Chapter One #2
“I’ll not ask again.” His fist curls around a dagger that wasn’t there before, the gleaming silver something I can’t take my eyes off. “What is your purpose here?”
“I . . . was trying to find a book,” I squeak as I take another step back.
“In my library?” he asks, his voice flitting between cautious and curious, seemingly settling on the latter.
He looks me up and down, appraising the threat I supposedly am, and lowers the dagger onto the couch.
“It seems another anomaly has popped up. Figures.” He does his best to lower his height by bending his knees, places his hands behind his back, and smiles. “You must be a human from Earth, yes?”
I nod.
“Do you think you can tell me your name?”
“Tyl.”
“My name is Braxton. You need not worry. No harm will come to you.” He raises his hands in surrender and smiles again.
My eyes catch on the sharpened fangs that drop below his lower lip, on the points of his fingernails that resemble small claws, and on the horns. My eyes can’t help, however, but wander to the unbuttoned shirt now hanging half untucked from his pants. “Wh-here am I?”
“Tantor, of the Daemon Realms.”
“Daemon . . . Realms?” I must be dreaming. Though, I’m not usually this creative. “It’s surprisingly detailed for a dream.”
A sigh escapes him as his hand runs over his right horn in a practised motion. “This isn’t a dream, I assure you. Sometimes this happens, an anomaly opens up and a human slips through. Though never into my chambers specifically.”
Over my initial shock, I take a delicate step forward in heels that are starting to become a bad decision and take the details of the room in.
It’s primitive, with no technology in sight, but cosy.
Somewhere you could curl up on a cold winter’s day and read a good book while snuggling under a thick blanket. With a hot monster curled beneath you.
He doesn’t seem to want to harm me, so I circle around the room, running my hands along polished wooden surfaces and grazing my eyes across aged oil paintings, but never stopping the side glances at my new dream friend, who simply watches me with curiosity lacing his face.
And the occasional dip of his gaze to my ass.
“So . . . daemons?” What has my brain done now? Clearly too much reading of myths and legends. “And . . .” I gesture around the room. “Castles?”
“It is different from Earth, but it is home.” He comes to stand in front of me, still keeping his hands behind his back and trying to diminish his height.
“Would you like me to take you home?” He looks down at me, but it takes me a second too long to remove my eyes from his bare chest peeking out of the open shirt, and a devilish grin spreads across my face.
“Or you could stay a while, let me show you a little of my world.”
I should get back to my essay, to my failing grade, to Professor Brax’s ridiculously handsome face .
. . Or I could stay and get it out of my system with someone I would definitely never see again.
Besides, if this is just a dream, then does it really matter?
(We’ll not question my odd survival instincts—or lack thereof—because apparently a deep-seated horniness is more important than staying alive).
His finger lifts my chin and forces me to meet his black eyes that have widened with something akin to hunger.
We both hold our breath, the pause filling with tension ready to snap any moment, before I drop my coat, reach up, wrap my fingers around a ridged horn, and yank his face to mine in a hurried meeting of lips.
His hand threads through my hair and tips my head back, my mouth falls open on a gasp, and he shoves his tongue between my open lips with a rough smoothness that leaves an empty moan in the air.
His other hand traces the curve of the dress down and past my ass, where he lifts me toward him with an ease I barely have time to appreciate.
My legs wrap around his waist on their own, my dress hitching up my thighs and exposing the lace thong.
Our lips never breaking contact, his fingers still wrapped in my hair.
I pull back and look him in the eyes, stare at his heated expression, the pained restraint he seems to be playing with. “Fuck me,” I whisper. “Please.”
A growl escapes his lips as both hands squeeze my ass. “Any limits?”
“None anyone has found.”
Something in those eyes brightens, something dark and twisted I recognise as familiar to my own needs in so many ways.
“Then let’s change that, little human.” He throws me onto the couch and looks me up and down like I’m dinner.
That familiar twitch of his hand raking across his horn again.
He looks at the thong I’m definitely spilling out of, my tuck having come undone, and snarls with a white-knuckled grip.
“You’re leaking for me. Gonna ruin that pretty pink thong. ”
Standing over me, a wicked grin on his face, I can see the outline of his own desire starting to bulge in his dress pants. And he knows I notice.
He kneels between my legs and leans over me, his lips inches from my ear. “I want to taste you, pretty thing.” He wasn’t asking permission. He was warning me.
My cock is so hard it’s shooting straight up out of the thong and leaking a trail down my stomach, weeping for contact. Any contact. But especially that tongue. My hole twitches at the thought.
Warm lips press kisses to my thigh that quickly turn into sharp-edged scrapes of his fangs that cause my balls to tighten and my dick to twitch. A ripping of fabric rents the air as his claws make quick work of my underwear.
“Knees up, pretty thing.”
I pull my knees to my chest and hold my breath as his head dips south and his tongue licks a stripe from my balls to my hole that forces me to hold back a moan.
My teeth biting my lower lip in restraint.
He licks circles around the outside, dragging light strokes over the puckered center every now and then that make me dizzy.
Light-headed. “Please . . .” I can’t explain the pent-up need of months of frustration to this daemon, so I do the only other thing and beg.
Beg him to fuck me so hard into the couch I forget about anyone else.
Beg him to make me come. “Please, I need—”
“Shh . . . I know.” He licks another stripe down. “I know.” Before pressing that otherworldly tongue into my hole and pulling it back out again. He plunges in and out and couple of times, gauging, testing.
“Mmmff, God fuck . . .”
His hands push my legs farther apart so they’re either side of me, still bent upward, and he plunges his tongue in and out in a steady rhythm that sets my balls on fire.
I’ve never had a problem lasting before, but this daemon might have me coming before he gets anywhere good.
His tongue works the inside of me in circles with every thrust.
And every second takes me higher, my pretence at holding in my moans all but vanishing with the skill this daemon is showing my ass. My hand reaches down to my cock, but he bats it away. “Please, I need to—”
“Not yet.”
The sob that leaves my body should be embarrassing, but the only thing my mind thinks is how hot my neediness sounds and how much my hard cock aches.
And how much I wish it were something bigger than his tongue fucking my ass.
I’d give anything to be bent ass up over any of the surfaces in this extravagant room, taking the pounding of a lifetime while he fucks me into endless orgasms.
His hand releases my leg and covers my mouth. “I’m going to need you to be a little quieter than that, or my guards will rush in here and ruin our night.” He looks up at me from below, teasing, tainting. “Think you can do that for me, pretty little thing?”
I shake my head, no. Because if I know anything about myself in this moment, it’s that I’m not going to have any control over my body when he finally fucks me.
“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?” He grabs a cushion and presses it over the lower half of my face before removing his hand. “Next time, we’ll use the bedchamber.”
I barely have time to process what he said when his warm lips wrap tight around my cock, his fangs nestled either side pressing a delicious pressure that’ll be sure to undo me. I’ve never been fucked by a daemon before, but he’s going to ruin men for me. I just know it.
His throat vibrates in a deep, inhuman hum as he lowers my cock to the back of his throat, where it vibrates straight down to my balls.
So strong I can feel it in my ass. When he pulls back, a thick stream of saliva trails down, my eyes following its connection to my engorged head that’s so hard it looks angry and ready to burst.
The cushion is pressed harder to my mouth as he lowers his back down my cock.
“Ahh, fuck,” I muffle, my moans edging on screams. I’ve never been this horny in all my life. If I don’t come, I’m going to implode. All I can do is give vague, lewd instructions of every flash of fantasy that passes through my head.
He growls around my cock at every mention of my ass, until something in him gives, because he shoves two fingers into my hole while swallowing my dick until his nose nestles against skin.
He doesn’t waste a second warming me up; he fingers me quickly, roughly, sucks me hard, circles a tongue around my tip with every pass.
My moans have turned into screams that pierce through the cushion in high-pitched wails. I thrust my hips into his face, not caring if it’s desperate, just needing more somehow. Somehow bigger, deeper. “Harder. Pleeeeease,” I scream when he gives me what I want.
His fingers pound my prostate with every pass, his lips puckered into a hard suck as the sensation is too much.