6. The Devil’s Desk
6
THE DEVIL’S DESK
~MASKED REAPER~
S he can barely walk.
I fucking love it.
Venom is breathless, staggering from the alley wall like she’s just been hit by a train, her leggings still bunched at her knees and slick running in glistening rivulets down her thighs. Her scent clouds the night—Omega-sweet and laced with satisfied exhaustion. If I had any ounce of self-control left, it’s gone now.
I scoop her up without warning.
She yelps, instinctively wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Viper—”
“You made a mess,” I murmur, not slowing my pace. “You’re gonna finish it.”
I carry her through the shadows like a trophy, descending the narrow staircase that leads to the underground level of my territory. The keypad clicks beneath my fingers, steel door unlocking with a low hiss. The scent of oil, leather, and metal hits us the moment we enter.
Home.
Not that she’s ever called it that.
But she keeps coming back.
The basement is exactly how I left it—low light, scattered weapons, maps and files of every bastard I’ve buried or plan to. My desk sits at the far end, surrounded by ammo crates and old kill contracts. It’s not just a workspace. It’s my altar.
And tonight, she’s going to be the sacrifice.
I drop her onto the desk with a grunt, her body bouncing among blades and bullets. She squeaks, laughing breathlessly when a few knives clatter to the floor.
“Oops,” she teases, watching papers scatter like ash.
I don’t answer.
I’m already stripping.
My coat hits the floor, followed by my shirt, and the air hits my skin like a fucking brand. Her eyes lock on me—hungry, then caught off guard as she takes me in.
The scars are the first thing people notice. Long and pale and jagged, stories written in tissue across my chest and ribs. Bullet holes, blades, and the worst of them—a branding iron that once tried to claim me.
And then there are the tattoos.
Four.
Each one etched in blood and memory.
One for myself—crossed bones and a snarling dog.
One for Bastian—flames wrapped in a serpent’s coil.
One for Marcus—a skeletal wolf, head tilted back in a howl of warning.
One for Knox — a computer with a skull figure on the screen.
The fifth?
Still blank.
Meant for our Omega.
But I’ve never filled it.
Never dared.
Except every time she’s in my orbit— dripping, defiant, divine —I imagine the ink bleeding into my skin. Imagine what symbol would be worthy of her.
Venom.
My fucking ruin.
I push her onto her back.
She lets out a surprised breath, laughing until I grab her hips and yank her down to the edge of the desk. I line my cock up to her soaked entrance, watching her eyes go wide as I push in again.
She gasps, her hands flying to grip the desk as I bottom out in a single, brutal thrust.
“Viper—fuck?—”
That’s it.
That’s all I need.
I fuck her shamelessly, fast and deep, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the stone walls. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her mouth falling open as she loses the rhythm of her breath.
I grip her thighs tighter, angling her hips up so I can hit deeper, rougher.
Her nails rake across the desk, knocking more weapons to the ground—daggers clattering near our feet, a pistol sliding under a chair.
Neither of us care.
“F-fuck, you’re so deep—” she chokes out, legs quaking with every brutal stroke.
“Gonna cum again, little mouse?” I snarl, sweat dripping down my spine. “You always break so fucking easy.”
She doesn’t answer— can’t. Her body answers for her. She tightens, her pussy fluttering like it’s begging for release.
I lean over her, one hand gripping the edge of the desk as I fuck her faster, rougher.
She screams— shrieks —head thrown back as her climax rips through her.
I feel her gush again, coating my cock in a rush of wet heat.
My hips stutter.
I’m close. Too close.
My knot’s swelling, thickening.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck ? —
I barely manage to yank out in time, growling as I fist the base of my cock, the knot too sensitive, too swollen to ignore.
I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon, sweat dripping, blood roaring in my ears.
My cock twitches in my grip, desperate to knot her, to tie her down and never let her go.
She lies there, hair wild, lips swollen, thighs coated in slick and cum and chaos. She looks like a goddess. Like a corpse bride come back for vengeance.
She blinks slowly, recovering.
Then huffs a quiet laugh.
“What am I going to do with you, masked lover?”
Before I can answer, she rises onto her elbows, shifting her weight. Her voice lowers to a sultry purr.
“Guess I better finish what I started.”
She turns.
Gets on all fours.
And crawls toward me on my desk....
Fuck.
She wraps her lips around my cock, still sensitive from the near knotting, and I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Venom—”
She doesn’t stop.
Instead, her hands slide down, cupping and stroking my swollen knot. Massaging it. Teasing the pressure that’s still building at the base, threatening to detonate.
My knees fucking buckle.
I grab the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing.
She hums around me—pleased, powerful. Her lips work the shaft while her fingers press and circle the bulging knot, applying just enough pressure to bring me back to the brink.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t fucking think.
“Fucking hell,” I groan, hips jerking. “You’re gonna—fuck?—”
She doesn’t stop until I explode.
Until I growl her name like a curse, spilling into her mouth, my cock twitching wildly while my knot throbs under her touch.
My vision goes white.
When I come down, she’s sitting obediently, licking her lips like the demon she is.
She doesn’t speak.
Just waits.
Like the good little Omega she pretends she isn’t.
But I can still smell her.
That goddamn slick.
My cock twitches again.
“Sit,” I growl.
She blinks, surprised.
“On your ass. Now. Legs wide.”
Her brows lift slightly. She wants to mouth off, I can see it in her eyes.
But she doesn’t.
She shifts, sitting back on the desk, then spreads her legs slowly. Her thighs glisten. Her cunt is glistening and dripping onto the paper below, forming a growing pool of slick that soaks my kill list.
My fists clench.
God, I want to bury my face in her again. Lap up everything she’s spilled.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Instead, I stalk toward her.
Her breath catches.
My hand closes around her throat in an instant.
And I kiss her.
Hard.
Like I’m punishing her for existing.
Her lips part, and I bite down— deep and sharp —on her bottom lip until I taste the tang of blood. She whimpers against my mouth, melting and writhing, the copper tang coating our tongues.
When I pull back, we’re both panting.
And then I reach behind her.
Slip a blade from the desk.
She goes still.
The cool kiss of steel brushes her throat—not cutting, just a promise.
Just a question.
She looks at me.
I look back.
“Use your fucking words,” I growl, voice wrecked. “Or I’ll kick you out the back door and chase you through the woods. Make sure every Alpha in Dead Knot hears what it sounds like when my Omega screams.”
She pauses.
Then smiles.
That wicked little grin.
Perfect teeth.
Bloody lip.
And a whisper that nearly sends me over the fucking edge.
“I’ll do anything you want, masked Daddy.”
…
Fuck.
I can’t think.