Page 113 of Devil's Doom

“You can,” I whisper, burying my hand in her hair. “Let me in. I am your god, and I’ve come to bestow gifts. I’ll fill you with magic. I’ll give you everything. Just let me in, my beloved. Let me in.”

I can hardly control what I'm saying anymore. Was I supposed to only speak the truth tonight? No matter. When I'm inside her, it's all true.

“Hold on, love.”

She nods shakily, her body trembling around me with insurmountable tension. I push in until she cries out from pain and agonizing, fulfilled pleasure, and there’s no more space left between us. I’m all in her, and it’s like I said—I never want to leave.

“Look at you,” I murmur, out of my mind with how tight and hot she is. “How good you look, stuffed full of me. How perfect. Will you come for me again? I think you must. You were made for my cock, and now you finally have it, and everything is as the fates intended. So you must come for me.”

I move, too slow and yet too fast, and she cries out, kicking out with her legs as another orgasm grips her. I think I broke her. Maybe that’s all she’ll do from now on, scream my name and come for me.

Perfection.

My hips snap faster, my control pouring out in a current impossible to stop. I thrust deeper and deeper, conquering this woman who still won’t tell me she’s mine, fucking my claim into her as best I can. She’s silent now, body rigid, hanging on to me with blunt nails buried deep in my back. Time stops, and it has nothing to do with magic. My mind snaps, reality growing crystal clear, until the pressure at the base of my spine breaks into a million pieces, and I fill her up with my release.

“Take it. Right there. Right fucking there. Take it all.”

She shakes and whimpers, taking it like my perfect girl, and when I’m spent, every last drop put deep inside her, I slide out and get her ready to take me up her ass. She arches when she feels my touch, and I know she’s done, delirious and exhausted, but the idea of debasing her completely makes me painfully hard, and I can’t let go.

“And you’ll take it here, too,” I grunt, thrusting before she’s fully relaxed.

She cries out from pain and fullness, but there is no mercy for her. I drive myself deeper with every flex of my hips, the need to have her dripping with me and filled to the brim overriding reason and all else. She keens and sobs, clenching hard around me when I force orgasmic magic into her body just to make her tighter and better for me, just so I enjoy it more.

And for a moment, sheismine, and I get lost in the lie, her body the highest pleasure of all, her spirit twined with mine, held close with claws and sheer spite.

“Does it hurt?” I growl, pushing so deep, I can’t believe her body can take me this far.

“Yes,” she sobs, shaking under me with bliss and agony.

“Good.”

I fuck her harder, deeper, until we both fall apart, and fuck, maybe some pieces of me get tangled in her, some of hers getting tangled in me, because when my thorns lock us together, I feel lost and unlike myself, and yet happier than ever.

So maybe I’m not the one in control, not always. But I have her now, and she won’t be going anywhere when I hold her.

Even if I have to marry her to keep her.

Chapter thirty-eight

Pillow

“I’m thirsty.”

My voice is a scratchy, dry thing, rasping in my throat. Woland makes a muffled sound, something between sleep and comprehension, and a moment later, a cup floats to my side. I try to sit up, and he grunts reluctantly and moves with me until we’re both seated, and I straddle his hips.

“The thorns are very inconvenient,” I point out after quenching my thirst.

He merely grunts again, pressing me to his chest as he lies back down.

“Don’t care. They feel phenomenal. I’ll fuck you again after they release and put them back inside you—in your pussy this time.”

I shiver, his content, sleepy mood failing to rub off on me. I am exhausted and utterly spent, my every muscle aching, and yet, I can’t shake the acute awareness of his seed sitting deep inside me. Maybe taking root.

No, I do not trust my rune. It’s too flimsy.

I’ll have to make a potion as soon as he lets me go. It’s the only way I’ll have any peace of mind, because it doesn’t matter if Woland loves me or not—he is the devil. He won’t stop from getting what he wants, even from the woman he apparently intends to marry.

Marry the devil. What a joke.

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