Page 145 of Devil's Doom

It’s slow and teasing, his soft groans of agonizing pleasure egging me on. He’s up on his elbows again, watching me. Even so completely given over to lust, he is gorgeous. Hints of white, straight teeth peek from behind his swollen lips as his frantic breaths shudder out of him, and oh gods, I want to thank him on my knees for the gift of seeing him like this.

I hold his gaze and suck his cock into my mouth as deep as possible.

He moans. His stomach tenses. Cum splashes against the back of my throat, thick spurts of it, until I almost can’t keep up.

I suck him through his orgasm, watching his chest heaving with ecstasy, and a deep, smug satisfaction curls around my bones. I made the god of the moon come.

When it’s over, he lies back, a single sound of uncertainty pulling out of his throat. I lie next to him on my side, leaning on my elbow so I see his face. When he opens his eyes, he seems chagrined.

“I didn’t know it would happen so fast,” he says quietly.

“Do you want to be done?” I need to ask, even though I’m sure he will say no. “Because I am not done worshipping you, my god.”

“Jaga.”

I shiver, the single word from his mouth making me so utterly aware that he is here with me,that he choseme,and he knows it. I am not just some woman or a body to him. He knows me. And I can’t be sure, but it feels like it’s the first time he said my name.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to stop,” he says after a moment, his eyes roaming my face. “But you have his mark. Right there.”

His fingers trail my lower belly, where the crossing crescents of Woland’s brand gleam red. Chors smiles ruefully.

“I want to see what it feels like to be inside you, but I’m afraid he’ll somehow sense that and come here. He can’t hurt me, and I know he won’t truly hurt you, but… You’re his in the end. He’ll never rest until he gets you back.”

I turn my face away to hide my bitter expression. My voice is cool and controlled as I speak, even as hate flares in my belly, where moments ago, desire burned.

“Well, I don’t want him, and you’re wrong. I am not that significant. Right now, I want you and I’m not afraid. The choice is yours.”

He cups my cheek, bringing my face around until I have to gaze into his eyes. I know how I must look, mutinous and angry, and he still smiles at me as if my hard edges don’t put him off. His thumb traces my cheek, and I exhale in surrender, mellowing under his touch.

“I want to be inside you,” he says softly. “Please.”

I smile in relief, and yet, unease makes me hesitate. I touch the brand like one would touch a hurting bruise, carefully but with an urge to press hard and explore the soreness. I’ve ignored it for a long time, too afraid of what it might mean.

“Does it tell him where I am?” I ask, my other hand covering the space between my collarbones. “If I use his blood to make it impossible?”

Chors shakes his head, sitting up with ease. “He shouldn’t. But it is a claim, and it seems he can’t keep it off you. I know right now he is entangled in things he refuses to accept, which helps you win. But once he rips through the tangles and understands himself, you’ll stand no chance. I thought it would be kind to tell you. As a friend.”

He takes my hand, playing idly with my fingers, and I look away. His words make me anxious, and I don’t think I can ignore them. Chors is innocent when it comes to some things, but he spends every night watching mortals, gods, and bieses. A pure, non-judgmental observer sees so much more than others.

And night is when we give in to our secrets. He knows the most hidden parts of our nature.

I could ask him a lot of things, but as he shifts to sit more comfortably, and his half-hard cock slides over his thigh, my unspent desire hums back to life. He seems engrossed, tracing each of my fingernails with great care before lifting my palm and fitting it against his.

His fingers are longer and more graceful, his palm bigger, but his skin is as warm as mine, a bit of sand trapped between our fingertips. He studies the differences with a gentle frown. Then, before I understand what he’s doing, he gets up and sits opposite me, pressing the sole of his foot to mine. I laugh and wiggle my toes, and he looks up with a small smile.

“Still trying to learn which part of me is so entrancing that the devil himself fell for me?” I ask with a grin.

He shakes his head. “No, I figured it out. I’m just trying to see how we fit. With some things, like pieces of wood in a stack, there is a way to fit everything almost perfectly if you try hard enough. People are tricky. One person can be a fit for many. And sometimes for none. I thought I was the latter, and I’m wondering if I am wrong.”

He bends his legs and shuffles closer, exploring our joined feet with his fingers. When his touch tickles, I laugh but stay put, letting him do it. He smiles, absorbed and mischievous, and I decide to ask him, even though the question makes my gut churn.

“And? What did you figure out? What’s my appeal?”

“Hm?”

He lifts his head, letting his foot fall away, his knees opening artlessly as he leans his elbows on them, his back curled. Dark hair falls into his face, and he brushes it away with a careless move of a graceful hand. My breath catches, because he keeps surprising me with his beauty. Even in a pose that should be anything but attractive, hunched over and sitting on the ground, he is stunning.

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