulmate, and we used special words from my culture to bind ourselves together, Koshchei couldn’t claim me as a handmaid. I think it might even completely sever the bond that we have.”

“Good! Where are the words? Do I memorize them?” Kev asks.

---