Page 86 of Devil's Doom

“I think I wanted to prove I could. Now tell me something. Truth for truth. Did you touch yourself thinking about me, love? I was away a lot, so I didn’t watch you all the time.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, his ego needs constant feeding.

“Yes, I did. Where did you go away to?”

His chest rumbles with a pleased purr, and his fingers slide up to play with my curls. I inhale sharply, and the devil presses me closer.

“I can’t tell you that unless you’re mine,” he says ruefully. “And yet, I’d like to tell you even now. What a dangerous woman you are, poppy witch. Did you feed me belladonna to drag out all my secrets?”

I hum with pleasure as he dips a finger between my nether lips for a quick, well-aimed touch. The splash of bliss makes me arch like a cat, but he pulls back, stroking my thighs again.

“How many secrets do you have?” I ask, pressing my back into his erection.

“Too many. A few big ones. Many small ones. And you?”

I think for a moment while his fingers slide up, caressing the vertical scar running down my lower belly.

“Three big ones that I keep from you,” I finally say, breathing hard.

It’s the truth. My first secret is the thing that happened when I was twelve. The second one is my plan to go to Weles. And the third one, I keep a secret from myself, too.

Woland can’t know how my heart stutters for him, how it yearns. I wish I didn’t know myself. I tense.

His touch on my scar hits differently. I’m scared my protection won’t be enough. That he’ll heal my internal wounds and fuck me, and I’ll have no choice but to bear him a child.

What terrifies me even more is the fact a part of me desperately wants it to happen.

“What’s the full story behind this scar?” he asks softly, putting his forearm around my collarbones until I’m tightly pressed against him, as if he senses my need to flee. “It’s one of your secrets, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I grit out, catching his wrist under water. “Leave it alone.”

His fingers still, but he doesn’t take his hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. It’s sensitive,” I say in clipped words. “I don’t want to be touched there.”

“Does it hurt in your soul, then?”

His voice is so gentle, so very much unlike him, and I have no defenses against it. I can fight him tooth and nail when he attacks me. When he demands, mocks, and humiliates me, I know exactly what to do, but this?

Over and over, I fall for the same tricks. My throat grows tight, and I shake my head.

“Tell me, please,” he murmurs, stroking the scar again despite my bruising grip on his wrist. “I’d like to know what makes you suffer.”

I force a hard laugh out of my burning throat. “So you have another weapon to crush me? No.”

“That’s not why I asked, but you’re right. I’ve often used your pain against you.”

He presses his wide palm to my abdomen, and I grow rigid, feeling into myself to detect any currents of magic. But his touch is mundane, simply a possessive hold over the most hurting part of me.

“Did you ever want to have children?” he asks, nuzzling the top of my head.

I groan in frustration and dig my fingers under his, trying to peel his palm away. He doesn’t react, and I strain harder and harder, scratching and heaving. It lasts a few minutes, and he doesn’t protest or try to stop me, just keeps his palm there with no effort at all despite my furious attack. Finally, I fall back against him with a curse. He keeps his hold on my lower belly, his cock like a spike against my back.

“You made me glad for the first time that I couldn’t get pregnant” I say with spite, digging my nails into his muscular thigh. “It’s the irony of life, isn’t it? We want the most what we can’t have.”

“Jaga, you don’t seem to grasp it,” he says seriously. “But you can have anything you want. Anything. I’ll lay the world at your feet and find the cure for your every ailment. Yes, I want your soul in return, but is that really so bad? I’ll make you happy. You will love being mine, and I’ll love having you.”

I close my eyes, exhaling wearily. His palm slides lower, parting me gently, and I want to cry, scream, and spit on him in rage. Instead, I just lie between his long legs, my head pressed to his chest right over his thudding heart.

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