Chapter Twenty #2
“Hmm, yes. Indeed, it is so.” He rubbed his hands together and stood, giving me a rather glib gesture to open my shirt and expose my belly. Even if Gre were there, the emissary would tell me nothing new.
Hellfire boiled round his fingers as he approached me, and I unbuttoned my shirt and lifted my undershirt as directed, my belly an ample roundness marred with stretch marks and bisected gloriously by a rather unfortunately dark line.
“You are quite gravid and healthy. I see that is a cause for congratulations.” Lord Vafis hummed, and I took the comment for what it was. My gods, you’re huge!
Biting my tongue, he reached forward and rested a hand on either side of my belly. He drew his hands back almost instantly and frowned. “Daeva?”
“My daeva was absorbed by my child, and they are one.” I resisted the urge to grin as Vafis’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
“Daeva thaumaturgy, natural mortal plane magic, deic blessings. Omega.” He listed off all I knew.
Still, he concentrated and moved his hands about, earning a rather fierce set of kicks as if the child within wanted the hand away from him.
I couldn’t blame him, as the sensation from the demon cleric was uncomfortable in a writhing and indescribably sticky sort of way.
The moment stretched to minutes, and Gre returned with a platter, pitter of iced tea, several glasses, a fresh hot cup of mint tea—bless him—and a generous plate of delicate chocolate wafers with sea salt on top. Such things would melt in hell and would be a delightful novelty to the emissary.
“Esmeray?” Gre said by way of greeting as he placed the offering down and let my father have at it with excitement.
“He will not have crowned horns, but they will be ram’s.” Vafis said such with a nod of satisfaction. Ram’s horns were ideal, really. It’d be a mark of respect to demonkind.
“Mostly mortal in appearance, shifter by force of nature, and winged.” Vafis nodded.
I imagined it, a little one, all pink-skinned and raw-kneed running about with giggles.
No tiny hooves clopping about. Ram’s horns and my only question would be their eyes.
Would they be hellish fire or my mate’s golden or something else entirely?
But that would take time to come to fruition, even after birth, by many months.
Vafis moved his hand slightly, and little Ausmius kicked at him with fierce intent.
Whatever happened made Vafis’s composure break, and he laughed, a gentle chuckle that ended with him drawing his hand away.
“He has great potential, and I am inclined to say that calling him a warlock would not be a misnomer. He has no tethers to Hell, and is therefore free of our laws. Though, his mixed nature will make him a fitting emissary if the apocalypse happens in our lifetimes. He will protect the forces that call to him.”
“But he will be given station, correct?” Father whipped his head around and stared at Vafis, skin paling as he waited for an answer.
“Of course. He is the grandson of a prince. He will be powerful, and blood will call to blood. See to it that he doesn’t think badly of his demonic heritage.
” Vafis nodded politely and sat on the settee before eagerly settling into his tea and chocolate.
“And you hold your temper and face well, child. You do your pater and sire very proud.”
The comment stung a little, and I hesitated. I barely remembered my papa anymore. “Thank you, Lord Vafis.”
He spoke then through a wet mouth full of chocolate and smiled. “I remember him in his heyday! An utter terror of the pit. Honestly, his passing was a true shame. A reminder to you, Esmeray.”
I bowed my head. Very few diseases affected our kind.
But for those with human blood, they had enough to suffer from one.
Succubi relied on humans to mate and reproduce for pureblood ones.
Unfortunately, Papa had fallen one day, dizzy and sick, and it was too late.
He’d ignored the signs. A demon nabbed by the big-C.
Crazy. It seemed cancer could come for anyone.
As I was conceived with another demon and not a human, the chances of me becoming riddled with the same were very small, but every year, Father made sure I was checked.
“Look up at me, child.” Lord Vafis gestured toward me, and I met his gaze.
“Do not think any less of your child because they are of blended heritage. As we do not think less of them, nor do we think less of you. Be proud that you have found your mate and been given a soul. That is something so few demons will ever bear.”
I blinked hard a few times and nodded, promising myself I wouldn’t cry, but I would. I kept silent because I knew the moment my voice cracked, I’d sob.
Father seemed to understand, and he ushered the clerics out to give me a hug on his way. “Call me in an hour. I have reservations for us for dinner.”
Takeout Tuesday had just changed plans, but an hour was all I needed.
Gre held me until the doors shut and cars retreated.
Then, he carried me upstairs, undressing me with a whisper of a spell of song, my favorite kind of magic.
What I expected were limericks or nursery rhymes, the oldest ones that carried with them human chants that held power.
What I didn’t expect was “Totally Nude” by the Talking Heads, his soft voice crooning out lyrics about being naked in trees, and how nobody will stop him.
He said he was a nature boy and would take me with him, as the lyrics proclaimed.
Sigils danced in the air as clothes hit the floor in piles that, ordinarily, we didn’t truck with.
It would eat me alive until I could pick them up later, but for the moment, I only wanted him.
Little sigils sparkled in the air as he turned, and we made it past the bathroom mirror, pornographically huge to show everything that happened in there.
I’d coated most of it in a frosted sort of paint save for a necessary portion to ensure I didn’t have to look at myself during flushable activities.
And as I got bigger? Any kind of activity.
I was enormous. Gre didn’t care, though.
Singsong, he hummed, and I protested, as usual, about my belly, the stretch marks, the puffiness of my nipples, and how my ass had gotten bigger. “But where’s my good boy when I need him?” He sang to the tune, lyrics that weren’t in the song, breaking the notes apart in a way that made me melt.
“You need me? I’m the one who needs you.” I huffed and sank under his wandering hands.
“And you need me to need you. I need us. I need your submission, your desire. That’s what you have plenty of that I need.” And he was right.
Gre had proclaimed he needed submission, a tight leash on a mate, but what he wanted was willingness. He wanted desperate consent, to be craved. Did I crave him? Always.
He meshed against my backside once the showerheads steamed from a dozen angles, warming and washing me like a giant dishwasher. After our first shower, I told him I felt like a plate and asked for some of the spot rinse stuff.
Spot rinse got off jizz, right? I wouldn’t test it. I’d forget which dish I used and freak out one day finding my dad eating off one in the set and I’d die. Probably literally.
As if reading my mind, he nuzzled my ear. “Tell me, who’s my sexy little plate?”
“I am,” I breathed, my backside hungry for him, aching as slick washed away as fast as it could lubricate. He changed the angle.
“And what does a sexy little plate need?” He laughed as he angled his hips and fidgeted, stroking his cock to hardness before thrusting it between my plush thighs.
“Sex?” I wasn’t sure what he meant until he nipped.
“A good fork.” He chuckled.
I groaned. “Enough with the dad jokes.”
“Have to practice, don’t I?” He rubbed a hand over my full swell and eased his cock to my hole while moving me just enough to escape the onslaught of water that deprived me of my more desired wetness.
“Let’s just practice the conception again instead. That’s the real daddy-maker right there.” I groaned as he slid fingers to my center and pushed in, teasing my opening open one little dexterous flick at a time until he glided over my prostate and made me want to climb the shower wall.
As if sensing my need, he withdrew his digits and something blunter, bigger, and hotter pressed against my hole.
A gentle rocking motion of his cock eased him in until he gently sheathed himself with a slick roll of his hips.
Since I’d become sore and big, he’d stopped being rough with me, and despite the fact that I missed ass-slamming sex, my own anxiety appreciated it.
He brought me off like his magic, a song on his lips, a rhythm to the air, and the words of magic unspoken around me.
Instead, we moaned and hummed our spells and wove thaumaturgy like lyrics.
His crested head pulsed within me, a threat of orgasm that made me clench my toes and arch into him.
“Just a bit more,” I pleaded.
I needed a bit more. A tiny bit—well, not that tiny. I asked, and he gave, changing his angle as his hands wandered down, one hand supporting the weight of my belly as the other fisted my cock and stroked me half a dozen times until I nearly sobbed in pleasure.
There were no tears in a shower, only water spent. I came while crying, no shame, right? Just jizz on the glass and tears down the drain.
I was ready to be a father, done being pregnant, wanting to meet my child every day.
With that in mind, Gre didn’t tease me or worsen it. He didn’t ask me what was wrong or try to comfort me with kind words. He let me experience it, with him there. Together. That was all I needed—the company. “I’ve always wanted to be loved.”
“Me too. Is it everything you hoped?” He waited for me to gather my words, that wouldn’t come fast enough.
I choked on a sob and nodded. “And so much more.”
He gave me time to settle, washing me with a quiet hum and tender touch. No part of me disgusted him, his attention divine—quite literally. And after, when the water alone touched me, he gave himself a perfunctory scrub and cut the stream off, proclaiming it time to go have dinner with my father.