Page 38 of The Demon Prince

Her flavor would explode on his tongue. Sweet and rich, like honey dripping down every inch of her body until he could feast between her legs. He’d gorge himself on every ounce of her taste, every inch of her form, every drop of her blood until there was nothing left of him at all. Only her, only the essence of her that blasted out any part of him that remained.

Breathing hard, he worked his cock with his hand and lifted the goblet to his nose. He inhaled, drawing her scent deep into his lungs as his passion turned into a frenzy.

Bending over the kitchen table, one forearm braced against the cold tile, he stared unseeing at the condensation of his own breath on the tabletop. His cock ached, his balls drew up tight as he imagined going back to her room.

She’d turn over like she had before, all sleepy and bleary-eyed. Not scared at all, just accepting that he was there and that he needed her. Maybe she’d stand again, or maybe he would draw back the covers and reveal the long limbs of her body. Inch by mouth watering inch. Maybe she would grab the hem of that ugly shift, slide it higher and higher up her thighs until he could finally see all that pretty, pretty pink flesh...

Groaning, he bared his teeth in an ugly snarl as ropes of his cum splattered onto the floor. His heart thundered in his chest and his legs grew weak with the force of it. He hadn’t come like that in ages. In centuries. Not since the first time he’d tried it out and realized this human form was worth more than just food.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to have a piece of his soul ripped out in ecstasy, all by the thought of a single woman. He forgot how to breathe. How to think. He could only focus on the sensation and the sudden relaxation that made him sag against the table.

For the first time in years, he thought maybe he actually wanted to sleep. He wanted to curl up on a comfortable bed, with a warm fire crackling in his ears, and a soft woman resting against his chest.

Wincing, he forced himself to stand and tucked himself back into his pants. Reality quickly crashed down upon his ears.

He wouldn’t have a pliant woman in his arms. This wasn’t a relationship that he’d fostered for years while he wooed her into a lulled sense of safety.

The woman upstairs had traded her life for him to leave her people alone. She hadn’t come here because she wanted him, but because she’d seen him as a problem that needed to be fixed. And she was the only one willing to do so, apparently, or the only one that he’d obsessed over for weeks on end.

The mayor of that town might have sent her to him. She might have come here under duress, or without any other options. He’d never asked.

But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t want him at all. She was a sweet minded young woman who tasted like candy and he couldn’t ever have her, because she didn’t want him like that.

Instead, he was the monster in the basement. Masturbating to the thought of her touch when she was likely terrified of him.

Staring down at the puddle between his feet, he resolved himself to this fate. At least if he was the asshole in the basement, he wasn’t touching her. And he knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t welcome his touch. She was so beautiful, she could get anyone. All the men in the village must be trailing after her like fools. She didn’t need him to be added to that nonsense.

Someday, when all of this was said and done, she’d make herself a family. A handsome, strapping man would find her and they’d make a home on the edge of the moors. He’d give her fine children, tall and lean, with red hair that turned into a bird’s nest at the slightest hint of humidity in the air.

And he’d make sure she got to that point. He wouldn’t kill this one. He wouldn’t even harm her, not in the slightest.

Even if the thought of her leaving someday, the thought of her with another man, made his claws come out and dig long grooves through the tile of his kitchen table.

He didn’t have time to think about this. Gluttony needed to clean up. He needed to stagger past her door without knocking, and crawl into his own bed. Maybe he would sleep for a day on end like the last time. Maybe he wouldn’t wake up at all, and all her problems would disappear with him.

“She’s not happy here,” a dark voice split through his thoughts. “You really are a monster to take her away from her friends.”

“I know.”

“She had a job. An important job in the village, piecing together all the wounds that you yourself have wrought. Did you know she saved a young woman you almost murdered mere nights before you were stalking outside her window?”

He flinched. The dark spirit knew exactly where to prod. It somehow looked deep into his fears and yanked them out, one by one.

“I know she has seen the worst of me,” he snarled, still bracing himself against the table. “I know she is aware of the monster inside of me.”

“Is it inside you?” Spite asked, slithering onto the opposite end of the table. It crouched there, like an animal that had gotten into his home. “Or are you the monster, Gluttony? How long have you fought against this side of yourself? How long have you realized that there is no hiding from it?”

“I am in control.” He ground his teeth so hard he heard the fine bones creaking in his ears. “I will not harm this one.”

“But she’s already seen all the harm you can do. She’s already patched them up. Held their hands while they cried and whimpered, asking her to end their suffering. You have done that. Time and time again.” It seemed to grow larger with every word, spreading across his table like black ink until its icy touch reached his hands. “You could end it all now. Show her the real you and indulge in all that you desire.”

He shuddered at the mere thought. “You came here with her. Surely you wouldn’t want me to barge into her room and drain her dry?”

“It’s in my nature to hurt.” The dark shadows gathered up into sharp points, thorns that dug into his hands as it anchored him to the table. “And it’s in your nature to consume.”

Gluttony ripped his hands away from the little beast. He refused to do that to her. He would not harm Katherine, not with her pretty freckles that dusted her nose and the soft, sleepy way she’d approached him.

Like she’d been in a dream.

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