Mammon (Devilry #2)

10. Beelzebub

TEN

BEELZEBUB

I know he’s still upset.

Gore’s trying to play it off like he’s not, but I know everything about him. We were raised together in shitty circumstances that led to us bonding on a level that—I can admit—is toxically codependent. When he’s upset, I’m upset, and he’s been in a mood these last couple of days since the incident with Mammon.

I just don’t fucking get it.

While I’m trying to keep a brave face for Gore’s sake, I’m just as devastated as he is. I don’t understand what we did wrong. We made him happy, made him come, had a great time, and he still doesn’t want us? I’m at the end of my rope trying to figure out what else we can possibly do.

And, what’s worse is I have no way of comforting Gore, and it really fucking sucks that I can’t give my best friend the one thing he wants more than anything.

He’s sleeping in my arms, naked and soft and warm, and it costs everything to tear myself away from him. But I’ve been planning something all night and if I don’t do it now, I don’t think I’ll have the courage to do it in broad daylight.

I sneak out of bed, making sure to not wake Gore, and slink out of the room. Crossing the hall, I take a deep breath before I knock on the door directly across from mine. It only takes two knocks for the door to swing open and an irritated, sleep-rumpled Mammon to appear on the other side.

“What do you want, Beelzebub?” he growls, running a hand through his blond hair. His abs flex with the motion, making me drool.

I shake all the sexy thoughts out of my head. Picturing me riding his dick can wait… No, yes, it can. I have to remember the purpose of this. “Can we talk?”

With a scowl, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was trying to sleep.”

“I think that can wait,” I say. Before he can make up another excuse or slam the door in my face, I walk around him and into his room.

It’s perfect and pristine. So orderly, like he is, with absolutely nothing out of place. It’s lacking any semblance of character, but that’s just Mammon. To everybody else, he doesn’t have any to begin with, but to me, he’s the most interesting man alive.

And the most stubborn.

“Well, what’s this about?” he asks, his voice deep and growly as I sit on his bed.

I take in another deep breath, gripping the comforter underneath me for strength. “You’re being a dick.”

He takes a step back, as if surprised by my words. Both his eyebrows rise to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“What you did to us sucked.” I cross my arms over my chest. “We were fucking incredible for you. Ten out of ten sex gods, and you just tossed us aside.” Then, the simmering anger returns. I clench my jaw. “You hurt Gore.”

He takes in my words with the same restrained consideration he uses for everything, calculating every move, trying to dissect every sentence. He doesn’t give anything away—annoyance, anger, lustful recollection—as he levels me with an apathetic look. “I don’t think I can make myself any clearer. You two were a good time, but I’m done and over it.”

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip. Like I said, he’s not giving anything away, but I’m not as stupid or deluded as he thinks I am. I saw the way he looked at Gore like he wanted to worship him. I felt the way his hands almost softened when he pet my hair. I saw something deeper than just physical attraction—more than just a good time —and I’ve latched onto it.

I can be stubborn too.

So, I use all the tricks I know. I smirk at him, running a finger down my bare chest, satisfied when his gaze follows the movement. “I don’t think you are.”

“Do you like pushing my buttons, Beelzebub?” he asks, finally, with a hint of passion in his voice, even if it is irritation. “You like being a brat? Or maybe I should call you kitten. All sweet and soft until your claws come out.”

I think for a second that maybe he actually is annoyed with me, but then I look at his boxers and…

Oh, yeah. He’s gone.

I stand slowly, slinking toward him, and press my body flush against his, making sure to rub our chests together as my hands wander to the waistband of his underwear. “I think you like it too. Look at that, Daddy. Are you hard for me?”

Mammon, from first-hand experience, is huge , and I can see every gigantic inch pressing against his boxers, pointing directly at me. It makes me feel powerful, seen, almost special. I reach my hand out, gripping him confidently and all at once, relishing the way he hisses with pleasure.

Got you.

“Look at that,” I tease, massaging him and loving the way his barely-there restraint is exposed.

I go to pull down his boxers altogether—make him face the reality of what he’s feeling—but I’m cut off when his hand shoots out to wrap around my throat. His nostrils flare, the vein in his tan temple throbbing. He looks like a man ready to snap.

Which means I have him right where I want him.

“You need to learn your place,” he grits out, squeezing harder, but he has to know I like it rough.

I’m not at all deterred. If anything, I’m more turned on than I should be at his aggression. It means he must feel something. The same something he claimed he didn’t. I’ve caught him in his own lie and he’s pissed. Rightfully so, but I’ve always liked messing with him. Playing with your food can be so much fun.

I lick my lips as I fall to my knees, forcing him to let me go as I place my hands on the tops of my thighs. “Why don’t you show it to me, then?”

He hesitates for only a second. A moment of split indecision before he’s pushing me onto my back and climbing on top of me. He shoves his boxers down just far enough to whip out his cock, and he slaps me clear across the face with that glorious monster. I don’t have a chance to open my mouth before he slaps me again, this time with his hand, and my mouth falls open, only to be filled with his dick a moment later.

“Shut that mouth up with a big cock, right?” he growls, holding me by the hair on the top of my head as he starts to fuck my face, roughly; not giving me any time to get used to him. “That’s all you need? Such a fucking slut, Bel. Fuuuuck. ”

I smirk as I clamp down on his cock just hard enough to get his attention, but not too much to chop off his manly bits. He pulls back with a hiss, ready to slap me again, until I speak. “You can fuck me if you want. I don’t bottom, but I’d give up my ass to you. I know you want to.”

He thinks about it. He actually considers it, and he’s a fucking liar if he tries to deny it. I think he knows that too because he doesn’t. He just pries my mouth open and fucks into me again. “Shut the fuck up.”

What follows is brutal as all hell, but has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. He’s taking no mercy with me. I don’t get the sweet tenderness he gave to Gore. None of that loving, gentle praise. I get all his brutality and all his frustration. I’m his toy and the way he’s tunneling his dick in and out of my mouth proves it. So, I just let myself go, losing myself to the moment as I become a sloppy little slut for him.

“Look at that. Pathetic. Drooling and sniffling and such a mess. You like being messy?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. I can barely nod as he cackles and braces his hands on either side of my face. “Breathe through your nose because I’m going to fuck your throat, whether you like it or not.”

I gag on his length as he shoves it to the back of my mouth. I can feel him all the way to my fucking tonsils. He’s cutting off my circulation and my body tries to buck him off on instinct, even though that’s the last thing I want. The more he thrusts, the more I gag, the more I drool, the harder he goes. It’s a vicious cycle of the most animalistic blowjob I’ve ever given, but… No. I’m not giving this blowjob. I’m fucking taking it. I have no choice, no control, and shit, does that feel good.

He comes down my throat without warning and I feel it leaking out of the corner of my mouth. I nearly drown in his cum, he has so much of it, but I’d embrace death like that any day.

“Get up here,” he demands. Not taking a moment to recover, he sits on the bed, dragging me by my hair until I’m on his lap. He pushes my sweats down, his hand wrapping around my hard cock as he grins. “Oh, look at that. Do you need someone to take care of you too? Need someone to give you some love and attention?”

“Fuck you,” I spit, liking the fight, regardless that I’m trying to fuck his fist.

“Nah, your little cock says otherwise. Look at it. Is that all of it?” he taunts, laughing like an evil villain when I clam up.

“Shut up,” I growl. There’s nothing little about my dick, but…

“No, Beelzebub. I think you like it when I talk to you like that.” He proves his point when he swipes a bit of precum off my leaking tip and uses it as lube. “Because you know someone’s going to take care of you for a change.”

I gasp at that. I’ve never needed anyone to take care of me. Get me out of sticky situations…? Yes. Most definitely, but I’m the caretaker here.

Then why does that sound so good? Why do I like him talking about my little cock? Why do I want his attention and his praise and to just let it all go? And why the actual fuck am I about to burst just thinking about it?

“I’m gonna come— Hey! ”

“No, you’re not,” he says, slapping my cock and sending both pain and pleasure shooting through me. “Touch yourself and I’ll know. Then, you’ll see what a real punishment is.”

I gasp yet again as he shoves me off his lap and I go tumbling to the ground. I’m not upset, just confused as hell, and wanting him to finish what he started. “Why are you doing this?”

He stands like he’s sixteen feet tall. Towering over me in a way that makes me feel so small. He walks around me, barely acknowledging me or my sad dick, and opens the door to his bedroom. “Because you need to know your place.”

“What if I do it anyway?” I challenge, not willing to give up.

To this, his lips curl like he’s almost enjoying my resistance, like he wants to see me try. “You’re going to disobey me like that? I thought you wanted to make me happy?”

“Fuck you,” I grit out.

He rolls his eyes. “So, you’ve said. Now, get the fuck out, and don’t come back.”

I want to fight him, but for some reason, I don’t. I get up, letting my dick swing happy and free because fuck him, and leave his room. Although this aggravating turn of events has left me with the bluest balls on the planet, I’m not too upset. Instead I smile, cackling to myself like a madman as I walk back to my room.

Because why does it feel like I won?