Page 80 of Infernal Bindings

But I can’t.

Slowly, his tail slinks between us, the tip of it opening up the way the incubus’s in the elevator had. As it winds around my breast, sharp teeth latch down on my nipple, and a wet tongue licks at it. So good. When Daemon’s cock nuzzles against me again, I don’t fight it—too lost in the licking-sucking-nipping sensation. Fire burns through me, the sheer size of him enough to steal my breath. It feels so fucking wrong having anything buried there.

Inch by inch he fills me until both cocks are seated to the hilt once more. The stretch brings water to my eyes—like I’m being split in half. Again, Daemon tries to give me time to adjust, and again, Salios doesn’t allow it. “Move. Now.”

He does.

At first, it stings. Pain is the only thing I can feel. But eventually, my body adjusts, and then the pleasure builds.

“I can’t— Fuck.” Daemon clenches his teeth, his cocks pulsing inside me with each thrust, the grooves hitting up against the thin wall separating both holes. My eyes roll to the back of my skull as his movements quicken, and I cross my ankles behind his back once more. “So close,” Daemon says.

Sweat beads his brow. His face is strained with concentration.

The gag muffles my moan. I’ve never been so full in my entire life, and it pushes me to the edge too. I rock my hips in tandem with his, thrusting up to meet him, desperate for more friction despite the demons that are watching us. My clit grinds against his pelvis and between the gag in my mouth, the tongue at my nipple, the cocks spearing me from both holes, I lose it at the same time Daemon does.

He roars his release, spilling himself inside me until I’m thoroughly stuffed and leaking. I hump him through my own orgasm like a wild animal, my brain turning to mush as I come and come and come, and don’t stop coming.

I can feel the energy draining from me to him, can feel the exhaustion settle into every fiber of my being. And yet, I can’t stop.

Behind Daemon, the golden sand in the hourglass has nearly run out, but I’m going to die before it does. Both Daemon and I must realize it at the same time.

Eyes wide, he grinds his teeth together. “No. You can’t have her.”

An agonized scream fills the air. Daemon’s body twists as he slips out of me and rolls away. Too lost in bliss—still orgasming—I don’t realize why until I fall through darkness. A mattress bounces beneath me—not the golden one, but the familiar red one in Daemon’s bedroom. Separated from him, the pleasure ebbs, and I find myself able to breathe once more.

I’m sore and aching. But I’m also alive.

Salios’s voice echoes in my skull, a low, angry hiss. “Cheater.”

Then, my heavy eyelids fall shut.

17 MONTHS LATER…

38

UNEXPECTED VISITOR

Morning sunlight streams through the windows in Christopher’s condo, casting dozens of moving boxes in radiant gold. I tiptoe around them, tossing a stray couch pillow into the brown packing box labeled “living room.” Stuffed to the brim, I have to shove down on the fluffy white monstrosity to make it fit. When I’m finished, I grab a roll of packing tape off the floor and close it off, grinning when the cardboard doesn’t rip open or the contents spill free.

“All finished,” I call out.

Hands on my hips, sweat dripping down my brow, I stare at the packed-up living room—my home for the past seventeen months. Fuck, I’m going to miss it. No longer are the walls white, but blue and gray. A backdrop of stony tiles that Christopher and I installed by hand outline the kitchen cabinets. Paintings hang from the walls—ones we’ve decided to leave behind for whoever’s purchased it, because damn, they really make the space feel homey.

Sighing, I stare at the paintings that are nothing like the ones in the rotunda or at Minerva’s place. They’re modern and abstract, and the kind of thing only Christopher could love, but have somehow grown on me. Neither Christopher nor I have space for them, but it’s an unfortunate loss. I’d like to think the new owners will leave them up, though.

Dressed in blue jeans and a baggy white t-shirt, Christopher pads out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. Long blond curls drape over his face, and his five o’clock shadow is about five days old now. Yawning, he goes into the kitchen, opens the cabinet, and groans once he realizes the kettle is already packed up. “How early did you start working on this?” he grumbles.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “Sorry about the tea.”

He frowns at me and I snort. When he opens the refrigerator and finds the cold tea I remembered to brew last night, I smile at the same time as him. “I know you like the warm stuff better, but the movers are due to come…” I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out my cell phone, checking the time. “In twelve minutes. You used to be really good about punctuality,” I tease.

“I used to be an elder,” he says plainly. “But I’m much happier now.”

And he looks it.

No longer does he stand with rigid posture or dress in stuffy suits. The man is walking around barefoot, for Christ’s sake. Part of me still feels guilty, though, and I probably always will. “I’m a little nervous about leaving,” I admit. “I was just starting to like it here.”

“You’ll like Maine too,” he assures me. “The coast is beautiful.”