Page 17 of A Victorian Demon’s Guide to London, Love, and Being a Hero (Time for Monsters)

I wake up to strong fingers pinching my nipples, pulling them and rolling them, sending long, curving waves of bliss down to my quim. “Jack,” I moan, trying to understand what’s happening. The warm rush in my belly. The hot waves of pleasure that slide slowly through me mixed with sharper twinges that set my spine arching...

“Good morning, pet. Had a good sleep?” Jack’s voice comes from between my thighs.

“I did. I—I never heard you leave. What about your work?” I half sit up, eyes flaring open.

Jack growls and hooks his arms over my thighs, his hands clasping over my middle. “Stay.”

Well.

I don’t suppose I mind.

But I can’t be a kept woman of leisure. It’ll never work. I’ll go mad. “I need to empty the tray in the icebox, or the melting will overflow the pan in the bottom and go all down the floor.”

“Mmm.” Jack laps at my folds.

That’s not an answer. I keep speaking, toes beginning to tingle as his tongue dances in sinful swirls. In a second, his fingers gently ease in. Once they’re inside, gentleness vanishes. “Ohhh. Oh, God.”

“I’d prefer the credit,” he says, voice muffled.

“Jack!” My bottom clenches as he thrusts steadily. “Oh, God. Oh, stop.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then why should I stop?” he asks, voice genuinely puzzled.

“Breakfast to see to! What about the laundry? These windows need a good scrubbing, and the drapes are full of dust.”

“I could take them down—and then everyone in the street could watch me bend you over the bed tonight, . Would you like the world to watch while I claim my bride?”

“Bride?” I half roll, but Jack rolls with me, chest coming up rest along my spine for a minute while his fingers fuck me and my thighs part, offering him all of me. I can’t help it. The feeling is too good, too strong.

“I gave you the engagement ring. Today, I marry you.”

“People usually wait a few months!” I gasp. I can feel his cock against the curve of my spine, but then it’s gone, and he’s gone sliding down behind me and bending my knees up, turning me onto my hands and knees.

“I could wait, I suppose.”

I gasp and clutch the sheets when his fingers push apart inside of me, swirling in a circle to stretch me. His mouth moves from my bead to the crack of my arse, and his tongue teases between them. “Jack!”

“Don’t you like that?”

I can’t tell if I like it. Everything is too much. But none of it hurts. I suppose I’m so soaked that I—

With a horrified gasp, I realize why I feel such warmth, why I’m so randy, as the lads would say. Though I always ignored it, there would be a day or two each month when any pressure between my legs when I sat would be a torment.

Those days when my courses began.

“I’m bleeding!”

“It’s delightful. You’re much hotter inside, and you’re not complaining of pain. I want my cock to fill you easily without any trouble. I like your pleasure, , and I’ve come to loathe your pain.”

“But—”

“Rock back against me. Rock your hips against my hand.”

He guides me, one hand inside of me, one parting my cheeks, pulling me so that I obey.

“Warm, wet, and red. Slick and soft. Fuck my fingers, , until you peak.”

My protest dies as his mouth descends again, creating a squirming sensation I can’t chase away, and one that I’m not sure I wish to.

What’s done is done, I realize, cheeks as red as his hand must be. If I stop now...

“If you stop now, you’ll be miserable and I’ll be angry. I was doing so well, and then you woke and spoiled it all,” he protests.

It’s as if he reads my mind.

“Do you worry about the mess? We’ll wash it. The blood? I’ve had pints of it. Gallons. Blood is wine where I come from, and yours is the finest vintage.”

I let out a soft grunt as my hips end their battle of wills and I begin to move back against his curved fingers in earnest, eyes closed, puffs of air blowing my hair from my face on each thrust.

“Do you think I’ll care about some ancient rite of deflowering the virgin? I’m doing that, one way or another. I’d like to take every hole you own, , and make them mine. Will you let your husband into this tight little pocket tonight?” Jack demands, pushing hard against my upper wall.

I sit back suddenly, chasing a feeling that is just beyond his reach. Jack purrs his approval. “Ride my hand. Harder. Harder. Squeeze and push down, !”

I don’t know how he knows what to do. I suppose he’s been with many women—and I’m lucky he wants me.

Beyond lucky. No man I’ve ever heard of has devoted himself to his wife’s pleasure—even before she’s his wife.

The wail that bursts from me shocks us both. I cover my mouth with my hand, and Jack crows in delight. I collapse forward and he follows—slurping the blood and juice from my quim like he’s parched.

“Do you still want to marry such a monster?” he asks.

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“Will you marry me today?”

“What about your work?”

“I did it last night. We shall have to find another dress shop.”

I sit up now, eyes wide. Jack leans back, cock out, sucking his fingers as he idly strokes himself with his free hand. “Why?” I demand in a quivering voice. “Did you go back and bother those women? Did they send for the police?”

“I imagine the one will. The other isn’t in a position to.” Jack’s face is cold, and he waits for me to scream or cry or something as the pieces fall into place. He is a killer, this man.

“She didn’t do anything to you!” I say, reaching for the bedclothes. I want to be covered, even though we can only see shadows of each other in the dim morning light.

“She did something to you. She looked at you as if you were less than her when you are obviously so much more. She rushed you. She made my claws and teeth itch, . I let the other alone. She was only a bit impatient. A bit rude. I’ve killed for less.”

“Well, in London, you can’t kill for that! You kill the men who beat children and rape women!” I hiss.

Jack blinks. “You... You would marry me still? If I were to kill humans like that?”

“I am as guilty as you. I know of Bunson’s death, and I... I think he deserved it. The courts might have found him guilty if he had forced me. They might not have. I have seen the courts do nothing for the little ones who died in his care. I think it is justice of a sort that he met his end as he did.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my bare breasts, suddenly cold.

His head cocks. “Justice means little to me—but something to you?”

I shrug, arms crossed. “I couldn’t hope to have it before. Now...” With him as a protector, so many things are possible.

“If I brought justice to other men in other cities, would you be the wife of such a monster?”

“Would I be the wife of such a hero ?” I correct. “Yes. But Jack, you mustn’t lash out at little slights. It’s not always done because people are evil. Sometimes they’re simply distracted. You must not harm people just for rudeness or bad manners. All but a handful of people would die!”

“ You would live. I would be content with that. The evilness or goodness of humans isn’t something I consider.” He smirks, licking his lips, the tip of his talented tongue tracing red lines, chasing away the last tinges of me. “Cleverness. Bravery. Industry. I suppose I admire those things. A little . But whether I care for humans or not is of no consequence. Beasts like me devour humans like you.”

My eyes narrow. I squint at the man who claims to be a monster. Biting, tearing, clawing, killing... Yes, I suppose devour might be one word for it.

I swallow and stay still in the sheets. There is something not quite human about him. I’ve known it from the second I met him. But... Only demons and angels exist, and they don’t walk among us.

Do they?

“I’ve scared you. Two days ago, I would have liked that.” He rises and walks to the corner of the room, parting the drapes, long and mustard-colored. Dust puffs in the sunlight as he parts them. “I don’t like it any longer. And I saw Eric Bunson last night. I gave him yards of cloth and boxes and boxes of clothes. I scared him—and I liked it. He tried to bluster and bully at me. I wanted to tear his head right from his shoulders, but I didn’t. He would have bled all over the floor and on the fabric.” Jack clucks his tongue and stands in the sunlight.

I study him much harder than I have before. Blood leaves red traces on his chin and lips, despite the work of his tongue. My blood. His chest is bare and gleams white in the morning light, hairless, like marble, and his trousers hang low around his hips. His manhood...

It’s huge. Huge enough to swing like a pound of sausage in one long link. I don’t think men are built like that. Bulls are built like that, or so I’ve heard it said.

My gaze hurries away, down to his ankles—still encased in those boots. “Do you never take them off?”

“What?”

“Your boots.”

“No, love. Then you would see my devil’s hooves,” he says with a lazy drawl, stretching in the sun.

I roll my eyes at that. “Enough of devil this and monster that. You are living among men, whatever you claim to be. You wish to marry me, as a man might do.”

“Only to be with you. Keep you.”

“That’s what humans do, too, Jack. Marry to keep the one they love near, or the wolf from the door, or the money in the family. There are a thousand reasons to wed, and all of them tie back to love of something, I’m sure.” I rise, keeping a sheet wrapped around me, ignoring the stain on it. It’ll wash—I hope. “And many a girl fears the man she weds, that he will ill use her or mistreat her. I don’t fear that with you. Yes. I will marry you. But you must make me a vow, as I will make you vows in front of the registrar.”

“Vows?” Jack turns, leaning against the wall, one eyebrow arched.

I swallow. It is sinful how rapidly he is enslaving my heart with his handsome face. “You will not harm innocent people. If you swear to that, then I will be yours. Forever.”

His eyebrows drop, lowering along with his lips as they form a frown. “Where I come from, there are no cattle. No birds. No fish or fowl or game.”

I blink. “There aren’t places like that in this world. Are there?” I dimly recall one missionary we heard speaking of the vast sands of Africa.

“Not many. In this world. Hm. Well. I’m sure that I could come across three or four evil men a year,” he murmurs, scratching his chin. “And I like the food you make.”

Perhaps it’s the effects of living a life where cruelty, cold, hunger, and hard work were the norm. I know that I have yet to fully understand all that Jack says, but bits and pieces come together.

A place where there are no animals to hunt and eat, and beasts like him eat other beasts. Humans.

The way he moves. So strong.

The way he carried me home over the rooftops.

The odd things he does and says that are more than just being a peculiar foreign gentleman.

The pieces come cascading in and bring tears to my eyes—not because I’m afraid. Because I’m so foolish. So weak.

How could I have missed or ignored every clue?

Jack turns to face me more fully, and the sun shines—on two glinting bits in his hair. Two bits that stand out, hard in soft masses of his dark curls. The bits...The hard handles that I now vaguely recall holding onto as waves of pleasure washed over me.

Horns.

My Jack has horns.

He probably has hooves, too.

“Are you really a devil?” I whisper. If he is, it’s too late for me. I’ve become the devil’s whore.

Jack shrugs now. “I suppose humans call me that, but actually, I’m not. I’m neither demon nor angel. I’m a Flameheel. My kind once guarded the gates of Paradise and the Pit, but then were banished to a realm between the living and dead. Humans find such places more often than you think, and we must not let them pass to either destination alive. We are in the Middling. I was forced to come here and don’t know how to get home. Nor do I wish to. I want to remain here to feast and watch the humans in their natural habitat, where they’re so much more amusing, so much more beautiful.” His eyes fix on mine. “Where there is one human in particular that I would like to remain beside—if she would like that. I promised her I would never do things she didn’t like. It is up to her if I go or stay. I am a monster—and perhaps a hero. I do not really know, but I have learned one thing,” he sighs, his smirk breaking in the middle, sort of sad and crooked, “I am hers to command. Her pleasure is my highest desire, her companionship worth starving for. I don’t understand it, but I don’t wish to change it.”

My eyes do overflow now, and my heart tumbles and twists in my chest. How can a killer, a demon, say such beautiful things?

And to say that he lives for my pleasure and starves for my company? Isn’t that love?

“Oh, Jack!” I dart across the room to him, springing into his arms and burying my face in his shoulder.