A Victorian Demon’s Guide to London, Love, and Being a Hero (Time for Monsters)

Jack and Polly

Her little whimpers and winces whet my appetite like nothing else. As I collapse into the chair, claws digging into her soft white thighs, I want to bite. I want to rip the tiny bit of padding from her lean legs and devour her.

But there’s a sweeter, darker scent that calls me to burrow deeper, folding back the skirt of her dress until it's bundled over her waist, revealing a threadbare bit of cotton between her legs.

“Mr. Springton—”

“Jack. I want that to be the name you call when I dine on you,” I hiss, dragging the tips of my sharp claws down the unmarked white of her legs, making pretty pink trails. A fraction deeper, and blood would well to the surface. I pause, ready to pierce.

No. I won’t do that to her. Not yet. I want her to enjoy this. To enjoy me as I’m about to enjoy her, so that she’ll let me do it again and again and again. A swipe with a single finger reveals coarse brown-blonde curls and plump pale lips that press together, unopened. A perfect crease, like the folds of flower petals.

My hand traces over her stomach, and I feel her shivering. “No one has tasted you?”

Polly shakes her head. “What will happen after you do this?” she whispers.

“What do you think will happen?” I ask. I could tell her . I will sate myself in your flavors, dine on your cooking, and still hunt at night, taking particular pleasure in killing and devouring those who remind me of Bunson.

For the first time, my appetite withers at the thought of human flesh, but the thought of the kill, of removing other beasts who prey upon the Pollys of this world... That makes me lick my teeth, such human-looking teeth with deceptively sharp points waiting to rip and tear.

Polly is mine. Belongs to me. My grip is tight, bruising as I seethe, thinking of others touching my prey.

I’d forgotten I asked Polly a question, so lost am I in my thoughts—until I can feel the vibrations of her skin through my palm as she speaks.

“You’ll tell me to go. But you’ll give me a reference?” her voice trembles.

A sound I loved—and now suddenly hate. That’s not my Polly. Not the one who tried to free herself, who ran and fought that bullying bastard, Bunson. There must be a reason she lets me touch her now. She didn’t the first night.

My touch gentles. Smooths. Her skin is a luxury under my hand, so fine and soft here between her legs. “Tomorrow, we shall spoil you with all the frocks and fripperies in Christendom. You will cook and clean. I will... have business to attend to in the city in the evening. If I please you as you please me, then tomorrow night, you will ask me to do this again. To do this, and more.”

Her fists tighten in the fabric of her skirt. She nods, saying nothing.

Frozen little lamb, hoping the wolf isn’t going to snap her tender neck.

I sit down hard, looping my hands around her thighs and yanking her forward. The candelabra tips and only my Flameheel reflexes save Polly from being burned. I snag the offending fixture and blow the candles out in one puff before placing the candelabra on the floor. The only light comes from the low fire in the hearth now, but I can see perfectly. Perhaps it’s just as well that Polly can’t.

“What are you doing?” she yelps when I pull her bottom all the way to the edge of the table and bite down softly on her thigh.

“Something you’ll like.”

HIS FINGERS ARE PARTING my cunny, and fear flies through me, chased by pleasure. I close my eyes and wait, unsure why I’m not pushing him off.

You’ve seen what he did to Bunson. You’ve felt how strong he is. It’d be useless.

Only... “Stop!” I shout, voice thin and quivering.

He stops, hands falling from me instantly.

I lie there, breathing hard, blushing. I could move. I could kick him squarely in the face.

“Stop? Did I hurt you?” he asks. His hand comes back, soft and featherlight under my navel and above my curls. Fear mixes with heat and a new kind of tension, one that makes me squirm.

“No.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re smarter than most.”

His head bows, and he murmurs the words into my thigh. I feel his lips moving, tongue sliding. Kissing me. Licking me.

“I... I’m not smart. I never had much schooling,” I whisper.

“As if all the knowledge one needs is contained in books. Books can be more trouble than they’re worth. I should know,” he laughs, a dark, wicked sound.

His lips don’t stop, nor do his fingers. They pull and knead the space above my quim while his lips and teeth take turns, first right thigh, then left, then a slow drag across the middle.

I jump when his lips hit something between my legs, a spot that seldom aches, but when it does, I bite my lip, close my eyes, and try to push the hungry thoughts away.

Some girls at Bunson’s have gotten in the family way, and some of the boys at Bunson’s put them there. I heard their squealing and gasping in the storeroom, the giggling and cursing. Slickness filled my knickers when I thought about someone making me moan and gasp like that—and then potatoes needed peeling, and fish needed cleaning, and all thoughts of forbidden pleasure vanished.

Tonight, there is no one here to distract me. Save me. Stop me. Mr. Springton’s lips press against my quim with a satisfied sigh, and then...

The world jumps under my hips. Lightning shoots straight up through me, toes to head. His kisses aren’t just kisses. His mouth opens and sucks, his tongue lashes hungrily, lapping at me like a thirsty animal.

It’s disgusting. It’s dirty.

It’s divine.

A moan escapes me, and I clutch the fabric at my waist as he has his way with me.

SWEET LITTLE FLOWER , so full of delicious hidden nectar. She pours so easily once I begin to split her apart with my tongue, forcing her virgin holes wide open so that I can delve in deep and pull more moans from her.

Between soft curls, she’s pink and mauve, a masterpiece, a confection fit for royal tables.

How sensible you are, Jack, I congratulate myself, to have spared her life so you can eat this meal again and again. “More,” I groan when her thighs slap against my ears, trembling as she tries to stay still.

Silly thing, she needn’t stay still and quiet. “More! Wider,” I command, claws poking against her cunt lips. I run my thumbs down them to feel her shiver before moving to suck on the hard bead of flesh that makes her nectar flow and soak my fingers.

My cock is hard and aching, desperate to plunge into her. My teeth take hold of her bead as I suck, the urge to bite for blood almost overcoming me. In desperation, I drop one hand to my lap, to my trousers, tugging open the flies with a wrench. My suction on her bead slows as I groan in satisfaction when I grip my cock, tugging the long, thick member to relieve the ache Polly creates in me.

“Mr. Springton—”

“Jack!” I snarl.

“Jack. Jaa-aack.” She breathes out my name and I can’t help but rise and tower over her. She doesn’t tense, brave girl, and my lips find her throat. “Oh, Jack,” she murmurs, a hesitant, sighing noise as she rests her jaw against the crown of my head as I lathe my tongue across her throat, wishing I could swallow her sounds.

Standing like this, bent over her with her hips at the edge of the table, I can feel her hot, wet flesh against my cock. I want to plunge in, to make her sloppy with my spendings, and then feast on her again.

But I won’t. I sit back down to force myself to wait. She will ask me to bed her. Breed her. I don’t know if Flameheels can spawn with humans, but I know that I suddenly want to feel her virgin walls grip me as I empty inside of her, cock pressed to her womb.

“You do such things to me,” I groan, shaking my head. “You have no idea what urges you give me.”

“No, I don’t.”

Silence again while I resume my licking and lapping, determined to make her peak but not quite sure how. “How do you pleasure yourself?” I demand harshly, my hand impatiently stroking my cock.

“I never have. It leads to babies and being used by every man who knows you like it,” Polly explains in a reluctant voice.

“I’m the only man who need know, and your secret is safe with me, Polly. And my secrets are safe with you, aren’t they?”

HIS SECRETS. HE KILLED a man. I let him. I said nothing, nor will I.

Jack stands again, kissing my throat, pushing my hand under his until my fingers are down over my matted curls. He’s made me so wet with his tongue and my own juices. My cheeks are on fire to think that his mouth has been there, and the color floods the rest of me as he pushes my fingers down deeper.

“So wet for me. You must like it, Polly. Say you do?” he asks, his face inches from mine, tight with worry.

Funny. I thought when a man had you flat under him, you were powerless. At the moment, I think I could crush him with a shake of my head. Only it would be a lie to say no.

“Did it feel good? Did it feel wonderful?” he persists, his fingers tangling with mine, over me one second, under the next, rubbing through my wetness and finding my pearl. I fight for a moment, hand still against his pushing, but then give in, rubbing myself with him.

“It’s wonderful,” I admit, and God, it is. His fingers are even better than his mouth, bringing a burning ache to the surface.

“I want to make you peak. Pour your juices on me, sweet Polly. Do you know how good you taste?”

“Sir, don’t say—”

“The truth? Oh, poor thing. You’re stuck in my truth now, whether you see it or not. I am your beast, and you are my burden. I cannot seem to let go of you or put you down. I love that. I want to be with you, to feel you near me. To taste you and fill you.” His fingers slide into me easily, but I cry out in shock.

“No!” I whimper, shaking my head. “Please, not yet.”

“No, no. Not yet. I want to help. Does this help?”

My muscles lock around him, then slowly soften as he thrusts inside of me with just the tip of one finger, the fleshy pad of his fingertip circling inside of me while his thumb worries my pearl back and forth.

“Rub yourself for me, Polly.”

I was never foolish enough to believe that when a man finally bedded me, it would be for love. I wasn’t hopeful enough to think it would bring pleasure, either. I close my eyes and know I’m not in love, but Jack’s words echo in my ears. “I cannot seem to let go of you or put you down. I love that.”

He loves being with me.

And I...

He is a beast... But perhaps he is my beast, and I am safe in his claws.

With our slippery fingers wedged together and darkness and heat swirling around me like the brandy in my stomach, I feel something break free inside. Something that feels so good that I curse aloud and don’t even care that I shout, “Jack!” loud enough that the people in the next house must hear it. Everything pulses and trembles, like a frantic heartbeat is in between my thighs.

“Ah, Polly,” Jack sighs in blissful contentment—and slips away from me, back into his seat. He buries his head between my legs as my mind slowly clears.

Eyes wide in the dark, I struggle to find my breath again, the only sounds in the room are my shallow pants and Jack’s slurping chuckles.

“You are a most unusual person,” I whisper, a heavy, satisfied feeling washing over me. I could sleep. I could sleep right now, like this, debauched and defiled on the dining table.

“I’m not a person, Polly. A beast. Don’t forget it,” he whispers with one last, long lick that makes me twitch all over.

He moves about while I try to force my limbs to obey. There are dishes to wash. The tablecloth will have to be washed—probably ought to be burned after this. I must cover up. I must—

I do nothing as Jack swings me up into his arms easily, carrying me like I would cradle a sick child. “The dishes. The linens,” I protest weakly.

“They can wait. You must sleep.”

Whatever he did to me, my body enjoyed it. My brain is still hazy. Without a murmur, I let him strip off my dress and leave me in my bed, wrapped in sheets and a duvet. “Pretty Polly,” he whispers, planting a kiss on my forehead.

My eyes open in time to catch his startled expression.

He looks quite sweet when he’s shocked by his own actions. “Handsome beast,” I dare. In the morning, I won’t be so bold, I’m sure.

Jack chuckles and strides away, shutting the door behind him.

He’s a good beast...

Then sleep wins.