Page 70 of Bargain with the Demon King
We make inhuman sounds—his growls vibrating through me where we're joined, my cries pitched high and feral. The wet sounds of bodies moving through gore create obscene rhythm. The corpses watch with dead eyes.
His beast form dwarfs me completely. One clawed hand spans from hip to ribs. When he lifts my hips for a new angle, I'm reminded of the size difference, but the bond makes it work. My body rewrites its limits, taking what shouldn't fit.
"More. I'm not fragile anymore. You made sure of that."
Control breaks. His true beast emerges—the thing leashed for centuries. His cock swells further, and my body adapts. His claws leave marks that heal instantly. My teeth puncture his throat, and his black blood fills my mouth—power and eternity and home.
The throne cracks from the force. Obsidian older than memory splits. Through our connection, I feel his pleasure at being inside me layered with mine at taking him, everything amplified. His emotions crash through—possessive fury, desperate need, and underneath, devastating love. The kind that burns cities.
"Is this what you wanted when you invaded my dreams?"
"Wanted you desperate. Wanted you to choose me. Wanted you to forget—"
"Don't say his name. Not while you're inside me."
The pace turns punishing. My back scrapes stone through mixed blood. Each thrust drives me across the floor, painting me in death. The soul-stones pulse frantically, feeding on our primal energy, growing brighter.
Through the bond, I feel his climax building—not just physical but complete. The truth undoes him: I chose him while free.
"Adraya—"
"Now. With me."
We come apart together. The orgasm rips through me, through him, through the web binding us. I feel myself around him while feeling him inside me, the double sensation creating loops that erase thought. Our marks blaze white-hot. The soul-stones scream. The throne collapses. For a moment, I exist in two bodies before crashing back into my own transformed flesh.
We collapse into cooling gore, still joined, shaking. His beast form recedes gradually, leaving him more man than monster but never fully human. My fingers trace his burning tree mark, feel it pulse with shared life.
"They'll all fear us now."
"Good. Let them fear what happens when someone touches you."
Footsteps echo beyond the ruined doors—many feet, frightened whispers, fabric against stone. The servants approach, drawn by silence after violence.
"Company. Should we be dignified?"
"We're covered in gore, joined on my ruined throne, surrounded by creative corpse arrangements. Too late for dignity."
"Our throne." I raise my voice to carry. "If you're coming to gawk, come properly. Your Queen requires witnesses."
The footsteps freeze. Then slow approach.
I push myself up, still straddling him, still connected. The movement makes us both gasp. When the first servant appears—young, demon, trembling—I meet her eyes without shame.
"Kneel."
She drops. Others crowd behind her, falling like dominoes—demons who've served for centuries, ancient creatures who've never bent to anything but power. They kneelto me, painted in blood and crowned with nothing but Azzaron's claim.
"Your Queen lives. Your King chose. Any who challenge that choice will decorate these walls."
"My Queen." They speak together, and the title becomes truth.
I stand slowly, Azzaron's hands steadying me. Crimson runs down my thighs—his seed, my blood, their gore mixed into war paint. I walk to the throne's ruins, each step deliberate. The obsidian has cracked into a rough seat. I settle into it, naked and blood-drenched.
Azzaron rises, magnificent in gore-painted skin, and moves toward me. He stands beside the makeshift throne, one hand on my shoulder. Not above. Not below. Beside.
"Your King and Queen. Equal or nothing."
"Equal." I lace our fingers together, his claws careful against my skin.
