Page 124 of Demon Monster's Little Human

I watch her face contort in pleasure and her honey gush out of her like a river. My hips even more faster, each thrust is brutal, all consuming, and she takes it all, her cries growing louder, more desperate.

Her pussy’s dripping, and her eyes roll back. She’s so close to the zenith again.

But I’m not letting her come. Not again.

I slow my pace, just enough to drive her mad, and she whimpers, her body trembling. "Please," she begs, and I kiss, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Come with me, Liora.”

She moans, nodding, and I finally give in, my hand reaching around to stroke her clit in time with my thrusts. It doesn’t take long. She screams as she comes again, her pussy clamping down on me, and I follow her over the edge, my cock pulsing as I fill her.

When it’s over, she collapses beneath me, breathless and spent. I pull her close, my lips brushing her ear once more.

“I love you,” I say.

She gazes at me, full of devotion and love I can’t possibly comprehend. My heart aches for what Liora did for me.

I make her mine, over and over again, until the only name she can remember is mine.

Until the past doesn’t matter. Until there is no Amara, no artifact, no prophecy or war—just Liora and me.

She is here.

She is alive.

I will never let her go.

52

LIORA

My life has changed, my whole world.

Not in the way the universe shifts when war ends, or when rulers fall, or when new gods rise. No, this change is quieter, softer, a shift measured in breaths, in touches, in the way Dain and I wake up wrapped around each other with no enemies left to fight.

Two weeks have passed since we burned everything down and built something new from the ashes.

Our home is deep in the forest, nestled between the bones of an ancient ruin overtaken by nature. Towering trees weave a protective canopy overhead, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The walls of our home are stone, reinforced with wood Dain cut himself, shaped by his claws, his strength. I wove magic through the foundation, not as a weapon, but as protection, a warding spell to keep us hidden from those who would call us abominations.

A Purna and a Gargoyle.

Neither of us belong to our people anymore. Neither of us care.

I step outside onto the worn wooden steps, letting the sun bathe my skin in warmth. The scent of damp earth and fresh pine lingers in the air, mingling with the faint, smoky remnants of last night’s fire. Somewhere in the distance, a river rushes over smooth stones, feeding into the small pool we sometimes bathe in together.

My lips curve. That memory is a dangerous one.

I look down at my hands, at the faint glow beneath my skin. My magic no longer feels like a cage, no longer sings with the voices of the past. The artifact is gone, its grip severed. I am free.

A rustle of wings, a shift in the wind.

He’s there.

Dain lands beside me, his massive wings stirring the dust, his presence an anchor, a force, something I could never outrun even if I tried.

I never want to again.

His golden eyes lock onto me, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing me all over again. He does that often, just stares, as if he’s trying to make sense of the fact that we survived, that we’re here, that we aren’t fighting anymore.

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