Page 23 of Demon's Bride

I’d let her have anything within my power to give.

Standing in the candlelight before me, Allie is a goddess. Small, round breasts with dusky pink nipples, a soft stomach I want to nuzzle and nip, wide hips just begging me to sink my fingers in. Those same fingers burn to reach out and rip the last little scrap of black lace panties from her body.

I hold myself back, curiosity overcoming the need to have her bare.

“What would you do to me, witch?”

She doesn’t answer. She only slides silently to her knees on the fur rug beside the bed.

I’m not sure I’m breathing as I watch her smile up at me.

And IknowI’m not breathing when her graceful fingers find the fastenings on my trousers, tugging until they fall open and dipping her hand inside.

“Allie,” I rasp as her hand closes around my cock.

Her eyes are wide when she draws it out, looking it over in the firelight. A desperate bubble of laughter rises in my throat at her curiosity, but I bite it back. I don’t want to break whatever spell my witch is weaving over us.

When she takes me in hand and gives a long, languorous stroke up and down my shaft, though, I can’t stop my answering groan.

“This is your knot?” she asks, fingers pausing around the still-dormant notch of flesh right at the base of me.

“Yes,” I tell her, not exactly certain how I’m able to get the word out.

“How does it work?” she asks, leaning forward to press a small kiss on the underside of my cock, just below the head.

I lose myself in the next few moments. The hot slide of Allie’s mouth on me is heaven. And hell. She’s enthusiastic and bold—licking, sucking, driving me mad.

“Eren,” she murmurs, and I know I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

Allie draws me deep, taking me all the way back down into her throat. I can’t help it, my hand tangles into her hair, holding her to me. It’s all I can do not to thrust forward and fuck her mouth.

Still not done toying with me, she pulls herself off me with a wet, satisfying pop.

“Eren,” she prompts again. “How does it work, your knot?”

“It swells,” I choke out. “When… when I’m…”

“When you’re aroused?” she asks, running her hand over it again.

I give my head a sharp shake. “When I’m ready to mate.”

That makes her pause. She peers up at me with a hundred questions in her gaze.

I curl my hand around her cheek. “When you take my knot, I’ll rut you. I’ll spend myself so deep inside you, filling you up with my seed and my child.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “Oh, fuck.”

I think she’s about to pull back, about to surrender, to decide that all of this is too much, when one of her hands comes up to massage my knot. Over and over she strokes me, and the first faint stirrings of rut bloom in my veins.

I can’t.

Not now.

Not even when my wife is stroking me so sweetly. Not when she’s still so unaccustomed to me and when her body isn’t ready for the kind of mating I want to give her.

The darker part of me also warns that I can’t do this until I know she’ll stay.

If things between us don’t work, if she leaves weakened and drained as the last witch, damaged because of me… because of this realm…

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