Page 84 of Devil's Doom

“I hate you,” I whisper, falling helplessly into his golden eyes.

They soften as if my words are those of affection, not loathing.

“You don’t,” he says with utter confidence. “But it’s difficult to want someone like me, isn’t it? Much easier to pretend you hate me. Here, love. Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

A shallow cut appears next to his nipple, right on the meaty muscle over his heart. As blood wells and trickles down, dark and luscious, I am helpless to stop myself. I am empty, and here is a promise of being full again.

He’s right. I hate that I want him, and yet, how can I not? I love magic above all else, and his very lifeblood brims with it. Sometimes, when I’m drunk on his blood and open to see, I feel like his very essence is magic itself.

How can I not love him?

The weight of his palm on the back of my head is unnecessary. I fall on him with a moan of need. As soon as my lips press to his hot skin, he groans with pleasure, arching until his erection brushes my stomach.

“You boasted about drinking my blood, but you had no idea,” he says, voice hoarse and passionate. “Itissomething to boast about. No one has ever drunk so much of me. Oh, fuck. Here.”

When the cut under my tongue seals, another one opens lower down, on the side of his stomach. I seal my lips to it, drinking, but too soon, it heals, too.

“Here.”

I watch the cut over his navel, realizing what he’s doing. When I look up with a whine of distress, Woland cups my face and leans in to kiss my forehead.

“Be good for me, love. I waited a long time for you.”

Feeling liquid and helpless, I lean in, bowing in front of him like one of his subjects. I suck as much blood as I can, and when the cut closes, I breathe out shakily. His skin splits again—underneath his navel.

When I press in hesitantly, my chin brushes the flat circle of his thorns, his cock nudging my throat. His long, audible breaths sound hungry and wanting. Claws bury in my short hair.

When the wound heals, I close my eyes and stay, because I know what will happen next. It’s utterly humiliating that I won’t be able to resist. Somewhere along the way, I got hooked on his blood, and when he offers, I cannot refuse. No matter which part of him I’ll have to suck to get it.

“Are you afraid?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s from hate,” I say, my face contorting. “But I hate myself even more than you.”

He pulls me up until our eyes lock, and he looks so infinitely tender, I want to scream. It’s him again, the same devil who took my virginity, the lie and the manipulation. I know better, and yet, my stupid heart that’s drunk on his blood wants to believe him so badly.

“I hate myself for wanting you, too,” he murmurs, caressing my face with long fingers that suddenly have no claws. “It’s just this once, love. Just this, and then it will be over.”

I shake my head. “Liar. I don’t believe you.”

“Smart girl. My lies will make it easier. It’s so hard wanting the devil, isn’t it? So humiliating to need his cock. But you only have to do it once, just for a bit. And I’ll let you go.”

When a comfortable, padded stool appears in front of him, I kneel on it without protest. He cups my face in his palm and just looks at me, his nostrils flaring, lips soft around harsh breaths.

“Beautiful.”

Some of my strength comes back, enough to glare at him with all the loathing I can muster. “You get off on this, don’t you? Soon, you’ll have me bowing in subservience like everyone else.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I admire your strength and I adore you precisely because you refuse to bow. But this is different. This is me taking my consort after a month of respecting her wishes that made us both miserable. I’ll fucking have you on your knees tonight.

“Open wide for me.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Scar

His hard cock is right in my face. A throb of unwelcome desire lets me know how much I truly like seeing it. Everything in me that’s feminine and soft, and made for taking, grows wet and exultant at the sight of his swollen, masculine need.

He is thick, proportional and straight, his skin dark gray, and I know how soft it’s here, such a perfect counterbalance to the hardness underneath. I revel in it, how hard he is. How much he wants me.

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