Through Flame and Blade

Ch. 33 Demon, Enemy, Monster

*Logan

It was kiss like none he'd ever had as a demon—not simply born of lust and base desire, but one that cut to the soul he was sure he didn't have. Cracks formed in his chest, filling with the light she poured into him.

She still tasted of rum, but it was distant, like a fine spice to her angelic freshness. She was the mountain stream to the smoldering fire pit that ate at him endlessly. He drank her in. He would drown in her if he could. He would smash himself on the rocks at her feet and let her piece him back together to her liking.

He would fight all of Hell to free her.

But he was a demon, hatred sustained him and he did not give himself to be broken and changed by the enemy.

"Chiara, stop," he whispered.

She drew back. "Let me show you how I feel after all these months in the dungeons together. I know we are enemies, that this can never be, but let me have this one time with you without the halls dictating my feelings."

By the Sleeping Kings of Hell and Heaven.

Every image he had of her on the walls, in the darkness of the dungeon's night, her pain, her fear, her fierce, unending courage against the demons who tortured her body and mind, came rushing back to him. Everything he felt then about her—the overwhelming possessive need to have her—returned and unraveled his will to resist.

After all, he was a demon with all the insatiable desires of one. His cock was already stiffening at the thought of burying it in her sweet, hot pussy.

"Then show me," he whispered, grabbing her around the waist. He pulled her close. Their foreheads touched and breaths mingled. She dug her fingers in his shoulders, close to drawing blood with her nails. Desire, anger, or need? He didn't know. It hurt. He wanted more.

He lifted her up. He pulled off his spare clothing and scraps of armor while she ripped her wrapped toga and tiny shirt over her head, sending jewels and gold coins spraying to the floor in a tinkling clatter.

Their lips met and tongues tangled. She bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He fucking loved it. On a sharp inhale, he pressed her to the wall, anticipation of what was to come bringing water to his mouth.

"No, not the wall," she gasped. Her nails dug in deeper, setting off sparks of thrilling desire in his gut. "I want to ride you this time."

Who was he to argue?

They tumbled to the floor and the crown he had taken from Greed and promptly forgotten fell off his head. He scraped the floor clear of sharp objects.

"Not yet, love. You first." He pushed her down. Beneath her, her wings opened slightly, providing the cushion she was going to need if he had anything to say about it. Grey feathers were barely visible even to his eye in the darkness, but they created an shimmering frame to her long, pale limbs, the alluring curves of her hips, waist and breasts, and her dark hair that spilled to the side. By the all the fires in hell, she was magnificent. She reached upwards blindly for him.

"Spread your legs for me," he ordered.

She paused.

"Spread your legs for me." It was not a request.

Leaning back, she slid her feet along the floor until, knees bent and sex exposed, she said, "Whatever you do to me, I will make you pay ten-fold."

He chuckled. He could only hope to get that lucky, because he was going to make her beg for the ride she wanted from him.

He scooped his hands under her perfectly rounded ass and lifted as a demon lord lifts a chalice of nectar. He nuzzled his way slowly up her thigh, dragging his scruffy cheek on her smooth, sensitive skin just to feel her jolt and squirm, kissing lightly, nipping harder, drawing her out of her silent, walled warrior shell.