Page 13 of Bargain with the Demon King

I obey, taking it from his fingers, and his thumb drags across my bottom lip as he withdraws. The fruit bursts on my tongue—sweet and tart and slightly electric, making my mouth tingle. I make a soft sound of surprise that's only half-performed.

"She responds beautifully," comments a demon with antlers, lounging across the table. His name is Lord Vex, if I remember correctly, and his smile shows too many teeth. "Is she always so... eager?"

"Always," Azzaron confirms, his hand sliding from my stomach to my thigh. The muscles in my leg lock at the contact. "Desperate for any attention I give her."

Heat floods my face, but I force myself to press closer to him, to sigh as if his touch is everything I want.

His fingers trace patterns on my thigh through the sheer fabric, each pass slightly higher, and my body starts responding without my permission.

My spine arches slightly, pushing my breast against his chest.

"How did you train her so quickly?" Another demon asks—Lady Morinth, whose collection of human pets is legendary. "Most mortals take weeks to break properly. I had one who took a full month before she'd stop crying."

"She came to me already half-broken." His voice carries dark amusement that doesn't reach his eyes. "Sold her soul for love. When she realized what she'd lost, she latched onto the nearest power. Mortals are predictable that way."

The words sting even though I know it's performance. I hide my face against his neck, letting them think it's devotion rather than hurt. His pulse beats steady under my lips, and I feel him tense slightly when my breath ghosts across his skin.

"Still," Lord Vex continues, eyes glittering with malice, "keeping her in your chambers? That's unprecedented. Usually you don't even remember their names."

"She amuses me." Azzaron's hand slides higher on my thigh, fingers now tracing the edge where solid fabric barely covers my sex. My whole body goes rigid, then forcibly relaxes. "Her desperate need for approval, the way she clings to any kindness. It's entertaining."

"And when you tire of her?" Lady Morinth asks, already calculating how to acquire me.

"Then she'll serve another purpose." His fingers press slightly, and I gasp—genuinely—at the contact. Every nerve between my legs awakens. "But for now, she's exactly where I want her."

To prove his point, his hand moves with deliberate intent.

His thumb finds the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, tracing small circles that make my breath stutter.

The room watches, fascinated by the display, and I know I need to sell this completely.

Chad would die of embarrassment if I even kissed him deeply in public. Here, I'm about to—

His other hand comes up to cup my breast through the solid panel, thumb brushing over my nipple, and the dual sensation makes me squirm. The demons laugh, making crude comments about mortal sensitivity.

"Like playing an instrument," Lord Vex observes, raising his goblet in mock toast. "What sounds will she make, I wonder?"

"Let's find out," suggests Lady Morinth, her pets watching with dead eyes from their knees.

Azzaron continues his calculated assault on my composure, fingers ghosting higher, teasing the edge of the fabric that barely covers me.

"Look how she melts," someone observes—a younger demon trying to impress his elders. "Completely lost to it. Mortals really are weak."

"Mortals have such responsive bodies," Azzaron agrees, his fingers sliding higher, ghosting over the fabric covering my sex. The first direct touch makes my hips jerk. "Every touch overwhelms them. They're not built for demon pleasures."

I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to stay quiet, but when his finger presses directly against my clit, the thin, wet fabric becomes an instrument of exquisite friction.

A moan tears from my throat, real and unstoppable.

My hips move without permission, seeking more of that perfect, terrible pressure, and the watching demons eat it up.

"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm begging him to stop or continue. My fingers dig into his thighs, nails pressing through fabric.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, loud enough for others to hear. "So eager to please me. Show them how well you've learned your place."

His finger circles with practiced precision, pressure perfect and terrible.

The fabric provides just enough friction to drive me insane, and I realize with crystal clarity that he's going to make me come.

Here. In front of everyone. The thought should repulse me, but my body is already climbing toward that edge, urged on by skilled touches and the dark thrill of being watched.

Around us, the demons place bets. Lord Vex wagers I'll last another minute. Lady Morinth says thirty seconds. Someone suggests I'll pass out. The casual cruelty of it should hurt, but I'm too lost in sensation to care.

"That's it," Azzaron encourages, voice rough with something that sounds real beneath the performance. "Show them who you belong to."

His fingers move faster, the fabric growing wet under his touch, and I'm helpless against the building pressure.

The sound of demon laughter, the wet sounds of others using their humans, the scrape of claws on crystal—it all fades to background noise.

All that exists is his touch and the inevitable fall approaching.

When he presses harder, circles tighter, adds the smallest scrape of claw through fabric, I shatter.

The orgasm crashes through me in front of the entire demon court. I cry out—loud, broken, his name on my lips—body shaking in his lap as waves of pleasure roll through me. My back arches completely, head thrown back, and I'm dimly aware of applause, laughter, Lord Vex collecting his winnings.

When I finally still, boneless against him, the room has gone quiet. There's a different energy now—not just amusement but something sharper. Danger.

I force my eyes open and freeze.

Azzaron's beast form bleeds through the cracks in his control.

His skin ripples wrong, muscles reshaping with the wet, grinding sound of bones cracking and resetting.

His breathing is no longer human, but a low, guttural rasp that seems to come from a chest cavity too large for his body.

His horns are longer, sharper, twisting back from his skull.

His eyes blaze pure gold, the black completely consumed.

The hand on my thigh now has claws that pierce the fabric, drawing tiny beads of blood.

"Mine," he says, and it's not human anymore. Layers of voice, demon and beast and something older. The sound vibrates through my bones. "She is mine completely. Anyone who doubts that, anyone who tests that, will decorate my walls."

The threat hangs heavy. Several demons actually step back. Lord Vex's smile dies. Lady Morinth pulls her pets closer, suddenly protective.

"The entertainment is over." He stands, lifting me with him. My legs won't support me—they're liquid, useless—so he simply carries me, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. "We're leaving."

No one argues. No one speaks. They just watch as the Demon King carries his thoroughly claimed mortal from the hall.

The corridors blur past. I bury my face against his chest, unable to process what just happened.

The humiliation burns, but worse is the truth underneath—I wanted it.

Wanted him. Wanted them all to see that I'm his.

Chad would never claim me so publicly, so thoroughly.

He introduces me as his "friend" to avoid awkward questions.

"I'm sorry," Azzaron says once we're away from the hall. His voice sounds more human now, though I can still hear the beast underneath. "That went further than intended."

"Did it?" My voice comes out rough, raw from crying out. "Or was that exactly what you planned?"

He's quiet for a moment. "You played the part perfectly."

"I wasn't playing at the end."

"I know."

We reach our chambers, and he sets me down carefully. My legs shake but hold. The torn fabric hangs off me now, ruined by his claws, and I pull it tighter around myself. There are tiny cuts on my thigh where he gripped too hard, already healing from residual demon magic.

"They'll leave you alone now," he says. "No one will dare touch you after that display."

"Because I'm your toy."

"Because you're mine." He steps closer, and I see his beast still fighting for control, making his form flicker between man and monster. His voice does that layering thing again. "And I protect what's mine with everything I have."

"Even if what's yours doesn't want to be owned?"

"Especially then." He reaches out, one claw tracing my cheek with impossible gentleness. "You're safe now, Adraya. That's what matters."

I want to argue, to rage about the humiliation, the public claiming, the way my body betrayed me. But I'm exhausted, wrung out from performance and pleasure and the weight of being watched.

"I need to sleep."

"Of course." He moves toward the adjoining door, then pauses. "You were magnificent tonight. Truly."

"I was your puppet."

"You were powerful. You brought the Demon King to beast form in public. Do you know how many centuries it's been since that happened?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know. That's what makes it remarkable." He disappears into his room, leaving me alone with the echo of what happened.

I collapse onto my bed, still wearing the ruined dress because I can't bear to be naked right now. Every nerve still hums from his touch, from the climax that everyone witnessed, from the dark thrill of being claimed so thoroughly.

The worst part? Tomorrow I'll have to face them all again, knowing what they saw.

Knowing what I let happen. Knowing that some treacherous part of me wants it to happen again.

Though maybe that's not the worst part—maybe that's just growth.

Maybe I'm learning what it feels like to be wanted completely.

Through the wall, I hear Azzaron moving restlessly. The beast must still be close to the surface, fighting his control. Good. Let him struggle with what happened too. Let him wonder why his carefully planned performance became something real, something that brought out the monster he keeps leashed.

But even as I think it, I remember his arms around me, carrying me from that hall. The way he shielded me with his body. The absolute authority in his voice when he called me his. The way his beast emerged not from lust but from the need to protect.

Chad brought me wildflowers. Azzaron brings me to my knees.

Guess which one makes me feel more alive.