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Alex’s heart thunders as she moves across the ballroom. She approaches the golden circle imprisoning Darlington, feels waves of heat pouring off it like a warning. Hot stove. Do not touch.
“Stern,” he rumbles from where he’s seated on the floor, cross-legged, hands palms-up on his knees as usual. He barely glances at her before closing his eyes again. He looks infuriatingly zen for someone with a raging erection.
But Alex is here to change that.
Halfway across the ballroom, she stops and reaches for the sash of her robe. (Dressing gown, she guesses, since she pilfered it from Darlington’s room and he’d never be so pedestrian as to call it a robe.) She unties the belt, lets it drop from her shoulders in a slide of silk that crumples to the floor.
She’s naked. She knows she should feel cold right now, exposed. It’s the middle of the night in New England, and Black Elm hasn’t been heated for months. But she’s pleasantly toasty, thanks to the wall of warmth coming from Darlington’s enclosure.
Not to mention the laser focus of his eerie golden eyes, open once more and staring in a way that makes her cheeks warm.
“Stern,” he rumbles again, a bit huskier now. “What are you doing?”
She wants to blame the same pull that lured her here last time, a cross between sleepwalking and compulsion. She’d love nothing more than to blame Darlington, or hell, or some magic curse for this.
But she’s wide awake now. She took an Uber here. Brewed a tempest in a thermos to fill the cameras with static. Not as strong as Dawes’s tea, but it’ll do for an hour.
(As close as they’d gotten in the last year, Alex doesn’t relish the idea of Dawes seeing this. She gets the feeling therapy would follow. For all of them.)
She keeps walking, until she’s just outside the circle. She reaches a hand towards it, fingers dancing at the edge of the barrier, feeling the scorch but not burning.
“Stern.” Darlington’s on his feet now. There’s a feverish sheen to his golden eyes she knows she should be afraid of. But it just makes her heart beat even harder—impatient.
“Darlington,” she says, tilting her head. “Care for some company?”
The room fills with a low growl and for one desperate moment she thinks something’s happened—the hellbeast is here, or she’s angered whatever demon’s watching over Darlington in hell. But she catches the movement of Darlington’s chest, his deep drags of breath in and out. The golden sigils stretched over his skin pulse in time with his growling.
“I told you. It’s not wise to keep my company at the moment,” he says, so low she can barely hear. “I can’t say what I will or will not do. I have no control, Stern. I only have…” his eyes rake over her again, so wanton she’d be full-body blushing if she wasn’t already red from the heat lamp of his protective circle.
“I know,” she says, setting one foot over the threshold, watching as the tattoos on her leg glow and come alive. “But you’re not the only one with appetites.”
Darlington’s breath hitches, stops. His body goes still, eyes sun-bright and eager.
She steps fully into the circle, leaving behind whatever anchor she had to her world.
The first thing she feels as she passes through the barrier is a break in the heat, like cool rain after a long drought.
The second thing she feels is Darlington’s stupidly jacked demon body slamming into her, tackling her to the ground.
She lands on her back with an oof, breathless from the impact. She squirms, trying to orient herself, and feels Darlington’s hands cradling her head. His body is a crushing weight against her small frame. He’s bent forward, torso pressed to hers, legs straddling her hips. His glowing cock bounces obscenely between them.
She bucks, not sure if she’s trying to shove him away or spur him on. He growls and presses his lips to hers, searing.
She meets him with equal ferocity, kissing like it’s a fight, all tongues and teeth. She feels a prick at her lip, tastes a hint of copper on Darlington’s tongue. She pulls back enough to catch a flash of white fangs. He grins. She surges forward and bites his lower lip twice as hard, pulling a groan from deep in his throat.
She wraps her hands around his biceps and tangles their tongues, stroking slick and needy against each other. She wriggles under his weight, trying to grind against his cock where it hovers over her abdomen.
“So,” she huffs, jerking her chin towards the glowing beacon of his erection. “That’s new.”
He hums. “The golden sun dispenses light from far,” he murmurs against her neck, working his way down to her chest, “days, months, and years…” She hisses as his fangs drag against her nipple, immediately soothed by a stroke of his tongue. He moves lower, kissing a line down her belly, hands squeezing her hips. “Toward his all-cheering lamp turn their swift motions,” she jerks as he pries her legs apart, “or are turned by his magnetic beam that warms the universe.”
Alex huffs, trying not to flinch when his claws dig into the soft skin of her thighs. “Are you really calling your dick a magnetic beam right now? The sun, even?”
He lowers his head to the apex of her thighs, breath a fiery puff against her core. “It brought you here, didn’t it?” That pulls a startled laugh from her, and in an instant his mouth is on her clit, stealing the breath from her lungs.
She feels a flash of panic—oh fuck, not the fangs—but there’s no pain. There is, however, a unique sort of undulating sensation she can’t quite identify. His tongue is scorching hot against her, lapping up and down. He circles her clit, and there’s that feeling again—wet and hot and writhing.
She tries to brace herself against the onslaught of pleasure, grabbing onto his hair, but she can’t hold back her cries of “Fuck fuck fuck, fuuuck, Darlington.”
He lifts his head to smirk at her, and she sees his fangs have disappeared. As he descends once more, she catches a glimpse of a forked tongue before it goes back to work, parting her labia in an all-encompassing drag.
What the shit.
One of his fingers nudges into her wet pussy, and there’s no sign of the claws he’d had earlier. His fingers feel thicker than she remembers them looking pre-demonization, as if everything about him is cranked up to 11 in this form. The sensation of being filled is too much, and with a curl of his finger and another flick of his busy tongue she’s cumming.
Her whole body feels like it’s on fire. Her toes curl and her muscles go tense as she rides out the orgasm crashing through her, gasping, pulling Darlington’s hair.
He growls and doubles his efforts, fed by her pleasure. Normally she needs a minute to let her body recover, but he doesn’t stop. She feels the welcome stretch of a second finger entering her, thrusting in and out, stroking and curling inside her.
His tongue is relentless on her clit, lapping and swirling and pressing hard against oversensitized flesh. Without warning she cums again, hands scrabbling for purchase, clawing at his shoulders. This time it’s electric, burning and too sharp.
Her moans sound pathetic now, half pleasure and half pain as he continues working her without pause. Through hazy eyes, she watches him, ravenous and greedy as he licks her cunt. There’s a low hum vibrating through her, and she realizes he’s growling again, his tongue lapping up her slickness. A spike of fear shoots through her chest.
He’d warned her away and she still threw herself to his mercy. She was convinced he was still Darlington underneath it all, that any version of the Darlington she knew would always give her more pleasure than pain.
What has she done?
She cries out as he wrings more orgasms from her, her moans turned to screams, tears spilling from her eyes. She thinks of demons feeding off of greed. Could she die like this, trapped in exquisite agony, a victim to Darlington’s insatiable hunger?
It’s almost tempting to surrender to it, dying of pleasure after a lifetime of pain.
Through the barrage of sensations, she can see the Wheel tattoo on her arm spinning wildly alongside one of the sigils on Darlington’s shoulders. They’re golden, moving in rhythm together.
With a deep breath, she manages to get a firm grip on his horns.
He may be a demon, but she’s still the Wheelwalker. That has to count for something.
He’s so focused on feasting on her that she can yank hard and pull him off with a filthy pop. His lips are shiny, his eyes glazed and luminous—bottomless pits of white gold.
She takes advantage of his momentary stupor to twist sideways, reversing their positions so Darlington’s on his back and she’s hovering over his face.
He groans, half needy human and half angry demon, an animal ripped from his meal.
She growls and thrusts forward, into his eager mouth. She rocks back and forth, controlling the pace, giving herself room to recover from the overstimulation. His tongue chases her, meeting her thrusts to lap desperately at her overheated flesh.
It’s still too much against her sensitive nerves, but it’s more manageable.
His hands are everywhere, gripping her ass, her breasts, her arms and back. Everywhere he touches seems to come even more alive, her tattoos and his markings shining white-gold, reacting to each other.
“You like it when I fuck your face?” she asks, throat raw and aching from screaming through orgasms.
The sound Darlington makes is something between a roar and a sob. She thrusts towards him, holding his head there so he can suck at her clit for a moment, hands squeezing her ass.
She backs away again, using his horns to pull herself back and forth, fucking into his waiting mouth. She bucks her hips, angling to hit the right spot with enough pressure. She moves faster and faster, breath coming in pants. Part of her thinks she should slow down, give Darlington a break and stop riding his face like a cheap sex toy.
But he’s meeting her eagerly, groaning in time with her thrusts. And besides, she likes to look down and see him like this, starving and desperate and at her mercy.
He’s not the only one who can be greedy.
Her orgasm builds and she rocks back and forth wildly, losing her rhythm, gripping his horns and yanking over and over until she’s cumming, slamming against his mouth. She feels his hands grip her ass and pin her to him, holding her in place as he swallows her down, gluttonous.
She allows herself a few more seconds of the live-wire pleasure before pulling herself up on wobbly legs.
Darlington reaches for her, claws leaving pink lines down her thighs.
“Easy, Freddy Krueger. I need a fucking minute,” she says, shoving sweat-soaked hair off her face. She takes a few steps back, away from his grabby arms. She lowers to her knees by his legs, eyeing the glowing golden cock bobbing between them.
It’s weeping precome, and so hard it looks painful. But more than that, it’s thick. Alex isn’t sure how she’s going to handle it, but it wouldn’t be the first time she bit off more than she could chew. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time tonight.
She leans in, hands braced on Darlington’s muscled legs.
She licks a long stripe from root to tip, feeling Darlington’s cock twitch under her tongue. His length is the same searing temperature as the rest of him, but it’s tolerable—just a sizzle. She wraps one hand around the base, lapping at every side, ignoring Darlington’s impatient huffs. This thing isn’t getting into her mouth without lots of lubrication.
She works the shaft with her hand as she licks the tip, swirling sticky precome around the head. It tastes…surprisingly sweet. Almost like honey. For a second, she thinks she can smell the bergamot scent of Il Bastone, but it’s probably just the smoky aura that surrounds Darlington now.
He huffs again from somewhere above her head. She hears the crack of splintering wood as his claws dig into the ballroom floor.
Well, here goes nothing.
She opens her jaw and takes the tip into her mouth, hand squeezing his shaft. Her mouth seems almost full already as she swirls her tongue. He feels even bigger than he looks. But she bobs her head studiously, trying to take more.
Darlington’s huffs come in a pattern now, in time with the dip of her head as she swallows more of him down, inch by inch. She pushes further, chasing the honey-sweet taste of his precum, flicking her tongue eagerly. She thinks she can manage at least half of his length in her throat when he roars.
“Enough,” he growls.
She’s yanked off his dick with a pop and placed atop his waist like a ragdoll, straddling him.
She’s about to snark back—something really eloquent, like turnabout is fair play, bitch—when he shoves his whole cock inside her.
She gasps. A wave of sensation washes over her, lighting up her every nerve. She’s soaking wet and thankfully relaxed enough to take it all in one smooth slide, but it’s a lot at once. She feels the burn of her body stretching to accommodate him, warring with the welcome sense of suddenly being filled.
She plants her hands on his chest and hisses. “Jesus Christ, Darlington.”
A thunderous rumble fills the room and there’s a shock like a lightning strike through Darlington’s cock and straight into her. She claws her hands into his chest, nails leaving half-moons of blood in their wake. He just grunts and mutters, “This isn’t the place for blasphemy, Stern,” before lifting her up and setting her back down, impaling her on his cock, using her to stroke up and down his shaft.
“Tell that to the demon balls-deep in my pussy,” she grumbles. But she throws her head back, along for the ride as Darlington holds her, ruts his hips to fuck up into her over and over.
He’s so long he keeps bumping her cervix, and thick enough that the stretch is a burn every time. But she’s so wet, and his precome only adds to it, each thrust landing with a slick slap. He uses his strength to fuck her like a toy, huffing with every buck of his hips.
She looks down, wanting to watch the place where their bodies meet, but instead sees that she’s glowing. Not just her tattoos, which have been hyperactive since she crossed the barrier—twin snakes coiling and uncoiling, the Wheel spinning freely, stars sparking and fizzing in and out of existence. More than that, her belly glows in a long line up her middle, ebbing and flowing like the tides. She’s lit up from the inside, watching the golden bulge of Darlington’s cock inside her, pulsing faintly with every thrust.
It’s unsettling. It’s unnatural.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
“Oh fuck, Darlington.” She bucks her hips, trying to match his rhythm, and he doubles his speed, voracious. The golden sigils on his body are equally frantic, flaring and spinning like they could fly off at any second.
She reaches a hand to her clit, ready to come again, but Darlington swats it away. He wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her forward, folding her in half while thrusting up into her.
Their lips are an inch apart as he breathes, “Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”
He runs his tongue over her lips before pushing inside, a kiss so needy and slick she feels an answering throb between her legs. She pulls back and nips at his neck.
“Don’t talk about food when you’re inside me,” she says, licking away the hurt to suck a mark into his skin.
Darlington’s tongue flicks her ear, tickling a little. He leans in further and sucks at her nipples, first one then the other, sending an electric current down her body. She groans, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
With none of the bravado she hopes to muster, she pants, “You gonna cum now, or what?”
His laugh is a harsh grumble in his throat. And suddenly the searing-hot cock inside her is gone, leaving her feeling empty and exposed. Her world is upside down again as she’s maneuvered to press facedown on the ballroom floor, belly flat against the smooth wood.
“The fuck are you doing?”
His weight hovers over her, like a furnace where his back is pressed along hers. He’s propped on his elbows, bracketing her in, which she’s grateful for. He could probably crush her pretty easily even in his normal body.
His cock nudges at her entrance, presses inside. She spreads her legs but at this angle it still feels like she’s being split open from behind. Darlington growls as he slides in, thrusting deep, slower than before.
She feels the ghost of his breath in her ear as he says, “I want to bury myself inside you and never leave.”
“Fuuuuuck,” she whines, taking his full length in long, slow drags. She presses her ass back against him, trying to take in more, to envelope every last inch of him.
She wraps her hands around his forearms on either side of her head, squeezing hard, not caring as her nails claw into his flesh. She’s moaning with every drawn-out thrust, voice a crackly whimper. He huffs against her ear.
“I want to fill you with my cum every night.”
His thrusts speed up, hips snapping against hers, hard and fast. Her body lights up but she’s exhausted, sobbing without tears, overwhelmed with pleasure. It feels like she’s on fire. She can hear Darlington’s skin sizzling where it meets hers, but she doesn’t burn.
She cries out with every thrust, long past the point of forming words.
His hand reaches underneath her and finds her clit, circling it as he fucks into her. She feels bruised and tender, swollen and desperate for release. Everything in her seems to pulse as one, in time with Darlington’s cock thrusting in and out of her.
Darlington’s voice in her ear is deep, more demon than human. “Do you feel that, Stern? My cock was made for you.”
His thrusts grow faster, falling out of his steady rhythm as he starts to lose control. She feels her own orgasm building. He’s right. She never wants their bodies to part. And there’s no way she’s asking for a pull-out.
She spares a thought for her IUD, praying it can stop her from getting knocked up with the antichrist. Her last inane thought before plunging over the edge is “Dawes will have something for that.”
He presses his lips to her neck as she starts to tremble. “Keep me by your side and you’ll never feel empty again,” he growls. “Let me serve you, Alex.”
She hits her peak, sobbing with pleasure. She bucks against Darlington’s hand as his breaths puff over her neck.
He rises to his knees, pulling her with him, her back to his chest. His arm is an iron bar over her breasts, as his other hand mercilessly works her exhausted clit.
She squirms, and he finally moves his hand, pressing it to her lower belly. She’s still shivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm when she feels the prick at her shoulder, his fangs sinking into flesh.
She screams and he thrusts once, twice, three times, his full length sheathed inside her. For a second she’s blinded, a flash of blue flame crackling over her skin. But just as quickly it’s gone, replaced with the husky roar of Darlington cumming.
His body’s so much hotter than hers, and his cum even moreso. She feels each hot, thick rope filling her cunt.
He laps at the blood he drew from her shoulder, presses his hand more firmly to her abdomen and says, “Frumentum non feret agri, quamvis hodie seminatum sit.” He thrusts erratically a few more times, sliding against his own mess, shoving his cum deeper before finally going still.
Her heart hammers with fear. But it’s Darlington. He’d never do any weird demon voodoo to her during sex. Right?
She scratches his arms. “The fuck was that?”
He just lifts his hand to stroke at her hair before gently setting her down on her back. He flops over with a thump, arranging her to nestle in the crook of his arm.
She’s still dazed, heart pounding like a rabbit’s, when he turns to her with the same look he used give when she’d ask who Proust was or why Lethe still balanced its checkbook once a month.
“The fields shall bear no wheat,” he says, tracing his fingers down her cheek, “despite what is sown today. An incantation against pregnancy.” She chokes on a laugh, half crazed.
He levels an even look at her. “A gentleman is always prepared, Stern.”
She snorts. Of course. He’s still Darlington somewhere in there.
He rumbles a little laugh in return and she closes her eyes, letting herself bask in the sound for just a second, heart aching.
But the thermos is getting cold by now. And gentleman or not, she isn’t sure what Darlington’s recovery time is. Her body can’t handle a second round.
…Not tonight, at least.
With a groan, she peels herself off the floor. She pushes tangled hair out of her eyes and tries not to flinch at the sensation of wet cum sliding down her inner thighs.
Darlington sits up and reaches for her, but she forces herself to step outside the circle before he can make contact. There’s resignation in his face, but she can see something like relief in his eyes once she crosses the barrier. Maybe she’d tested his control more than he’d cared for tonight.
She pulls the dressing gown back on and ties it before turning back to him. He’s sitting cross-legged again, almost like nothing had happened.
Aside from his finally flaccid cock. Which, she’s weirdly pleased to see, is still glowing.
“We’re bringing you home tomorrow,” she vows.
He smirks. “Si placet, hera.”
She shakes her head, too tired to even ask. She walks to the door, feeling her trembling muscles with every step. “Thanks for the fuck, Darlington,” she calls over her shoulder. “See you in hell.”