Page 25 of Bargain with the Demon King
We reach his seat—an elaborate chair that's almost a throne. He settles into it with that inhuman grace, then pulls me onto his lap. Not beside him. On him. My ass presses against his thighs, and I feel the solid strength of him, the way his muscles shift to accommodate my weight. His arm locks around my waist, holding me in place.
"Perfect," he murmurs against my ear, loud enough for nearby demons to hear. His breath makes me shiver. "Exactly where you belong."
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, playing the part of someone lost in devotion. His hand splays across my stomach, fingers spanning from hip to hip, claws careful against the sheer fabric. This close, his scent fills every breath—smoke and metal and dark spice that makes my head swim. Chad smells like cheap soap and anxiety. Azzaron smells like power and barely leashed violence.
Conversation resumes around us, but I catch the whispers, the shocked undertones.
"Never before has he kept a mortal—" says a demoness with ram's horns, her voice pitched to carry.
"—brought her into the fortress itself—" agrees her companion, a thin demon whose skin shifts between colors.
"—the first in our history—" This from Lord Raziel, still bearing claw marks from his last encounter with Azzaron.
"—must be exceptional in bed—" suggests someone with a crude laugh.
"—or exceptionally stupid—" another counters.
The weight of it settles heavy. I'm not just another human toy. I'm an anomaly. The first mortal the Demon King has ever kept close. The scandal of it ripples through the room, and I feel every eye measuring me, wondering what I did to earn this position.
"Wine?" Azzaron offers me his goblet, black liquid that smells sweet and poisonous.
I take it, letting him guide it to my lips, playing the part of someone who needs his hand to steady the cup. The wine burns going down—not heat but cold, spreading through my throat into my chest. My head goes light immediately, edges of vision sparkling.
"Careful," he says, amused. "Demon wine affects mortals differently."
"Now you tell me." But I keep my voice soft, drowsy, the way someone enchanted might speak. "Though it's actually nice. Like drinking starlight. If starlight was trying to get you drunk."
Food appears—meat that bleeds purple and tastes of iron and honey, fruits that glow faintly and burst with flavors that don't exist in the mortal realm, bread that steams without warmth and melts on my tongue. Azzaron feeds me by hand, selecting pieces and bringing them to my mouth. The intimacy of it makes my skin hypersensitive. Each time his fingers brush my lips, the demons watch. Judge. Calculate whether I'm truly his or just playing.
"Open," he commands, holding a piece of strange fruit to my lips.
I obey, taking it from his fingers, and his thumb drags across my bottom lip as he withdraws. The fruit bursts on my tongue—sweet and tart and slightly electric, making my mouth tingle. I make a soft sound of surprise that's only half-performed.
"She responds beautifully," comments a demon with antlers, lounging across the table. His name is Lord Vex, if I remember correctly, and his smile shows too many teeth. "Is she always so... eager?"
"Always," Azzaron confirms, his hand sliding from my stomach to my thigh. The muscles in my leg lock at the contact. "Desperate for any attention I give her."
Heat floods my face, but I force myself to press closer to him, to sigh as if his touch is everything I want. His fingers trace patterns on my thigh through the sheer fabric, each pass slightly higher, and my body starts responding without my permission. My spine arches slightly, pushing my breast against his chest.
"How did you train her so quickly?" Another demon asks—Lady Morinth, whose collection of human pets is legendary. "Most mortals take weeks to break properly. I had one who took a full month before she'd stop crying."
"She came to me already half-broken." His voice carries dark amusement that doesn't reach his eyes. "Sold her soul for love. When she realized what she'd lost, she latched onto the nearest power. Mortals are predictable that way."
The words sting even though I know it's performance. I hide my face against his neck, letting them think it's devotion rather than hurt. His pulse beats steady under my lips, and I feel him tense slightly when my breath ghosts across his skin.
"Still," Lord Vex continues, eyes glittering with malice, "keeping her in your chambers? That's unprecedented. Usually you don't even remember their names."
"She amuses me." Azzaron's hand slides higher on my thigh, fingers now tracing the edge where solid fabric barely covers my sex. My whole body goes rigid, then forcibly relaxes. "Her desperate need for approval, the way she clings to any kindness. It's entertaining."
"And when you tire of her?" Lady Morinth asks, already calculating how to acquire me.
"Then she'll serve another purpose." His fingers press slightly, and I gasp—genuinely—at the contact. Every nerve between my legs awakens. "But for now, she's exactly where I want her."
To prove his point, his hand moves with deliberate intent. His thumb finds the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, tracing small circles that make my breath stutter. The room watches, fascinated by the display, and I know I need to sell this completely. Chad would die of embarrassment if I even kissed him deeply in public. Here, I'm about to—
His other hand comes up to cup my breast through the solid panel, thumb brushing over my nipple, and the dual sensation makes me squirm. The demons laugh, making crude comments about mortal sensitivity.
"Like playing an instrument," Lord Vex observes, raising his goblet in mock toast. "What sounds will she make, I wonder?"
