Page 14 of His Infernal Purr
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, reaching out tentatively. “Can I touch them? Your wings?”
I extend one wing forward in silent permission. His fingers make contact with the leathery surface, tracing one of the prominent veins with gentle curiosity. The sensation is shockingly intimate—wings are sensitive appendages rarely touched by others.
“They’re warm,” he observes, continuing his exploration. “And softer than they look.”
His touch sends currents of pleasure through me, and I can’t suppress a low rumble of appreciation that seems to emanate from deep in my chest.
“Did you just… purr?” Finn asks with a grin.
“Absolutely not,” I growl, embarrassed. “That was a… demonic expression of approval.”
“Uh-huh. Sounded like a purr to me.” His grin widens. “Some things never change, cat or demon.”
To silence his teasing, I pull him against me and capture his mouth in a fierce kiss. He responds immediately, arms wrapping around my neck, body pressing against mine. The sensation of his warm skin against my cooler demonic form is electrifying.
We move to the bed, my wings carefully folding to accommodate the space. I lay him down with deliberate gentleness, hovering above him to admire the sight—his flushed skin, tousled hair, the rise and fall of his chest.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complains, reaching for my partially unbuttoned shirt.
I smile, finishing what he started, unbuttoning the shirt completely and shrugging it off. His eyes roam appreciatively over my exposed torso, taking in the obsidian skin that seems to absorb light, the subtle patterns etched into it like ancient runes.
“Definitely not a normal human,” he murmurs, reaching up to trace one of the patterns on my chest. “Definitely not complaining.”
I bend to kiss him again, deeper this time, more demanding. His hands explore my back, carefully avoiding the sensitive wing joints, while mine work at the fastenings of his pants. When my fingers brush against the obvious hardness beneath the fabric, he gasps into my mouth.
“Too fast?” I ask, pausing.
“No,” he breathes. “Not fast enough.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I help him out of his remaining clothes, then remove my own, until we’re both naked on the bed, skin against skin, nothing between us.
I take my time exploring his body, mapping every inch with hands and mouth. I discover the sensitive spot behind his ear that makes him shiver, the ticklish area along his ribs, the way his breath catches when I kiss the inside of his wrist. Each reaction is catalogued, each sound of pleasure committed to memory.
When I finally take him in my mouth, he arches off the bed with a sharp cry, fingers tangling in my hair, careful even in his pleasure to avoid my horns.
“Morax,” he gasps, “that’s—oh god—”
I hum in satisfaction, the vibration making him moan louder. His responses are intoxicating—unguarded, honest, beautiful in their intensity. I could spend eternity learning the language of his pleasure.
I want to make him feel things he’s never felt before.
Using a small fraction of my demonic abilities, I enhance the sensation, creating a gentle heat and tingling vibration that has him writhing beneath me, incoherent pleas falling from his lips.
“Please,” he manages, tugging at my shoulders. “I want—I need—”
I release him, moving back up his body to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss. “What do you need?” I murmur against his lips.
“You,” he says simply. “Inside me. Please.”
The raw need in his voice nearly undoes me. “Are you certain?”
“Very certain,” he nods, reaching for his bedside drawer. “There’s, um, supplies in here.”
I retrieve what we need, preparing him with careful thoroughness despite my growing urgency. His body responds beautifully to my touch, opening for me, welcoming me.
When I finally push inside him, the sensation is overwhelming—tight heat enveloping me, his face transformed with pleasure, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper.
“Oh,” he breathes, eyes wide. “That’s… wow.”
