Page 43 of The River of Hatred

“No, no, no,” I chant, my hands clenching reflexively on Jessica’s slim waistline, stopping her movements.

“Oh, Itha, you feel so good,” Jessica moans, wrapping her arms around my neck and bringing her forehead to mine. “I wanted this for weeks, more and more every day. You’re so handsome, and kind, and smart, and brave. I… I love you,” she whispers against my lips.

Tears glide down my cheeks and Jessica kisses them away one by one. Behind her, Sariel is frozen still, his mouth open at Jessica’s declaration. My hands open and close as I feel the last of my reluctance leave me in a painful schism, before I firmly grab her ass and jerk her against me, tipping my hips up at the same time, seating myself inside her to the hilt.

“Take your pleasure, sweetheart,” I whisper to her. “I want to make you feel good.”

She peppers my face with kisses, murmuring her thanks against my skin and we burst into motion again, Jessica frantically seeking her climax, Sariel’s arm pumping himself behind her as the other massages her swinging breasts, and me bucking my hips up to hit deep inside her.

The girl repeats the shortened version of my name like a prayer as her eyes roll back and her mouth drops open. Her head leans back against Sariel’s shoulder as she lets out a guttural shriek, her flesh squeezing and releasing mine rhythmically with her orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Sariel gasps, leaning in so Jessica splays over my chest, his face inches from mine. “Don’t stop fucking her.”

I frown at his crude words but my hips obey, still pressing my engorged member into the trembling mortal. Sariel’s free arm grabs the back of my head. “Come with me,” he snarls. I shake my head. “Yes, Itha, come with me,” he repeats. “Please, I’ve been dreaming about this for fifteen hundred years. Dreaming of making you feel good like this.”

My mouth falls open as my breath catches in my throat. I feel every inch of my body tingle with heat.

“Ah!” I shout, just as my manhood explodes with pleasure, every muscle in my body freezing. The exhausted girl between us moans weakly as she feels my spend hitting her sensitive channel, and Sariel roars at the skies, the tendons on his neck bulging as something wet and warm splashes on my legs. It’s his seed, marking Jessica’s flesh, marking mine, marking us as his. His to debauch, his to corrupt.

His to own.

Chapter 21 – Sariel

The Malebolge: The Trench of Sowers of Discord

Idid it. I made the angel forsake his life and fall from grace. I took my revenge in the sweetest possible way, free to finish what I started and twist the knife as he comes to the realization that he will no longer be welcome in Heaven.

So why does the lifeless expression on his face twist the knife in me instead? Why is the hopeless look in his eyes more painful than those years of being the demons’ toy until Ash took me in and gave me the confidence to walk in Hell not as a pawn, but a ruler?

I see him trying to avoid hurting the girl’s feelings by giving her the cold shoulder. At first, they walked hand-in-hand, but at a distance. Now, their bodies touch with each step, like they can’t get enough of the contact. She clings to his side, gazing up at him with a lovestruck expression, just a bit too delulu with the post-orgasm glow to see the male is in a crisis.

Thankfully, the appearance of severed limbs and strewed body parts gives me the excuse I need to stop thinking about this shit. Two sinners shuffle past, one holding his severed head in his fingerless hands, the other missing her arms altogether and Jess cringes back to collide with me.

I gently grab her trembling shoulders. Sometimes I forget there are still occupants of Hell who are unused to such macabre scenes. “Wanna hop on and ride me?” I ask in a whisper. She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow and I expel a huffed laugh. “On my back, poppet, not my dick.”

With a roll of her blue eyes, she nods and gestures for me to lean down. Itha’s just standing there, looking awkward as fuck, his eyes bouncing between the two lovers he just fucked and the two dismembered sinners, obviously not knowing which sight he prefers less.

Once Jess is secured, I slap his back and take the lead. “Come on, Starlight, let’s get out of this shithole.”

An hour later, my pants and boots are smeared with gore knee-high, Jess threatens to puke on me for the fiftieth time, and Ithuriel studiously avoids acknowledging that he just stepped in a pile of entrails.

“Who’s that huge demon up ahead?” Jess asks over the squelch of Itha’s foot dislodging from the trap of guts.

I don’t have to look to know who she means. “He has no known name,” I tell her. “He doesn’t speak, just acts as the bolgia’s executioner, cutting these sinners.”

Itha takes over. “Tearing them apart as they tore apart families, countries, religions.”

He speaks.

Inwardly rolling my eyes, I steady the angel before he falls face-first into a puddle of blood. Okay, he’s way too graceful to fall, I just wanted an excuse to touch him. I had my hand on his dick for all of five seconds and I can still feel its imprint on my skin, still want it inside me like it was inside of Jessica, pumping out its first load. I normally prefer to top, but for this angel, I’d bend over right here in this abattoir.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch away and his gloved hand grazes mine. That simple touch is enough to have precum spurt into my pants.Fuck, I’m pathetic.

Angry at myself, I stride forward with Jess still clinging to my back, ignoring the demon in the center of the trench. His ochre skin stretches over a brutally muscled frame, the heavy weight of his enormous cock swinging between his legs with every strike of his gargantuan sword.

I know when the Nephilim notices the gigantic appendage as her breath catches in her throat on a gasp. “Holy mother of sausages,” she whispers in my ear.

I cackle. “I bet size suddenlydoesmatter, eh poppet?”

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