Page 48 of Demon Sworn
My reaction to his confession is cut off when he yanks at my shirt, hard. The material presses down on my nipples as it stretches tight across my breasts. A second yank, and it breaks, buttons scattering, leaving me heaving as Akor slides a hand under my back and lifts me from the mattress so that he can shuck my shirt.
I expect him to return to the wild frantic make-out session we’ve been having, but he changes the pace. He gently removes my bra, dragging his fingers slowly and leaving me aching with want.
My pain demon skims his lips gently over my jaw before laying me back down. The satin texture of his sheets caresses my neck luxuriously, contrasting with the rougher skin of Akor’s weapon calloused fingertips as he drags one of his hands from my navel up to my left breast. His touch skids along like a boat riding a wave, and every nerve ending inside me sloshes anxiously.
I’m ready. I want more. But he’s the one who needs this, so we’ll take this at his pace. Or so I tell myself. My clit gives a whine of protest when Akor sits back up.
My breath quickens, and I stare at him as he studies my nipples, fingers gently circling them like sharks. He rubs them slowly until they’re hard and aching, and I have to fist the sheets to stop myself from trying to get him to do more.
I focus on how he looks instead of how he makes me feel, dragging my eyes over his torso. Goddamn, he’s fucking hot. Every pale inch of Akor’s skin is finely muscled, and I can’t help but drag my teeth across my lower lip. If he were human, he’d look like a rock star. Hell, he’d probably be one. He’s got that narrow waist, that deep V near his hips, abs that are only enhanced by the little happy trail of hair that leads my gaze down to where his bulge presses against my apex.
He gently rolls a nipple between two of his fingers, and heat pools between my thighs, and my teeth crash down harder, punishing my lower lip.
I’m splayed out underneath Akor, subject to his every whim in a way that I like, as he starts to gently rub his growing bulge against me. He plays with my nipples more, pinching them lightly as his pants ruck up my skirt a tiny bit farther with each thrust. I’ve never been more conscious of my hemline or hated it more as it drags across my thighs.
I try to be patient for him, to give Akor the control and through that control, reassurance that I won’t leave him, but it’s hard when sparks start to shoot up my spine and my toes start to curl inside my socks and my solitary Mary Jane.
His thick cock slides just right against me, making my panties rub deliciously over my core, and I can’t hold in a gasp. He capitalizes on it, pinching both my nipples and rocking faster.
He leans close and asks in a tight, strained voice, “Cherry, stroke my horns?” It comes out as a question.
I nod.
I reach up as his pure white horns erupt from his forehead, twisted and staggered like deer antlers. I close my hand gently around the tip of one and stroke it, and immediately, Akor’s expression relaxes and his eyes slowly close, though he keeps his rhythm steady
“Cherry, say you love me?”
I grip his horns harder and lean up close to his face until my breath mingles with his. “I fucking love you, Akor. Forever.” Then I smash my mouth to his and tighten my grip around his horn, stroking even faster and applying more pressure. He bucks against me, and we dry hump faster, harder, the friction building to a delicious culmination.
I cry out and arch up against him, plunging into a place where pleasure overtakes everything else. He slows his pace after, his touch softening as he draws out my pleasure but tries not to overstimulate my still sizzling nerves.
When my limbs go limp after the aftershocks fade, he pulls back and then lifts my hips, unbuttoning my skirt and sliding it and my panties off in one smooth motion.
I’m still incapable of movement, utterly languid and relaxed, when he climbs off the bed and shucks his shoes and pants. His dick is hard, and I can see a bit of pre-cum glistening on the tip from our foreplay. After tasting Raz, I can’t help but wonder if Akor tastes different.
My tongue traces my lips in anticipation. I can’t wait to find out. I expect Akor to climb back onto the bed immediately, but he doesn’t. I watch in interest as he bends and grabs his ripped shirt up off the floor before coming back to me.
“Trust me?”
“Only if you trust me enough to tell me,” I respond, but softly, because I know he needs to get whatever is bothering him off his chest.
My pain demon’s eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare. “I’m not letting you go. Even if you hate me.”
I reach for his shoulders and pull him all the way onto the bed so that he hovers over me, propped up by his elbows. “I think you have it backwards, Akor. I’m not letting you go.”
He lines himself up with my entrance but doesn’t push in. He just teases me, his dark gaze roaming over my face as he makes his decision. I can see the moment he does, because his gaze gets a little wild and reckless, like the day he dragged me out to skydive.
But instead of talking, Akor lifts my neck slightly and slides his T-shirt gently behind it, before taking both the ripped ends in one hand and gently pulling me up toward his mouth. The shirt constricts slightly around my neck in a way that makes both my panic and my arousal flare, but Akor doesn’t pull any tighter, just enough to control me and lift my head so he can bite my lips, hard. The control and tiny edge of fear—not true fear of him, just fear generated by the shirt itself—sends me into another plane. My entire body hums.
Since Akor has such ultimate control over me with that binding around my neck, I reach up and wrap both hands around the base of his horns, wrestling some of that control back. His eyes widen for a second before he plunges his throbbing dick into me.
And as he slides inside, his confession slips out. “I killed my entire family. Tortured them. And I’d do it again, Cherry.” His words come out as he thrusts into me.
I’m stunned. Of all the things in the universe, that was not what I expected. My Akor? My poor Akor had to do something like that?
“But you won’t hate me. I won’t let you leave me.” His hand tightens on the T-shirt for a millisecond, emphasizing his point.
I tighten my grip on his horns, stroking them harder as I ask, “Why?”
