Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

26. Deal

Woland presses his forehead to mine, his antlers resting on the ground on either side of my head. He is still hard, and I feel echoes of pain in his arousal. It’s like we share this space, sensations bleeding through from him to me the same way we bled into each other’s mouths.

He feels suddenly too close, my skin itching everywhere we touch. I’m trapped under him, his body a cage. I hate it. I’d rather fuck than share this intimate, impossible space with him. With anyone.

My impulse is to reach down and touch him to make this physical and not emotional, but when I try to move my hand, he presses it harder into the ground with a snarl.

“Stay,” he hisses, low and menacing.

I flex my hands, testing his hold. A growl reverberates in his chest, a warning, but I can’t stay still now. Somehow, stroking him to orgasm seems easy right now, but this—this being together in the afterglow of pleasure, the taste of his blood and mine still lingering on my tongue while his breath fans over my lips… It’s unbearable.

I fidget and squirm, letting the leg still hooked over him fall, sucking in my stomach so it doesn’t touch him. He raises his head and looks at me, his eyes feral, and I squeeze mine shut.

It is all the things I hate, intimacy and closeness, and I must stop it from getting to me. I have to remember what he is.

Or better yet, I should remember who I am.

Because this isn’t me, this strange, virginal being afraid of his gaze. I’m stronger than this. I’m a witch, no matter how atrocious, and a whisperer, and I killed a werewolf tonight.

This isn’t me.

So I open my eyes and bare my teeth at him. “Get off.”

His eyes narrow and instead of doing as I say, his shadows slither around my legs like living vines, keeping me trapped.

“We exchanged blood,” he says. “We’re joined right now, whether you like it or not. And I’ll be damned if I don’t take what’s mine.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, swallowing convulsively when fear prickles along my spine. I’m unraveling. He’s so close, my boundaries grow fuzzy. I’m losing myself.

He leans in, his hips rolling until his cock bucks against my thigh. His lips brush mine when he says, “Your body under mine, where it belongs.”

The prickles of fear turn hot and insistent, spreading into my belly, squeezing my throat with eager tightness. I don’t know where unease ends and lust begins, but both swirl in my veins. His body is heavy and strong on top of me, his skin hot and smooth. I am deeply aware of how hard he still is.

This, I can take.

And yet, Woland makes no move to fuck me. Instead, he nuzzles his nose along my temple and then lower, sliding it over my jaw. He retraces that path with his lips, trailing hot kisses that smell of blood.

“Stop,” I whisper, my chest heaving with something tender.

I’ve never been intimate with anyone but him, because how? Everyone feared and despised me. I have no experience with this, no way of defending myself when emotions arise, taut and painful.

Here he is, this being made of magic, wielding unimaginable power, and he touches me like I’m precious. I both crave and loathe it, but loathing is stronger. He is the devil who killed my friend and sent a bloodthirsty monster into my village.

When I try to push him away using magic, he laughs and nuzzles my ear. “Using my own power against me, little witch? You should know better than this.”

I shake my head, trying to escape his soft, seeking lips. Frustration mounts within me, the shell of my solitude that’s my protection and weapon cracking under his assault.

Woland hums in satisfaction, pulling away until he looks into my eyes. “So this is what you can’t handle?” he asks, both amused and predatory, his white teeth flashing in a cunning smile.

“You drank my blood and humped me until you came when I choked you. You willingly cut yourself on my name and let me kiss you, but when I do this,” he murmurs, dropping a chaste kiss on my forehead, “you want to run?”

“Just be one thing!” I snarl, angry, terrified, and flooded with longing that knocks my breath from my lungs. “Be my enemy, like you’re supposed to be!”

“But I never meant to be your enemy,” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“No, just my owner.”

I writhe under him, desperately pulling to free my arms, but Woland only laughs, his eyes glittering.

“I prefer the word master.”

It’s the strangest thing when revulsion mixes with desire in my belly. Master. The way he says it sounds shockingly appealing, and yet, the very idea of being ruled by another makes my skin crawl.

I clench my teeth and gather my strength, wondering what it will take for him to let go. And he must, soon. Otherwise, I’ll just humiliate myself. My control is already slipping out of my grasp.

I bid my body to be still, because my core tingles with need, my legs wanting to wrap around him and tug him inside me.

“Why do you want to own me?” I ask when he pushes his length into my thigh with a languid roll of his hips.

The devil’s eyes glitter when he cocks his head to the side. “Why do you want to visit the past?”

I groan. It’s this again. Woland chuckles, his thumbs caressing my wrists. “Let’s make a deal, Jaga.”

I bristle at once. “No.”

He grins, undeterred. “If you keep saying that to me, I might develop a liking for that word,” he murmurs, dangerously seductive. “No one’s ever rejected me as much as you.”

“And yet, here you still are,” I bite out, doing my best to keep the gasping breathlessness out of my voice. But I think he knows how he affects me. I briefly wonder if there’s magic at play tonight, just as there was at Kupala. But if there is, I don’t feel it.

Most likely, it’s my own body going mad, my emotions all over the place. I loathe myself for enjoying his touch, even if the enjoyment is tainted with hate.

“I am,” he confirms. “And I will keep coming back until you’re mine. Ironically, you’ll see less of me once you say yes. Maybe that might convince you, pretty witch.”

No, it won’t. Not because I want him to keep coming, though if I am completely honest with myself… No, I will not be. Not tonight. I hate myself enough as it is.

But if what he says is true, I can’t agree. I still need my revenge.

“No?” he asks, raising an eyebrow when I press my lips together and don’t reply. “Hear me out anyway. If you give yourself to me, I’ll give you the power to travel into the past. I will vow it right now so you know I will keep my word.”

I don’t hide my reaction well enough, because his mouth stretches in a lazy grin. He looks so confident. Like he’s certain he has me.

And for a moment, he does. The solution is so simple. If I say yes, all my problems will be solved. I’ll save myself, I’ll get rid of him, and then, I’ll be able to build my life here and shape it into what I’ve always wanted. Already, I am the unofficial whisperer in the village. Once I run Czeslawa out, I’ll have Wiosna’s old cottage. I’ll have respect and a purpose.

Woland will lose interest. I recognize him for what he is now: a predator that gives chase for the sheer enjoyment of it. I saw a dog like that once. It hunted rabbits, but not because it was hungry. As soon as its prey was dead, the dog discarded it and trotted away, already bored.

That’s what Woland is. He’ll claim me, triumph for a bit, and then abandon me.

And I’ll have what I’ve always wanted.

“You should have done this long ago,” I say, bending my leg absentmindedly to press it to his side. “I would have agreed.”

Before he manipulated me in so many ways. Before he got Bogna killed. Before the werewolf.

A shadow passes over his face. “You should appreciate that I made you the offer at all,” he says, releasing my hand to cup the side of my face. “I don’t make deals. I just take what I want.”

It’s quiet now, calm. Woland waits, confident, and yet, I see the uncertainty fracturing his thoughts. He’s unsure, and I realize why that is. He was so certain earlier tonight, when I lay under the werewolf.

The devil was convinced I wouldn’t refuse, and the fact I did rocked him to the core. Now, he thinks he has the right thing to bargain with, and yet, he can’t anticipate what I’ll do.

It feels like power, this place. We both want things from each other, but he wants me more. I don’t need him. Because I remember the future me who came to save me, and she was no one’s slave. That’s how I know for certain she didn’t give in to him, and that makes my decision all the easier.

“You need me alive,” I muse, my voice soft as I cup his face in return. His eyelids flutter at my touch, forehead wrinkling. Like he’s fighting something.

“You can’t kill me or let me die. And you need my conscious, verbal consent. You can’t torture it out of me. I suppose you could trick me, but I learned not to trust you. Really, Woland.”

I smile, that power I hold over him surging within me like sweet victory. “A deal is your only option.”

He sighs, his breath hot on my skin, but there’s no anger in him. No resignation, either. His lack of reaction puts me out, and Woland grins, seeing my disappointment.

“Not my only option, no,” he says. “I can repeat what I did once already. You still mourn your friend, don’t you? She died because you didn’t treat me seriously when I said what I’d do, but now you know better. Well, Jaga, the way I see it, I only have to wait. You’re making so many new friends. It’s in your best interest to take my deal.”

I hiss and swing my hand away from his face to slap him but not fast enough. A shadowy rope slithers around my wrist in a flash, pushing my hand into the grass. I pant and glare at him, and Woland grins.

“Decide. Do we have a deal?” he says, infuriatingly smug.

But it’s not over. I’ll never let him win. So I return his smile and raise my thigh, pressing it into his still hard cock.

“No, we don’t.”

The change that comes over him is quicker than lightning. His smile vanishes, his teeth bare in a snarl, eyes darkening to a deep smolder. The hand cupping my face slides to my throat, his long fingers wrapping around it with ease. He squeezes, taking my breath away, and I arch into him.

The last time he choked me, I came.

Woland seems to realize it, too. He growls, his hold loosening, and then his mouth is on mine, teeth biting into my lip until it bleeds, long tongue pushing down my throat.

“It will be my cock next time,”he threatens, his voice pure magic, because he can’t speak while he kisses me.

Or is that a kiss? It’s so violent. My eyes roll back into my head, wicked, intense pleasure coursing through me in waves. I raise my hips, trying to get friction, but his shadows grab my legs and force them to the ground, laying me out flat, my body helplessly open for the taking.

Just when I’m about to gag, his tongue retreats. He slithers up, sinuous like a serpent, until the head of his cock nudges between my legs. He braces himself on his arms, looking down at me with feral focus.

“At least with my magic inside you, you’ll heal at once,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice. “But it will still hurt. This is a punishment, poppy girl.”

My eyes go down to his erection, and yes, he’s longer and thicker than any human man I’ve ever seen naked, and I’ve seen my share during my apprenticeship. But the thorns lining his base lie flat in a circular shape, like wheat pressed close to the ground by a strong wind. I’ve noticed that before. The thorns are harmless when he’s erect.

But yes. The first time is supposed to hurt, though I’m not sure this is what he means.

And yet, when Woland rubs himself against me, sliding through my wetness and teasing us both, I don’t care. He’s hard and heavy where I’m soft and needy. This desire has brewed in me since the night I met him, and it only grew hotter, hate and fear adding depth to my lust.

I moan, inviting him in. He releases a guttural sound, his shadows slithering over my mouth and breasts as he moves, coating his shaft in my arousal.

“I’ll have you,” he bites out, positioning his cock at my entrance. I feel every bit of skin where his wet, wide head touches me, teasing. Almost in. “One way or another, you will belong to me.”

He pulls back, preparing to thrust. I bite my lip, bracing for the pain, waiting for the pleasure.

Woland snarls, growing rigid. He trembles, his eyes going out of focus until a deep shade of red flashes in them for the briefest moment. I know something is wrong even before he climbs off me and stands, graceful and limber as always.

“I must go,” he says without looking at me.

I blink, and when I open my eyes, he’s gone.