Page 35 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

She'd bolt from the room if she saw the straps on the side of the bed, the leather cuffs and chains, the whip and flogger resting on a table nearby. For now, these things remain hidden from her view.

When she turns to me, I'm enraptured by her beauty. Her curves are perfect, enveloped in Aggonid’s shadows, and her eyes are wide with an innocence I want to consume. Like a fresh daisy resting high upon a hilltop, ready to be plucked and admired.

Morte tugs at her top made of shadows, shifting on her feet. “I don’t have pajamas,” she whispers.

Oh, this sweet little bird.In a single motion, I brush the hair away from her eyes, like scarlet satin contrasting with the roughness of my fingertips. “We don’t wear those here.”

Leaning in closer, I can smell her fear, and it only makes my need for her sharper. I clasp my hands around her waist, sliding them over her hips, caressing her curves.

“Then what do we wear?” Her voice trembles slightly, her breath coming faster by the second.

I want to answer that she will wear my marks on her body, but the words form a knot in my throat. “Nothing.” I step back, reaching behind me to pull my shirt over my head.

She swallows, eyes trained on my hips, and where they dip below my waistband. With one hand, I undo the buckle on my belt, then tug it free of my pants. She watches, transfixed as I unbutton them, and drag down the zipper with agonizing slowness.

Aggonid’s form presses behind me, enveloping me in a sea of heat and seduction. His fingertips trace the soft dip of my shoulder blades, right where my wings sit when I have them out. They trail down to my hips, before circling towards the front to tug my pants off.

Morte stares, entranced, her breath caught in her chest. Her throat bobs as my desire springs free, and her own blooms in response; her eyes take on a glazed quality, and her heat perfumes the air.

“This is how we dress.” My voice is a purr as I tilt my head, allowing Aggonid access to my neck. His teeth graze my skin as his hands move around my waist, pulling me tight against him. “Do you like it?” I whisper.

She swallows, her cheeks a bright pink. “Yes,” she breathes.

My hand follows the curve of my thigh before I grasp my cock, giving it a firm stroke as the rings clink together at the base.

“Get undressed,” I breathe, the tension draining out of me with each pull.

With achingly slow movements, she wrenches her shirt off, allowing Aggonid’s shadows to fall away and revealing the smooth contours of her flesh.

Morte's nipples are tight and hard, pale skin dusted with a faint blush. My breath catches as her skirt follows, and my gaze is drawn to the graceful line of her hips, down to the creamy skin at the juncture of her thighs. Nestled between them is a small patch of hair. I'd love to spend hours worshipping her with my tongue, drinking in her arousal. It's all I can think about as the fire in my veins ignites while I marvel at the sight before me. She’s a vision; a stunningly beautiful creature I can't wait to get my mouth on. But there will be time for that later.

"Come here," I growl, my voice thick with need.

She remains frozen, transfixed on the movement of my hand.

"She's no phoenix, Caius, she's just a chicken." Aggonid chuckles in my ear. "And chickens can peck in their own yard."

He drags me over to the bed, tossing me onto the mattress. Gaze heavy, he tackles me and rolls me over, pinning me down with one hand on either side of my head. His face is inches from my own, his breath fanning across my skin.

"And this is my yard," he growls.

My eyes remain trained on Morte, who stands sentinel at the side of the bed while Aggonid sucks on my neck. Desire has me trembling even as my body relaxes beneath his hold. He takes his time, exploring my bulk with his tongue and teeth.

I reach a hand toward Morte, begging her to join us. As soon as her palm touches mine, a knock sounds at the door, and she yanks it back.

* * *

Morte

What the fuckwas I thinking, about to join the devil in his bed? I take several steps back, plastering myself to the wall opposite them, clutching it as though it can keep me from doing something stupid. Like beg them to let me join.

I love Wilder. I may never have sex with him, especially seeing how he’s probably found his anchor—I never did find out what he was trying to tell me before the hydra came—but shame and guilt still war with my lust for these strangers I feel a strange pull to.

Aggonid rumbles in warning, yet he flops onto his haunches and bellows for whoever is outside the door to enter. Before I can even make an attempt at covering myself, the knob twists and the door creaks ajar, allowing a flood of light to engulf the room, fully revealing me in a twisted heap on the floor trying to collect Caius’ shirt to steal. Though it's too dark to make out their exact features—not that I recognize anyone around here anyway—I can tell by their large stature that this figure is a male.

He glances at the bed, candlelight flickering over his face like liquid silver, and I suck in a breath, immobile to the spot. He whips his head in my direction, and then his eyes trail back to the bed for a moment before settling back on me. Fire licks around his pupils, sending my heart into a frenzy.

Azazel.

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