Page 147 of Devil's Doom

He lays on top of me, bracing on his forearms, and adjusts himself meticulously until his cock lies against my belly, his face over mine. I run my fingers over his curved back and look into his eyes, which are black now, no trace of silver left.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, stroking his hair. “I want you so much.”

He nods and reaches between our bodies. I tilt my hips to make it easier for him to guide himself inside me, and there’s a moment of fumbling, of muttered curses and impatient breaths, until his cock slips inside, and he grows rigid.

“Oh,” he gasps, eyes closed, hot forehead pressed to mine. “Oh. I see.”

He shivers on top of me, not even halfway in, and I stroke his back, humming comfortingly. I sense he needs a moment. Maybe the intensity is so much, he’s unable to deal with it. Seconds pass, then minutes, until his hips suddenly snap forward. He buries himself inside me with a loud gasp, and I moan at the stretch, the warmth, the glittering connection between us.

“I see,” he says again, his shaky breaths tickling my lips. “It’s perfect. I understand now.”

I can’t help but smile, wrapping my legs around him to keep him close. I welcome him in my body with an overflow of warm feelings, gratitude and awe, and a tender something that has me stroking his shivering back soothingly, because I’m desperate to make this as beautiful for him as it is for me.

“That’s good,” I murmur. “You feel amazing. I like having you here very much.”

He pulls back, dark eyes focusing on my face. “And I like being here.”

He moves, hesitantly at first. After a few strokes, his cock slips out, and he hisses in disappointment, pushing in with an impatient flex of his narrow hips. We breathe together, fast with exertion, and I lock my ankles at the small of his back and rock to the rhythm he sets. Chors huffs, his eyes closing for long stretches until they snap open, staring at me, his lips seeking mine before he loses himself in the pleasure again.

“How do I make you come?” he asks breathlessly when I moan, squeezing him tight, exhilaration flowing into the space we share.

“You can touch my clit, but not with sandy hands,” I say with a small laugh. “Or I can make myself come. It’s all right. You can focus on your pleasure if you want. I’m great down here.”

“Can you?” He slows down, the long, easy thrusts making me clench with need. “Do it yourself? Please. I want to know how it feels.”

I nod, reaching down. Woland always controlled my pleasure, and it takes me a moment to find the right place and rhythm, my fingers trapped between our bodies as Chors moves between my legs, his lips parted on a soft moan.

When I start rubbing, he stops his movements and pulls back to watch. His eyebrows crease with the familiar furrow, and I know he’s learning how to do it, so focused, even his own pleasure is forgotten for a moment.

“Different women like different kinds of touch,” I explain in a rush, my pleasure mounting. “I like… Like this. Oh, please. Fuck me.”

He grins, suddenly mischievous again, and buries himself inside me to the hilt. I moan, the combined sensations of fullness and friction doing me in. His thrusts grow faster, rushing recklessly toward an orgasm, and I come hard, powerful contractions drawing him closer, just where I want him.

He cries out and drives himself deep, hips twitching as he comes, pulsing and raw, our bodies and souls tangled in shared pleasure.

“Oh,” he says again, as if surprised by the new sensation. “Yes. I see.”

I giggle and pull myself up, kissing him where I reach, on his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He smiles and captures my lips, and we share a long, breathless kiss while he’s still inside me, still hard, warm and so very welcome.

We lie together for a while, fingers exploring each other lazily, lips smiling. It’s quiet and comforting, and I love this so much, even as my belly hums with a new, dreadful urgency. It’s done. Although this wasn’t my goal, having sex with Chors cut me away from Woland in the most perfect way.

Now, I’m eager to take the final step. Weles won’t even have to do much to gain my allegiance. Just promise me a few things, and I’ll be his, giving him the victory that’s my only worth to most gods.

Yet, not Chors.

“Do you know why Woland keeps pursuing me?” I ask, sitting up. It feels like time for pleasure is over, and my insides tighten with dread and hope.

Finally. It will be all over.

He blinks at me in confusion, his eyes back to silver, skin dry. “Well, yes, but his reasons are many. Which one do you mean?”

I look away. “The prophecy.”

He hums, sprawling comfortably on his back. “I do. I haven’t told anyone. Most of them would be very cruel to you if they knew.”

The laugh that bursts out of me is glittery and choking, and my belly hurts from the violent shudders of mirth. Chors raises an eyebrow in question.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out. “It’s just… Such an odd thing to say. Woland has been cruel to me from the start.”

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