Page 31 of Demon's Bride

“That’s… good, I guess,” I say, turning back to the mirror, lifting my chin to get a better look at them. “I suppose I shouldn’t just go around all day with a demon hickey on my neck.”

A small smile curls Eren’s lips as he walks up to the vanity. After how we left things last night, the sight of it sends a little ripple of relief through me.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re mistaken,” he says, voice low. “I’d much prefer it if you bore my mark when you walk amongst our people.”

He stops an inch away from me, and I ache to lean back into the radiating heat of him. Uncertain, I hold his eyes in the mirror and wait, watch as he raises one clawed finger and runs it gently over the healing marks. A corresponding jolt tugs between my thighs.

“Goddess,” I murmur, and, unable to help myself, lean back to press up against him.

Eren’s arms are around me a moment later, and his head bends low to hover over the mark.

“So pretty,” he breathes, running his tongue across my punctured skin. “You can’t imagine how exquisite you taste.”

“What do I taste like?” I ask, morbidly curious.

“Decadence,” he murmurs. “And sin. And every dark, depraved fantasy I’ve ever had.”

Hands on my shoulders, he turns me gently and reaches down with both hands to cup my ass before lifting me to sit on the stone countertop. Stepping between my spread thighs, he catches my hair in a fist and tips my head back, exposing my throat to his mercy.

When he leans down again, I can’t help the needy little whimper that escapes me.

“Can I?” he asks, fangs pressing lightly against my neck. “I’m bringing you to court today, and I’d have every demon in the realm know who you belong to.”

My skin is static and starlight, humming and glowing with sensual promise. His big, warm body against mine, his fangs at my throat, the heated possession in his words, it all fills me up and leaves no room for doubts or regrets or second thoughts.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, right before the slow, hot slide of his fangs sinks into my skin.

The sensation is different than when he was fucking me. Warm and stirring, it makes it feel like my heart is expanding in my chest, like my skin isn’t quite big enough to contain my soul. I clutch his horns, press my thighs tighter around his waist, crush my body to his, and I’m still nowhere near close enough to him.

Eren’s growl rumbles in his chest as he draws deeply, and the feel of him drinking from me sends a spike of painful lust through my veins. It’s depraved, monstrous, and I can’t get enough.

Claws sheathed, he reaches between our bodies and presses his fingers against my damp, aching core. Finding the evidence of my arousal, another growl rolls through him as he delves two fingers inside. The heel of his palm rolls over my clit as he works me, and combined with the sinful invasion of his fangs in my neck and his lips sucking down swallow after swallow of blood, it takes nearly no time at all before I’m consumed by a fast, vicious climax.

Eren holds me through the aftershocks, and when he pulls back, his lips are shining as ruby red as his eyes.

I’m boneless, absolutely melted, and he holds me up as he grabs a damp towel from the counter beside me and dabs at my neck before running it over his lips. Placing one finger under my chin and tipping my head to the side so he can admire his work, he makes a noise of satisfaction deep in his throat.

“Perfect.”

As it turns out, the consort of the demon king has a pretty damn nice wardrobe. Or, at least, the dresses that Eren had someone bring up for me to try on would suggest so.

“We’ll get you new clothes,” he says, hovering behind me as I look at the selection of gowns some unseen staff member has laid out on the bed. “Ones that are custom made for you.”

“I don’t know,” I say, holding an emerald green satin dress against my body. “These seem fine.”

Eren just grunts. “No. You’ll have your own. These are only borrowed.”

And truly, who am I to argue with a demon king who just wants to give me pretty dresses?

Seeing them spread before me, I feel a momentary pang of loss for everything I left behind in the human realm. It’s not like I had a closet full of designer outfits, but everything I had was mine. Picked out with care and paid for by my librarian’s salary, some part of me already misses my small apartment closet full of thrifted sweaters and Old Navy jeans.

I wonder if it will be my mother, or maybe Joan, who will go through and clean out my stuff. Goddess, I hope it’s Joan. I’m pretty sure my mother would never recover from seeing that I turned the cauldron she gave me when I turned ten into a plant pot, or from unearthing the collection of battery operated toys from my nightstand.

Putting the thought aside with a shudder, I focus on choosing the least ostentatious outfit of the bunch, the one closest to something I might actually wear in real life. The dress is a dark navy blue and made of an impossibly soft, flowy material that hugs tightly through the bodice and falls in a swish of skirts to the floor. It’s fancy enough to be something I might have worn to a black-tie wedding or a solstice ball back home, if I ever actually went to those types of events.

Holding it up against me, I turn back to my demon husband. “Will this work?”