Page 14 of Virgil's Demons

He shushed me again, dragging the knife down my body with agonizing slowness, the cold metal contrasting sharply with the heat between us. I felt his lips graze the back of my neck, his breath hot and teasing.

"You're mine, Barythaya," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "In every way."

The blade slid lower, over the curve of my hip, and I gasped, my body arching into him. His hand came up again, wrapping around my throat, holding me in place as his other hand, the one with the knife, continued its slow, sensual exploration.

I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified of the blade in his hand, of the control he had over me. But instead, I felt alive, more alive than I'd ever felt. The fear mingled with the desire in a way that was intoxicating, and consuming.

I whimpered softly as his hand tightened on my throat, the knife now tracing the inside of my thigh. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he spoke again, his voice thick with hunger.

"You want me to take you, don't you? To enter this sweet pussy and make you mine," he growled, the knife hovering over the edge of the waistband of my panties.

"Yes," I breathed, unable to deny it, unable to fight the pull he had over me. "Please…"

With a swift, deliberate motion, he cut through the fabric, the knife slicing easily through the thin nightgown, leaving me bare before him. His hands were everywhere, gripping my breasts, his hands possessive, rough as they drifted between my thighs, and filled with a dark kind of tenderness that made my body ache for more.

The dream shifted again, and suddenly we were no longer hiding in the shadows. We were somewhere else—somewhere darker, more intimate. I didn't care. All I cared about was the feel of his skin against mine, the heat between us, and the way hemade me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something both terrifying and beautiful.

Virgil's mouth crashed against mine, and I melted into him, every part of me surrendering. His hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat to him as his lips and teeth claimed every inch of my skin. The knife was still in his hand, a dangerous promise of control, and it thrilled me in a way I couldn't explain.

He pressed the knife to my throat, and I swallowed, feeling the steel blade against my skin with the movement. His hand drifted between my thighs, finding my hot slick center.

"So wet," he murmured against my neck as he flicked my hard clit. My body jolted as if it were being electrocuted by all sorts of sensations. All thoughts of other men, my childhood, withered away as I gave myself to this feeling.

Virgil moved over me, his finger sliding into me as the blade slid down across my breast. A sting of pain made me jump and I looked down to find a trickle of blood along the top of my breast. I gasped as his tongue reached out to lick it off me. His eyes were dark as he fucked me harder, penetrating me with his thick fingers.

We moved together, a tangle of need and desperation, our bodies meeting in the dark. His movements were rough and unrelenting, but I didn't care.

I craved it.

I craved him.

Every kiss, every touch, every thrust of his hand felt like a claim on my soul, and I gave into him completely.

He slid the blade along my body and the intensity grew. His grip on me tightened, his control absolute as he flicked the blade against my nipple, another sting soothed by the sucking of his mouth. My body responded to him with an urgency that mademy head spin, the lines between pleasure and pain blurred in the most exquisite way.

Virgil's lips were on mine again, his tongue teasing and demanding, and I knew, in that moment, that he owned me. In this dream, in this twisted reality, I was his completely.

I could feel the orgasm building, his need was as powerful as mine. "Cum for me, beautiful," we both moaned as I shattered.

I screamed, launching off the bed. I shook as I trailed my fingertips over my drenched pussy, a lighter orgasm flooded through me and I gripped the sheets while still imagining Virgil over me.

As I came down from the wet dream, I shivered. Flinching, I looked down at my chest, and there, a raw red mark signaled that the dream was just a little too real.

How?

Why had he chosen me?

I slid my fingertips along the red mark and remembered the sting of the blade. I realized then, that I didn't want a dream, I wanted the reality of it.

I wanted the reality of him.

VIRGIL

Iwatched him sleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but his mind was far from peaceful. His dreams were vivid, dark things, filled with sex, blood and violence, haunted by a presence I knew all too well. His breath hitched every so often, a hint of the nightmares clawing at him from the dark corners of his subconscious. I’d watched him this way for years, a silent stalker in the shadows, my presence woven through his life like a thread of fate. But tonight, it was different. I felt a pull, stronger than usual, a need to step closer, to make myself known.

In all my long existence, I’d never felt drawn to a human like this. There was something about him—his strength, his unyielding will—that stirred memories in me I thought long dead. In life, I had known love, desire, and lust. Men had once worshipped me, offering their bodies and their souls. I had taken them with pleasure, feeding off their weakness, their need for power, for control. But Virgil wasn’t weak. He was a challenge. And I hadn’t had a challenge in centuries.

I drifted closer, hovering at the edge of his bed, watching the muscles in his arms twitch as if he were readying for a fight even in his sleep. God’s soldier to the core.

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