Page 88 of Devil's Doom

“Is this supposed to make me feel grateful?” I grit out as his fingers move within me, my pelvis throbbing with bliss I loathe to feel. He knows how to touch a woman for all his assurances that he never cared for giving pleasure.

“No,” he says easily, his cock sliding rhythmically against my wet buttock. “It’s supposed to make you feel special, because you are. I keep telling you.”

My eyes no longer burn, sorrow and fear turning into anger. This man’s audacity has no bounds.

“Oh, yes, so special. Because I am the only person you deign to treat decently from time to time, in between breaking me into pieces. Fuck me and let’s be done with it. I want to sleep.”

He sighs deeply, pulling his fingers out of me. I tense, expecting a hard thrust that will probably hurt. Instead, Woland pulls me back into his lap and turns me until I straddle him, his strong arms pressing me to his chest.

“Is it because of what happened last time?” he asks mildly. “You’re afraid of my thorns, aren’t you? I can stop them from embedding. I really want to put them inside you, but if you’re afraid…”

“It’s not the thorns!” I hiss, scratching down his sides as hard as I can. “Stop pretending to care about me! You want something, then get it, and stop with the lies! I’m here, aren’t I? Use me how you want, trick me again, I don’t care! Just spare me your sweet words that mean nothing.”

He is silent while I breathe raggedly into his chest. Tears threaten to fall again, and I pull away, desperate to escape. Maybe I’ll blast a hole through the wall. Maybe I’ll bring the mountain down on our heads. I don’t care. I just want to hide and be alone.

Woland holds me tightly despite my struggles, and I press my panting mouth into his chest and scream, the rage and pain too much, the fear too horrible. He’ll just do it again. He’ll make me hope, make me feel loved, and then he’ll yank it away, and I can’t… I can’t…

“Nothing I say will make it stop, will it?” he says softly, yet I hear him over the sound of my soul-shattering sobs. “But I can show you. It’s different. Itwillbe different. I won’t try that again, Jaga. I just want to be with you, as close as possible. That’s all I want, I swear. I fuckingneedyou, and I know you need me, too. Don’t be a coward now.”

I stop sobbing, a cold, serpentine rage filling my chest. I pull back and look at him with deep contempt.

“Call me a coward again, I dare you.”

He shrugs, his golden eyes serious as they study my face.

“You are. You’re letting fear stop you from taking what you want. Try me, Jaga. See what happens. Let me prove that fear wrong.”

“I don’t want you,” I hiss, my hands clenched into fists. “How many times do I need to say it?”

“As many times as I told myself I don’t care about you,” he counters, his jaw flexing. “Thousands, probably. And it still didn’t make it true.”

I shake my head, refusing to believe him. “Fuck me, then. I didn’t say no, did I? I’m not afraid.”

“Good.”

I just catch the way his mouth flattens into a determined line before his shadows wrap around us like smoke. When they disperse, we’re both in bed, the soft sheets soaking up the bathwater sliding down our bodies. Woland pulls me on top of him until I straddle his hard stomach.

“Kiss me,” he says. “Show me you’re not a coward.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” I grit out, and yet, I do as he says. This is manipulation, too, so crude it’s laughable. But it works, because I care what Woland thinks of me. He’s the only person who knows all my ugly parts and still accepts me.

Though maybe that, too, is a lie.

His lips are soft and hungry, tongue urgent as I slick mine into his mouth. His hands wander, cupping my ass, stroking my back and thighs, burying in my hair. His tail wraps around my ankle like a restraint. I kiss him until I’m breathless, my core tight. I want this to be over.

But when I pull back, intending to impale myself on his cock and ride him to a fast orgasm, he doesn’t let me. He grabs the back of my head, fusing his lips to mine with a hungry grunt, and rolls us until I’m trapped under his bulk.

When I try to stroke his cock, my hands are yanked up, soft yet sturdy ropes tying around my wrists.

“Not too tight, sweetheart?” he asks, his mouth hovering above mine.

“Just fuck me already,” I hiss, straining against the ropes. They aren’t tight enough to hurt, but I can’t move my arms. I’m helplessly open, and a beat of uncertainty pulses in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I should have let him call me a coward, after all.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says. “And it won’t work. I want you to open and receive everything I give you, and I’ll give you a lot. You won’t go anywhere until you take it.”

I try to scoff with disdain. “I know your cock is big, but do get over yourself. I can take it just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

---