Page 29 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter twenty-nine

Scar

His hard cock is right in my face. A throb of unwelcome desire lets me know how much I truly like seeing it. Everything in me that’s feminine and soft, and made for taking, grows wet and exultant at the sight of his swollen, masculine need.

He is thick, proportional and straight, his skin dark gray, and I know how soft it’s here, such a perfect counterbalance to the hardness underneath. I revel in it, how hard he is. How much he wants me.

His scent is strong, and I could lie I hate it, but I don’t. It’s so intimate, to smell him like this, thickening the air with his desire for me. As I lick my lips, his cock jerks in response. The pink light bathes his length, making it seem gentle, even though I know it’s not.

This organ is made for forcing open, and by gods, I will let it inside me without another protest. There is no wound yet, and I press my lips together, wavering. If I am truly honest with myself, I might admit I don’t need the temptation of blood, after all. I want him.

“Look, sweetheart. It’s just the tip. You don’t have to work hard for it at all.”

A tiny, shallow cut appears in the glistening head of his cock. He inhales sharply, and I know it costs him pain. That, finally, makes me surrender. He hurts himself to have me here. Maybe we’re both humbled tonight.

I take the tip in my mouth, remembering another time when I knelt for him. But it was like he said—a trade. This is different, and when he moans gutturally, his stomach flexing with pleasure, I realize we’ve never had sex for the simple joy of it. It was always a game.

But is tonight truly different?

“I adore your mouth,” he grits out when I pull back, no more blood falling on my tongue, just the earthy taste of his precum. “Here, love. Just this once. And I’ll let you go.”

Another cut appears halfway down his shaft, nestled just against a thick, bulging vein. I take him in my mouth, relishing the slight trembling of his hand in my hair. I don’t move up and down like I did that time, only keeping his hot weight in my mouth and sucking, swallowing the blood with greedy huffs.

It’s barely enough. I don’t think I’ll see any magical wonders tonight, but I’ll still take every sip. The space behind my sternum is comfortable and warm, filled with him.

“There, love. Take me whole until I come down your throat. And I’ll let you go.”

When I look up, his eyes are delirious, white teeth bared in a pleasured snarl. I try to scoff, but it’s breathy and wanton, and yet, I don’t care, because he can’t mock me now. We’re both trapped in this helpless need for each other.

“Liar,” I whisper when a wound appears further down his shaft.

I take him deep, choking instantly. He tried to train me once, but it was probably too little, too long ago. I pull back, and he lets me, his breathing faster and faster, that thick vein throbbing with his frantic heartbeat.

“This will be the last time,” he murmurs when another cut appears.

I desperately cram him down my throat to reach the wound with my lips. He grunts, throwing his head back. When I choke and pull away, his legs shake uncontrollably. He widens his stance, hooves sinking in the grass smelling of late summer herbs.

“Well then, it was fun, but since this was the last time…” I look up, huffing with laughter.

I know he’s about to come. Nothing would pull me from this spot, and yet, I can’t help but tease him. Woland’s brows furrow in an angry frown.

“You know very well it’s not over. We’ve barely started. Suck my cock, little witch, or I’ll fuck your face.”

Before he cuts himself again, I take him in my mouth and suck, my hand wrapped tightly around his base. He groans with pleasure, thrusting frantically, and I take him as deep as I can. It’s a tug of war, his cock ramming further than I let him, my nails helplessly scratching his hard buttock when he grips the back of my head. I take it, because he only needs a moment before his release tumbles down my throat, and he shakes, as helpless as I am in this exchange.

When I look up, he seems to be in pain, his forehead lined with tension.

“Is it over, then?” I ask quietly, holding onto his narrow hips.

He nods once. “It’s over. Just the bath now. You can relax, love. It’s over.”

I don’t believe him, but I don’t say it. Woland closes his eyes, shakes his head once, and picks me up without effort. He steps into the bath with me in his arms, nestling me between his comfortably spread legs, my back to his chest. He is still hard behind me, his breathing ragged, but for now, he doesn’t try anything. I relax against him, breathing deeply as the heat penetrates into my bones.

“I wanted to do this every night,” he murmurs, long fingers caressing my outer thighs under water. “Just take you to the bath and forget about my shitty day. I was strong and I didn’t, but sometimes, I snuck into bed with you. Just for a while. Just to feel you against me.”

“That would explain why the bed sometimes smelled like you.”

I thought that, too, was a figment of my imagination, but it turns out I didn’t imagine anything. I still don’t understand him, though.

“But why did you hide from me?”

He exhales with a low chuckle. “You think now that you got me drunk and emptied my balls, I’ll tell you everything?”

His voice is playful, and I snort. “Yes. So tell me.”

He is silent for a long while, during which his curious fingers stray to my inner thighs, parting my legs and stroking my skin with seemingly aimless ease. I wait. Finally, Woland huffs, ruffling the hair on the top of my head.

“I think I wanted to prove I could. Now tell me something. Truth for truth. Did you touch yourself thinking about me, love? I was away a lot, so I didn’t watch you all the time.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, his ego needs constant feeding.

“Yes, I did. Where did you go away to?”

His chest rumbles with a pleased purr, and his fingers slide up to play with my curls. I inhale sharply, and the devil presses me closer.

“I can’t tell you that unless you’re mine,” he says ruefully. “And yet, I’d like to tell you even now. What a dangerous woman you are, poppy witch. Did you feed me belladonna to drag out all my secrets?”

I hum with pleasure as he dips a finger between my nether lips for a quick, well-aimed touch. The splash of bliss makes me arch like a cat, but he pulls back, stroking my thighs again.

“How many secrets do you have?” I ask, pressing my back into his erection.

“Too many. A few big ones. Many small ones. And you?”

I think for a moment while his fingers slide up, caressing the vertical scar running down my lower belly.

“Three big ones that I keep from you,” I finally say, breathing hard.

It’s the truth. My first secret is the thing that happened when I was twelve. The second one is my plan to go to Weles. And the third one, I keep a secret from myself, too.

Woland can’t know how my heart stutters for him, how it yearns. I wish I didn’t know myself. I tense.

His touch on my scar hits differently. I’m scared my protection won’t be enough. That he’ll heal my internal wounds and fuck me, and I’ll have no choice but to bear him a child.

What terrifies me even more is the fact a part of me desperately wants it to happen.

“What’s the full story behind this scar?” he asks softly, putting his forearm around my collarbones until I’m tightly pressed against him, as if he senses my need to flee. “It’s one of your secrets, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I grit out, catching his wrist under water. “Leave it alone.”

His fingers still, but he doesn’t take his hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. It’s sensitive,” I say in clipped words. “I don’t want to be touched there.”

“Does it hurt in your soul, then?”

His voice is so gentle, so very much unlike him, and I have no defenses against it. I can fight him tooth and nail when he attacks me. When he demands, mocks, and humiliates me, I know exactly what to do, but this?

Over and over, I fall for the same tricks. My throat grows tight, and I shake my head.

“Tell me, please,” he murmurs, stroking the scar again despite my bruising grip on his wrist. “I’d like to know what makes you suffer.”

I force a hard laugh out of my burning throat. “So you have another weapon to crush me? No.”

“That’s not why I asked, but you’re right. I’ve often used your pain against you.”

He presses his wide palm to my abdomen, and I grow rigid, feeling into myself to detect any currents of magic. But his touch is mundane, simply a possessive hold over the most hurting part of me.

“Did you ever want to have children?” he asks, nuzzling the top of my head.

I groan in frustration and dig my fingers under his, trying to peel his palm away. He doesn’t react, and I strain harder and harder, scratching and heaving. It lasts a few minutes, and he doesn’t protest or try to stop me, just keeps his palm there with no effort at all despite my furious attack. Finally, I fall back against him with a curse. He keeps his hold on my lower belly, his cock like a spike against my back.

“You made me glad for the first time that I couldn’t get pregnant” I say with spite, digging my nails into his muscular thigh. “It’s the irony of life, isn’t it? We want the most what we can’t have.”

“Jaga, you don’t seem to grasp it,” he says seriously. “But you can have anything you want. Anything. I’ll lay the world at your feet and find the cure for your every ailment. Yes, I want your soul in return, but is that really so bad? I’ll make you happy. You will love being mine, and I’ll love having you.”

I close my eyes, exhaling wearily. His palm slides lower, parting me gently, and I want to cry, scream, and spit on him in rage. Instead, I just lie between his long legs, my head pressed to his chest right over his thudding heart.

“You won’t give me everything I want,” I say finally, bitter and tired. “All my life, I was an outcast. I was rejected over and over. My father left two weeks after I was born. Even my own mother hated me. I was never loved, and I accepted it as something natural, but ever since you came into my life, I realized that I don’t have to settle. I understood how strong I am, and Woland, I deserve better. I deserve to be the most important person in someone’s life, and you can’t give me that. Like you said, you’ll take victory over me.”

He is silent, his fingers still. I feel the tension spreading in his limbs, relaxed just a minute before, now alert. I sense his urgency. He wants to assure me he will give me what I want, but he can’t—we’ll both know it’s a lie.

“Besides, I really don’t think you’re fit to rule,” I add, shaking my head with frustration. “Neither is Perun, of course. What a miserable land—two people make it bleed as they fight for the throne, and neither of them deserves it.”

I expect him to get angry, but Woland only laughs, relaxing. He pets me lazily, just enough to make me tingle.

“Maybe you’re right. But he deserves it less than me.”

This is the side of him I perversely like. He’s evil yet self-aware enough to admit it with good humor.

“Well, that was enlightening,” he says, a ring of finality to his voice. “I’d like you to brace against the edge of the tub, pet. Go on.”

Arousal mixes with foreboding in my belly as he puts his hands on my hips, urging me to rise. I don’t think he healed my scars, but I can’t be sure. What if he did something? What if he’ll get me pregnant this time? It could technically happen. My cycle hasn’t reached peak fertility yet, but it will get there in a few days.

The contraceptive rune is still on my wrist, and Woland didn’t even touch it. Does it mean he doesn’t care? Or maybe he can counter its magic without me noticing.

He senses my dread. When I don’t move, he kisses my hair and strokes my side. “It’s only sex. Just for fun, like I told you. I want to be inside my consort in every way possible, and you’re going to let me. Rise, pet.”

I glance at where the door used to be. The way out is still barred, and I don’t expect his magic in my veins to let me counteract his spells. He gently plucks my nipples, making me tighten with hot urgency. I rise to my knees and move over to the other side of the tub. As I grip the edge, I don’t see how this is going to work. Most of my body is underwater.

He comes to kneel behind me, his warm hands on my waist. “Careful now.”

The bottom rises, lifting me. I gasp, clutching the warm edge of the tub. When it’s over, the water laps around my thighs, my ass well above the surface.

“Good,” he murmurs, breathy and hot. “Spread your legs. Let me see. You’re so pretty down here. You’re beautiful all over, but this is my favorite sight. A bit wider, pet. Let me see you.”

I’m flushed from the heat and the sheer helplessness his words evoke. He never spoke to me like that before. His instruction isn’t demanding. No, he coaxes me gently but insistently, and somehow, his manner bypasses my learned response to him.

I always say no, but apparently, not when he asks so nicely.

When he brings his hips flush with my ass, his cock nestles between my cheeks. I swallow with difficulty, tensing again. Gods, I don’t trust him. He was so nice the first time we fucked, too, and it turned out to be a trick.

The burn in my chest surprises me. I didn’t think he wounded me so deeply, but as an urge to sob rises deep in my throat, I realize he did. It was the first time I had sex, the first time I felt truly accepted and wanted, and it turned out to be a lie.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he breathes, blunt nails gently scratching down my back in even, reassuring motions. “I haven’t done anything yet, love. There’s nothing to fear. I only want to make you feel good, I swear. Take a deep breath for me.”

Tears cram into my eyes, and I keep them wide open out of stubbornness. If I let my eyelids close, the tears will fall, and I refuse to cry over this. Woland reaches around my hip and gently teases my clit. I huff out a frustrated breath. I cannot trust him. He broke this for me, and I’ll never be able to enjoy it again.

“Lie, lie, lie,” I whisper, shaking my head in helpless agony.

“No. You are the only woman I want. It’s the truth. I’m dying to be inside you. Also truth. And I thought the belladonna would make me unhinged, that we’d be on the fifth round by now, but it turned me into a sappy fool. You’re my favorite person to talk to. To fuck. To drink from. Breathe, my love.”

“Don’t call me your love,” I choke out.

His fingers still between my legs, and he releases a heavy breath. “You don’t like it? I’ll call you my pretty thing, then. My delightful poppy girl. My powerful witch.”

When two thick fingers slide into me, I clench around them instinctively. There is no resistance, the way slickened with my own need, and I shake my head in denial. Something splashes into the water.

A tear.