Page 87 of Devil's Doom

“You won’t give me everything I want,” I say finally, bitter and tired. “All my life, I was an outcast. I was rejected over and over. My father left two weeks after I was born. Even my own mother hated me. I was never loved, and I accepted it as something natural, but ever since you came into my life, I realized that I don’t have to settle. I understood how strong I am, and Woland, I deserve better. I deserve to be the most important person in someone’s life, and you can’t give me that. Like you said, you’ll take victory over me.”

He is silent, his fingers still. I feel the tension spreading in his limbs, relaxed just a minute before, now alert. I sense his urgency. He wants to assure me he will give me what I want, but he can’t—we’ll both know it’s a lie.

“Besides, I really don’t think you’re fit to rule,” I add, shaking my head with frustration. “Neither is Perun, of course. What a miserable land—two people make it bleed as they fight for the throne, and neither of them deserves it.”

I expect him to get angry, but Woland only laughs, relaxing. He pets me lazily, just enough to make me tingle.

“Maybe you’re right. But he deserves it less than me.”

This is the side of him I perversely like. He’s evil yet self-aware enough to admit it with good humor.

“Well, that was enlightening,” he says, a ring of finality to his voice. “I’d like you to brace against the edge of the tub, pet. Go on.”

Arousal mixes with foreboding in my belly as he puts his hands on my hips, urging me to rise. I don’t think he healed my scars, but I can’t be sure. What if he did something? What if he’ll get me pregnant this time? It could technically happen. My cycle hasn’t reached peak fertility yet, but it will get there in a few days.

The contraceptive rune is still on my wrist, and Woland didn’t even touch it. Does it mean he doesn’t care? Or maybe he can counter its magic without me noticing.

He senses my dread. When I don’t move, he kisses my hair and strokes my side. “It’s only sex. Just for fun, like I told you. I want to be inside my consort in every way possible, and you’re going to let me. Rise, pet.”

I glance at where the door used to be. The way out is still barred, and I don’t expect his magic in my veins to let me counteract his spells. He gently plucks my nipples, making me tighten with hot urgency. I rise to my knees and move over to the other side of the tub. As I grip the edge, I don’t see how this is going to work. Most of my body is underwater.

He comes to kneel behind me, his warm hands on my waist. “Careful now.”

The bottom rises, lifting me. I gasp, clutching the warm edge of the tub. When it’s over, the water laps around my thighs, my ass well above the surface.

“Good,” he murmurs, breathy and hot. “Spread your legs. Let me see. You’re so pretty down here. You’re beautiful all over, but this is my favorite sight. A bit wider, pet. Let me see you.”

I’m flushed from the heat and the sheer helplessness his words evoke. He never spoke to me like that before. His instruction isn’t demanding. No, he coaxes me gently but insistently, and somehow, his manner bypasses my learned response to him.

I always say no, but apparently, not when he asks so nicely.

When he brings his hips flush with my ass, his cock nestles between my cheeks. I swallow with difficulty, tensing again. Gods, I don’t trust him. He was so nice the first time we fucked, too, and it turned out to be a trick.

The burn in my chest surprises me. I didn’t think he wounded me so deeply, but as an urge to sob rises deep in my throat, I realize he did. It was the first time I had sex, the first time I felt truly accepted and wanted, and it turned out to be a lie.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he breathes, blunt nails gently scratching down my back in even, reassuring motions. “I haven’t done anything yet, love. There’s nothing to fear. I only want to make you feel good, I swear. Take a deep breath for me.”

Tears cram into my eyes, and I keep them wide open out of stubbornness. If I let my eyelids close, the tears will fall, and I refuse to cry over this. Woland reaches around my hip and gently teases my clit. I huff out a frustrated breath. I cannot trust him. He broke this for me, and I’ll never be able to enjoy it again.

“Lie, lie, lie,” I whisper, shaking my head in helpless agony.

“No. You are the only woman I want. It’s the truth. I’m dying to be inside you. Also truth. And I thought the belladonna would make me unhinged, that we’d be on the fifth round by now, but it turned me into a sappy fool. You’re my favorite person to talk to. To fuck. To drink from. Breathe, my love.”

“Don’t call me your love,” I choke out.

His fingers still between my legs, and he releases a heavy breath. “You don’t like it? I’ll call you my pretty thing, then. My delightful poppy girl. My powerful witch.”

When two thick fingers slide into me, I clench around them instinctively. There is no resistance, the way slickened with my own need, and I shake my head in denial. Something splashes into the water.

A tear.

Chapter thirty

Love

“It’s only my fingers,” he murmurs, stroking my shaking back with his big palm. “Only my fingers, nothing else. It will feel so good when you let it happen. And I really need you to feel good for me. I didn’t care before. I was selfish, I suppose, but no one complained.”

I release a broken, shaky breath. Is this really what he wants to tell me now? That he didn’t care about the pleasure of his thousands of lovers before me, yet he somehow cares for mine?

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