Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

43. Worship

“You’re not dying,” he says, instantly irritated.

I am by the river, sitting on the same stone where I sat with Chors. It seems to be my lucky place for calling on gods and devils. But I also like the river at night. It’s safe and private here, and the air is so refreshing.

After spending the day in the fields, which I now hate with a passion, I need this reprieve.

“Did I interrupt something important?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He’s nude today, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat. I’m really curious what he was doing.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he says tersely. “I had three beautiful wilas at my feet, licking me with their crafty tongues.”

Pain shoots through my chest. Then—anger. And then, I look at his cock, hanging flaccid and unbothered. I grin sharply, honing my anger to strike.

“Are you sure you enjoyed it?” I ask, looking pointedly at his crotch. “Or do you need a little remedy to help your tiny man stand? I have just the potion, so say the word.”

He stares at me, potent disbelief on his face. He’s not angry yet, though I know he will be. For now, he seems to have trouble accepting that I said what I said. I drink him in, his eyes wide open, his jaw a bit slack, that sensuous mouth soft, until finally, it flattens.

His expression morphs slowly, and I am too fascinated to be scared yet. His brows lower, eyes narrow, the muscles in his cheeks tense, sharpening his look into one of cold fury. His tail lashes the air, and then he’s in motion, a dark, hooved beast charging right at me.

For the briefest moment, I wonder if he’ll kill me. He could. After all, he can bring me back to life.

He grips my throat with one hand and yanks me up. I kick instinctively, my feet in the air, my face level with his. He brings me so close, his hot breath fans my lips.

“This is all your fault,” he growls, so low, the sound vibrates in my bones. “When I look at other women and they aren’t you, I can’t…”

He breaks off sharply and closes his eyes, his regret over revealing too much obvious in his expression. His nostrils flare as he breathes out with exaggerated control. Slowly, he lowers me until my feet meet the cool grass. He releases my throat. I choke in a breath.

And I’m not scared. The things I feel are liquid and bold, and maybe I should be jealous about him trying to fuck other people, but I’m not. He never promised me anything, and yet, I have this power over him, and it’s sweeter than victory or revenge.

My blood sings with triumph. It makes me obscenely wet.

“Why did you call me here?” he asks, not opening his eyes.

When I glance at his body, I see he’s hard, and painfully so. His thorns lie flat, his cock a spike pointing at me. Another thrill of power settles low in my belly, the heat mounting.

Because I fully believe what he almost admitted. In his rage, he is the least controlled, and all his lies slip from his grasp.

And that means I am the only one he desires.

I’m ecstatic to use it against him.

“Explain the mark you put on my chin,” I demand.

He snorts, shaking his head with dark amusement. I have trouble keeping my eyes on his face, because they stray down. There’s a bead of arousal on the tip of him, shimmering when it catches the light of the moon.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he says with a cold laugh. I think he enjoys denying me after I mouthed off just now.

It doesn’t matter. I’m done playing to his tune.

“I want to take your trade,” I say softly, watching his face curiously to see his reaction. “But in return, I want two things: tell me the secret to ruling time and explain what this mark does.”

He swallows once, his neutral mask shuttering his expression, but he’s not so controlled below. His erection strains, hard and wet, and I know he wants me.

“The trade is off,” he says in a low, strained voice. “And don’t think you can jerk me around by my cock. Yes, I lust for you, but I’ve lusted after many a female—mortal, bies, or goddess—and a few males. I am old, and I know it will pass. You should go home, Jaga. Go home, do your whispering, and soon, you’ll see exactly what it does.”

I want to stomp and rage, because I hate how easily he dismisses my newfound power. But I’m not done yet. Woland may be old, his experience far outweighing mine, but I am determined to do what it takes.

And after all, how hard can it be to seduce a man, even when he is an ancient devil? I’ve seen it countless times. So often it takes just an inviting look from a woman or the sight of her bare calf, and a man is rearing to go.

When I was about ten, I saw something that convinced me women don’t even have to make an effort. Wiosna’s neighbor was weeding her garden on her knees, and when her husband saw her, he hiked up her dress and took her then and there. He didn’t even need encouragement.

I can’t imagine Woland is any different at his core.

So I come closer, untying my braid. I’ve slung it over my shoulder, and it hangs down to my waist. I undo it slowly, and despite his words, he watches me with obvious desire as I stand right in front of him.

It takes courage to use my hair like this. I’ve spent such a long time believing it ugly and cursed, but I can’t let my insecurities obscure the truth. And the truth is, when he saw my hair loose, he was mesmerized.

“Please, Woland,” I say, looking up as I take my hair out of my braid, strand by long strand. “We can help each other. And it’s like you said: I’d like to do you this favor.”

His breath is just a bit shaky, enough for me to notice. He closes his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth.

“You don’t want to take this trade, Jaga,” he says, his voice gravelly like denying me costs him a lot. “Believe me. Now go home. It will be over soon.”

I do my best not to frown, because I hate being told what I want or not. But his jaw is clenched, eyes flinty. That’s the problem with us: we’re both far too stubborn to ever find common ground. But I might have one more trick to play, and hopefully, it will work.

“And yet, you’re still here,” I whisper, shaking out my hair.

I step too close, a shiver going down my body when we touch. His cock presses into my belly, and I have to really crane my head up to see his face. His antlers are like a canopy above us.

His nostrils flare. “Fuck. You don’t know what you’re playing, witch.”

I cock my head to the side. “Don’t I?”

And then I reach up with my left hand and cup his cheek. As soon as the heel of my palm connects with his skin, he jerks away, catching my wrist. He stares at the silver mark, his shadows curling around us like smoke. They grow tinged with red light.

I swallow the tight knot in my throat, telling myself I can take his rage and anything else he gives me. This is what I want, and yet, when his eyes blaze gold, his teeth bared in a snarl, I try to take a step back.

He won’t let go of my hand, keeping me in place.

When I open my mouth to speak, the fear getting the better of me, he growls. He pulls my palm up so roughly, I stumble closer to him. He scrapes my skin with his teeth. I hiss from pain, and he does it again. And again. Finally, he licks the spot with his dark tongue, making it sting.

The silver mark is gone, and in its place are a few bleeding scratches.

When he speaks, his voice is so deep, I feel it in the soles of my feet. It’s even worse than his normal inhuman rasp. The hair on my nape stands on end.

“If I ever see another god’s mark on you,” he says, making me shake, “I will chain you to my bed and keep you there, forcing you to watch as I fuck my way through all of Slawa. I saw the pain in your eyes when I told you about my lovers. Two can play this game, poppy girl.”

Hate and anger coil in my gut.

“Like that would hurt me,” I say, a mocking edge to my voice. “If you do this, I will know you can only get it up because I’m there. The worst thing that can happen is that I will die of boredom.”

He hisses, tugs my palm up, and licks the blood that’s welled in my wounds. I smirk, seeing his eyelids flutter from pleasure.

When he lets go of my hand, gripping the back of my head instead, his eyes are cold and cruel.

“Fine then. We can do the trade. Just remember I warned you.”

Warned me? Uncertainty uncoils in my belly, but it’s too late now. I’d rather suffer through another fight with the poludnica than back out when I got what I wanted. Still, I need to make sure.

“And if I suck your cock,” I ask, my face flaming, though my voice is steady, “you swear you will tell me the secret to ruling time and what the mark on my face means?”

His mouth curves in a cruel grin. “Yes. I swear on my blood.”

He looks so satisfied and completely unconcerned about the prospect of giving up his secrets. Alarm bells get off in my mind, and I stare at him, licking my lips. His grin widens, making me realize I probably made a mistake. Woland laughs under his breath.

“Looks like you’re all talk, poppy girl,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “Do you want to back out now? So much for your word.”

I clench my jaw and drop to my knees.

It becomes immediately obvious that the height difference between us is too great for this to be comfortable. I hiss out an impatient breath and look up at his erection, thinking about ways to make it work. Should I crouch? Bow?

“So mortal,” Woland whispers, snapping his fingers.

A wide, gleaming black chair appears behind him. He sits back, leaning against the backrest, his forearms on the armrests. The height of the chair brings him to the right level, his legs sprawled wide open on either side of me. I shiver, feeling the warmth of his skin on my arms.

Another snap of his fingers calls forth a few glowing orbs cascading light on both of us. I blink, getting used to the golden light. Woland looks at me with complete focus, his attention spreading tingles across my face.

I feel trapped and surrounded. When I swallow nervously, his expression sharpens into a hungry, lustful look.

I’ve never done this before, because with whom? I always imagined this act to be degrading for the giving party, so it shocks me when my core clenches with need. A primal part of me likes kneeling at his feet and being looked at from above.

He seems like a king from the old tales, sitting on his throne. But the throne is black and gruesome rather than regal.

Because when I look closer, I realize it’s made of bones. Each armrest end is adorned with a black, human skull, and when his forearms rest on them, his palms lie on the tops of the skulls like large spiders. Looking more closely, I realize the chair’s legs and seat are made of polished, fused-together bones as well. Femurs, shinbones, hip bones… All look human, all gleam black.

“Not very eager, are you now?” he asks, amused yet tense.

I glance up. His eyes bore into me, the hunger in his face tighter. He grips the round, polished skulls with enough force I’m afraid they will crumble.

“I was admiring your throne,” I say, swallowing down my unease. “How many graves did you rob to make it?”

He laughs darkly. “Stop delaying and crawl closer.”

I shuffle forward on my knees, feeling ungainly and hot. His legs are long, and when I finally stop right in front of the edge of the chair, his warm thighs press to me from both sides. He lays his palm on the side of my head and looks at me long and hard, finally releasing a breath.

“You fit so well in here. Like you were made for me.”

I swallow with difficulty, my chest growing hot like the rest of me. This, too, should feel degrading, and yet, it sounds strangely close to affection. My hands shake when I lay them on his thighs, my eyes drawn to his hard, straining cock. I’ve never seen it from up close like this, and it surprises me how textured it is, with thick cords of veins twisting around his shaft.

Clear wetness paints his crown and trickles down the side of him. I swallow, a bit disgusted and a whole lot excited by the idea of licking it up.

“If you have any wishes, tell me,” I say, hoping for some instruction. Maybe if he tells me what to do, my lack of experience won’t be apparent.

“Darling,” he says softly, stroking my hair until I look up, my breath catching when I sink into his golden eyes. “There is only one thing I want, and it’s this. It’s perfect.”

I take in a shaky breath and lean over, my heart hammering from nerves and arousal, but he grabs my hair and gently pulls me back up. When our eyes meet, he gives me a dark, taunting smile.

“I am a god and you’re on your knees. Now worship me.”

I gasp softly, visceral need making me squirm even as a current of anger heats my belly. No, I can’t let him have the last word.

“Maybe I’ll bite you,” I say with a smirk and dive for his cock.

I take him in my mouth like I saw women do at Kupala and try to fit him in as deep as I can. When he hits the back of my throat, his shaft not even fully in, I gag and pull out, tears streaming into my eyes. Gods. This is embarrassing.

And yet, Woland gasps in pleasure, his thighs tensing on either side of me as his hips flex, his cock nudging my lips. I look up and shiver, mesmerized by how utterly focused he is on me. He’s not dismayed or mocking in the least, and I huff out a relieved breath.

Well then.

This time, I’m more careful when I put my mouth on him. I only take in the crown, running my tongue around it in exploration. He tastes like salt and smoke, and when I give him an experimental suck, trying to get more taste out of him, he grunts and tenses. When I look up, it seems like he’s in pain, but I know better.

His hands grip the skulls so tightly, his knuckles pale to light gray.

A thrill careens down my spine. I had no idea being on my knees could feel so powerful. Suddenly, I want to make this last as long as I can. I want to see what else I can do to him. Can I make him say honest things like when he’s furious?

But also, now that I see this isn’t hard at all, I’m simply curious. And so I pull back, licking my lips, and trace the largest vein running jaggedly down his shaft, right to the circle of thorns at his base. I run my finger over them. They are hard and smooth, and the sharp tips look nasty.

I press in, and Woland raises his hips with a hiss.

“Fuck!”

Where I stroked them, the thorns rise just slightly. A shimmering droplet of clear liquid appears on the tip of one.

“Leave them alone unless you want me to fuck you,” he growls, putting a possessive hand on my nape.

But I don’t obey at once. Really curious now, I gather that droplet on my finger and look up, slowly bringing it to my mouth. He curses and grabs my wrist.

“No. That’s not what it’s for.”

He wipes the liquid from my finger and I huff with annoyance. “What is it for, then?”

He guides me back to his cock, the pressure on my nape gentle but firm. “You will find out if you’re unlucky. Worship your god, little witch.”

He breathes hard, his eyes glowing with intensity. I keep looking up as I lower my mouth to him and give his cock a little kiss.

His thighs tense, and the hand on my nape curls, claws pressing into my skin. I give him another kiss, right on the wet crown, and then lick up the bead of his flavor.

He closes his eyes, his brows furrowing like he’s hurting. So I kiss him again. And again. I cover his entire length in kisses, and by the time I’m done, he’s leaked all over his cock, so I lick that up with long strokes of my tongue.

His hand that still rests on my nape is shaking.

I take him in my mouth, as deep as I can go without gagging, and suck him hard. He flexes his hips, driving himself deeper, and when I try to pull back, he presses me down so I swallow more of him, but still not all. He’s too big to fit in my mouth.

I gag around him, tears streaming down my cheeks, and he releases me with a curse. When I pull back, coughing, he takes my chin between his finger and thumb and makes me look up, drinking in my teary face. I glower at him, and he grins.

“You’ve worshiped me well,” he says with a regal nod. “But it’s time to teach you to take me deep. Just like when you took my name, it will hurt, and then it won’t.”

I wipe my tears angrily. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asks, his tail curving around him so it rests on his thigh, the triangular tip flicking with small movements. “I’m pretty sure the deal was about you pleasuring me until I came down your throat. Well, poppy girl. I can’t come down your throat if you cough it all up, can I?”

“You’re disgusting,” I say, hating that I have to agree.

Until he held me down and made me choke, I enjoyed myself. But that part spoiled it all for me, so of course, he wants more of that.

“Let me sweeten the deal.”

He pricks his finger and squeezes. A drop of crimson blood splashes right in the middle of his shaft. When I lean down to lick it off, mouth watering for a sip of his power, he holds me back.

“No licking. Take me down your throat. That’s the only way you’ll get it.”

I glare at him, my heart pounding with humiliation. “Are you training me? Like a dog?”

He laughs, warm and hearty, and I know the power balance between us has flipped. Only moments ago, he was shaking from pleasure, and I was in control. And now, he takes the power back. I imagine he doesn’t like surrendering just as much as I don’t.

We are ill-matched, indeed.

“Maybe,” he admits, his tail flicking up to my face to brush my cheek. I gasp. I had no idea it could move with such precision. “But there’s pleasure in it for us both.”

I look at that drop of blood that’s partly slid off him and onto the seat of the chair. My mouth waters. I shouldn’t want it, but it’s already here, and I am too weak to stop this now.

As I take him in my mouth, he guides my head slowly. I taste blood and he keeps going until he taps the back of my throat.

“Let me in,” he murmurs, at which point, I gag.

He lets me pull back with a soft laugh and squeezes another drop of blood on his cock. This time, I don’t wait until it all slides off. I take him deep, moaning when the coppery taste mixes with the smokiness of him. This time, I can manage a bit longer, his magic spreading its shadowy wings in my chest.

We do it a third time, and when I gag, he releases me. “Breathe for a while,” he says, looking down at me with dark satisfaction. “You’ve earned it.”

I sit back on my heels, pressing my head to his thigh. He murmurs a sound of surprise and combs his claws through my hair, which feels too good to admit. We stay like that, the moment so peaceful, I don’t want to move for fear of shattering it. The grass is soft and cool under my knees, and his thighs bracketing me are warm. I eye his cock, breathing slowly through my nose.

He’s still hard even though I’m not touching him. I suppose anticipation works just as well.

“Your god is getting cold,” Woland whispers, his hand stilling in my hair.

“You’re not my god,” I scoff but get back in position. After all, it’s a trade, and I need to hold up my end.

“I’m everyone’s god,” he says, another drop of crimson painting his cock.

I swallow it eagerly, and he groans, holding my head down. When I gag, he releases me with a curse and lets go.

“We’ll get back to this another time,” he says through clenched teeth. “Worship me well, darling. Until you take it all.”

And thus, I have the power again. I lick and suck him, wrapping my hand where my lips don’t reach. His balls hang heavy and full, and I pet them, too. I don’t think I’m very well-coordinated, but I enjoy exploring him, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

His thighs shake as I work him, his bare stomach tensing in a display of sculpted muscles. He makes continuous sounds, half-gasps, half-growls interspersed with “darlings” and “poppy girls”. When I glance up at him, sucking so hard, my cheeks hollow, he curses and tangles his claws in my hair.

“Don’t stop. That’s it. You’re perfect.”

And so I keep doing it, until he releases the loudest growl yet. His cock swells in my mouth, and he holds my head tight, fucking up into my mouth, each thrust hitting hard. It takes just a moment, and his hot release slides down my throat in long spurts, warming my stomach.

He’s so deep, I don’t even get to taste him.