Page 144 of Devil's Doom

His smile is a slow, lustrous thing, like the dawn of the full moon over the horizon. “Good intense?” he asks to confirm, though from the happy glow in his eyes, I can tell he knows.

I nod. “Very good. Can we… Can we come out? I’d like to see you.”

His smile falls away, his jaw slackening with lust, eyes growing darker as his pupils swallow up even more of his irises. I run my hands up his back, tracing his muscles, so very distinct on his lean frame. He is a work of art, the tattoos covering his arms glowing silver. The water around us glitters with his beauty.

“You can look at me. But I’ll look, too,” he says, as if to warn me.

He captures my hand, almost commanding in his haste to get me out of the water. We splash to the shore, and he lets go, walking backward until he can see my whole body. He swallows, his throat bobbing. We watch each other, and his breath comes faster yet. He digs his fingers into the sides of his thighs, as if not knowing what to do with his hands yet needing to grip something.

I am overcome with a sudden urge to see him under me.

“Can you lie down?” I ask, choking on my own rapid breath. “Please. On your back.”

He obeys so fast, I huff out a small, overwhelmed laugh. We’re both wet, our bodies glistening, but it’s so warm in here, it’s not uncomfortable. I come over, dropping to my knees by his side. Chors looks up with wide, vulnerable eyes, so completely open, my heart aches.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my fingers hovering right over his cheek, trailing the curve of it without touching. “I want to worship every inch of you.”

He takes a shuddering breath, nodding fast. His voice is raw. “Do. Please.”

And so I do. My hands descend on his face, learning its gorgeous shape. I run my fingers over his exquisite brows and gently coax him to close his eyes so I can touch his fluttering lashes. After my fingers, I use my mouth, kissing his eye, his cheek, the side of his nose.

When I kiss his mouth, he grips the back of my head and holds me there, kissing me back with desperate need.

I let my fingers trail further down, stroking the wet skin of his throat, the dips and hollows of his collarbones, the hard ridge of his sternum. His breath hitches, and he moans into my mouth when I circle his nipple. It’s hard under my fingers, and I kiss down his jaw and throat, trailing a slow, hot path to that nipple.

When I close my mouth around it and suck, his body arches up with a helpless, needy sound. I almost purr with pleasure. To have this stunning god laid out for me like a feast is a blessing I never expected to be given, and I cherish it all the more for that.

“You taste like night and magic,” I tell him after swirling my tongue around his other nipple. Below, his cock leaks precum onto his stomach, and my mouth waters, but not yet, not yet. I want to worship him properly. He deserves it, and so much more.

“P-please,” he begs, his voice ragged, eyes desperate. “Touch me.”

I smile, kissing a path down his side, one kiss for each rib. His stomach is concave when he lies down, and I kiss up to the edge of his ribs and trail my tongue down the valley of him to his navel. I kiss it gently and look up, meeting his hazy eyes.

“Why do you have one? If you were born from the river?”

He shakes his head. “A-ask my father. I d-don’t remember.”

I smile and push Weles out of my mind. Chors’ cock jerks just inches away from my lips, and I kiss my way down to his hipbone, enjoying the way he groans with utter disappointment.

“Please! Do you not want to kiss it? Do you not like it?” he asks, his voice breaking.

I pause and look up. He pants, so distressed, I immediately cease my teasing.

“I’m leaving the best for last,” I say solemnly. “Would you like me to kiss your cock, my god?”

While Woland pulled terms of respect out of my throat with seductive threats and heady orgasms, I can’t help but give them to Chors. I’ll call him a god or even a master, because he is so clearly at my mercy.

“Yes,” he hisses in despair, his throat straining as he tips his head back.

I lean closer, running a single finger up the length of him. He is glorious. Swollen and hard, his cock looks as desperate as he is. Silvery precum winds down his length, and the glistening head is almost purple from the strain, the sensitive skin on the underside begging to be licked.

Instead, I bury my nose in the dark hair growing at his root. It’s damp, the slightest traces of his scent clinging there despite our bath. I breathe him in, the clean musk imprinting on my mind. Even if we only have this one time, I’ll remember everything: how he looks, how he sounds, how he smells.

And now, I’ll learn how he tastes, too.

His hard muscles play under his wet skin as he raises himself up on his elbows to watch. I look up and smile. His eyes are pinned to my mouth when I lower it slowly and lick up his shaft, letting my tongue follow a delicate vein pulsing under the thin sheath of his skin.

He throws his head back with an incoherent sound, and I go back to his root and lick again, following another path. He tastes like a man, musky but subtle, and I smile, peppering him with kisses when I remember what I promised.

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