Page 101 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

“Because of me. Because I died.”

He lay his hand on my shaky knee, a knee I hadn’t even realized nervously bounced. “No. Never. Focusing on your recovery was the only thing keeping me afloat or grounded from thoughts that spiraled in every possible direction.”

“Like?”

“When I told you the truth… Since sharing my secret, it was a weight lifted from centuries of fear. Fear of what would happen if someone learned the lies I’d cultivated guising myself as Beelzebub. Then the worst did happen. I confessed to Eligos so he’d spare you—realizing his plot wouldn’t work—which he responded to crudely, because it turned out he knew all along.”

I listened as Bez explained it all, Eligos’ plan for his piece of devil essence, how he and Novus created the orbs, the influence and guidance they whispered to Magus Remington.

“You’re worried what happens if the rest of the world finds out?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just liked the idea of being here in the villa, hidden away for none to see. However long we needed. You could learn and grow and adapt. I could, I don’t know.”

“It seems like the city, the kingdom, Mora wants will offer that too.”

“Doubtful. She likes busy places, meeting plenty of new and malleable people.”

“We could kick her out. Change the locks, put up a sign that says no girls allowed in the demon boys’ clubhouse.” I nudged his shoulder with mine, watching his face light up with a smirk. “We’ll post Weather at the front door, guarding our little oasis. Tony, too. He’s small but far more ferocious.”

“No. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it. Losing this place.”

“Bez, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy wherever we go.” I interlocked my fingers with his, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Your hair smells inviting.” Bez moved his thumb, massaging the skin between my thumb and index finger. “Perhaps we can table this conversation and discuss more important matters?”

“Such as?” I played coy, turning my head to meet his gaze.

Bez kissed me. Gentle like he wanted to test my reaction, the delicacy of my resurrected body. I invited his tongue with my own, playing with the tongue ring he’d glamoured—or possibly pierced in his new host body, one that resembled Bez so completely I’d forgotten what this person looked like before the composite took hold.

Bez broke his lips away from mine, continuing his kisses along my neck and shoulder.

He ran his hands under my shirt, lifting it, and licking my chest, my nipple, covering my face with the fabric as he gave up helping me undress and kissed my abdomen. Clawed fingers gently brushed and tickled my skin, wet lips kissed my stomach, sending a blissful jolt of static. Buried beneath this shirt was suffocating in the most exhilarating sense. I fumbled to free myself, knowing full well I’d done this to Bez on more than one occasion when seeking to tease his cock before he freed himself. He’d stripped my pants off and I still hadn’t wriggled loose from the tangled tee.

Dammit. At least Bez had the excuse of horns getting in his way.

I flexed my biceps, shredding the cotton holding me back, and sucked in a deep breath as Bez’s warm mouth swallowed my tip, running his tongue along every nerve ending. I checked for horns. Nothing. Duh.

Bez had a minxy expression, running his tongue ring down my shaft.

I panted, enticed.

“Take off your clothes,” I demanded.

“I’m busy.” He swallowed my cock, rubbing his fingertips—not claws—against my hips, sending sparks that made me thrust into him again and again, lost in pleasure.

I pushed him off, knocking him onto the floor, lying on his back. Carefully, I unraveled the loose knot of his tie and yanked it off, simultaneously ripping the buttons off his dress shirt with my other hand.

Straddling his hips, I grinded against them as I held his shoulders down and leaned forward, kissing him. Indulging in the taste of his lips, I released my grip. Big mistake.

Bez spun me off him with my face pressed against the floor, positioning my knees and adjusting my hips. He trailed his tongue up my spine, one column at a time, patiently, then zipped across the room—each step a slow-moving act where the world itself stilled as my eyes locked onto the blurred actions with precision—retrieving a small bottle from the drawer. He returned, continuing to kiss my back as he stroked himself, lubing his cock.

“I love you, Wally.”

“I love you, too.” I bit my lip as he entered me.

“Say my name.” He held my hips, taking slow strokes easing his full length inside me. “I need to hear you say it. Please, Wally.”

“I love you, Bez.”

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