Page 19 of The Demon's Queen

Since I’ve been here, I’ve tried to leave my room multiple times, and each attempt has been met with frustration. I just walk and walk and walk, and right when I’m at the point of breaking, the damned castle deposits me back in front of my door.

Not so tonight.

The first turn ends in a short hall with a large door. I stop abruptly and narrow my eyes. “Is this a trick?” There’s no answer, but why would there be? This castle has no voice. I never found that truly tragic until this moment. I look around and clear my throat. “Uh, thank you. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

There’s nothing to do but knock on the door and hope for the best. The wood is more textured than I expect at first glance, rough against my knuckles.

Seconds later, the door opens to reveal Azazel. It’s late enough that he’s traded in his customary tunic and pants for some type of short skirt garment that wraps around his hips andleaves most of his legs bare. His thighs arehuge. Ruinous, even. I’ve never wanted to bite thighs the way I suddenly ache to in this moment.

He frowns. “Eve. Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.” The words are stark and filled with enough honesty to drown us both. “I can’t think, can’t sleep. Today was...”

“A lot. I know. I’m sorry. I would spare you the memories if I could.” He takes a step back, a clear invitation to enter.

Coming to him at all was a terrible idea. I knew it the moment I got out of bed. Sometimes, that’s all there is: bad and worse. Staying in my own room and being suffocated by my racing thoughts was worse than whatever this is.

You know what this is.

I guess I do. The moment Azazel shuts the door, I shrug out of my robe. I’m not wearing anything underneath.

His shocked inhale is almost—almost—enough to make me look at him.

“Eve?”

“I can’t think anymore.” It’s suddenly all too much. I close my eyes. “I know this is fucked on so many levels, Azazel. I shouldn’t be here.”

There’s no sound to indicate movement, but when he speaks, his voice comes from in front of me. “Are you doing this to help or to hurt?”

I shrug helplessly. “Both?”

His strained chuckle tugs at something in my chest. I don’t want to understand him. I don’t want to recognize that he’s just as out of his depth right now as I am. I certainly don’t want to admit that maybe he’s making the best of a shitty situation. “Is it me you want to hurt... or yourself?”

“Both,” I whisper.

“It’s a bad idea.” He’s closer. I swear I can feel the heat coming off his body now. “Every time I touch you, you resent me more.”

If only that were true. If only I hadn’t spent every night since that scene in the dining room fingering myself to the memory of him. Not his human version, for all that the sex was outstanding. No, when I slip my hand between my thighs, it’s horns, obsidian eyes, and a too-long wicked tongue I’m remembering.

I open my eyes to find him a few measly inches from me. It would be so easy to push this, to take control like I did last time. But... I’m tired. Scared. Shaky in a way I don’t know how to combat. “Touch me.” I suck in a harsh breath. “Please.”

As he reaches out to cup my face in his giant hands, I make my peace with the truth—in the morning, it won’t be him that I resent. It will be myself. For being weak in my desire. For wanting the person who’s responsible for upending my life.

That’s a problem for tomorrow.

Right now, Azazel lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me so sweetly, I might weep from the longing that springs to life in my chest. To be a different woman, with different fault lines. To be able to accept this and stop fighting. To do... a lot of things.

I break the kiss. “I can’t do soft. I?—”

He bands an arm under my ass and lifts me until our faces are even. “If at any point you want to stop, say ‘stop’ and it ends. Do you understand?”

“Yes?”

This time, when he kisses me, it’s just short of violent. I moan into his mouth and enter the battle of teeth and tongues. Yes, this—thisis what I need. He walks us across the room, and it seems to take forever, but I’m not curious enough to stop kissing him. Especially when he finally lays me down on his absurdly soft bed and moves back to kneel between my spread thighs, then undo his loincloth and toss it to the side.

The size difference really is absurd. The tallest person I’ve ever been with is six-five, and Azazel has a good seven inches on them at least, even without counting the horns. But he’s not gangly like a basketball player; he’s built thick and muscular, and holy fuck, his cock is huge. No,hugeisn’t the right word. Did I say his thighs wereruinous? What a joke. His cock is the very definition of the word.

Even with the flicker of fear that curls through me, I can’t stop myself from reaching out and dragging a single finger up, up, up his absurd length. “You’re going to kill me with this.”

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