Page 54 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

“Hey handsome,” she purrs. Her voice lulls over me like smoke. “You look lonely. I can fix that.” Her hand slides boldly up my shoulder.

“Come,” I say, leaning back in my chair and parting my legs before patting my thigh. “Keep my lap warm.”

She straddles me without hesitation, her ass soft and plush against my lap.

I slip a hand across her hips to her pelvis, guiding her back until she’s flush against me.

“You’re demanding; I like that,” she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder. Her grind is slow, she’s teasing me.

A predatory grin tugs at my lips. “Let me finish my hand; then I’ll play with you.”

Focusing on the men playing cards, I still manage to keep a mental note of where the girls are.

Iris leans over a bar, laughing and chatting with a group of men and the little devil accompanies her. Millicent’s presence has morphed into one that is rather inviting. The typical dark cloud over her is missing.

Glimpsing at to them occasionally to ensure no issues arise, I find it fascinating how these men will see women as both sweet girls and those they can fuck. In reality, Iris is inside dead things all day and Millicent would probably eat all four of men absorbed in them within a few minutes.

Wolves in sheepskins.

THE CARD GAME YIELDS MORE than coin. Merchant woes, extra marital affairs, and personal tastes slip out between sips of alcohol and ego. I focus on the more submissive men, those who prefer to be dominated. That’s where our manipulator will strike.

My next lead is perched on my lap, sipping the drinks I keep feeding her. She thinks she’s seducing me.

The game will wrap up soon. I refrain from scouring the minds around me just in case a manipulator lurks nearby. My defenses must remain high. Once the game ends, the real work begins. I get to have my fun and extract what I can from her between whispered promises.

A commotion stirs the room in a wave of laughter that cuts through the smoke-drenched air. I glance up, scanning until I see her.

There she is.

Millicent isn’t entertaining four men. She’s enthralled an entire circle now. They’re slouched on floor cushions, dazed from whatever herb they smoke that drifts around her.

Her laugh, fake and lilting, rings out while she is passed from lap to lap, treated like meat in a pack of starving dogs.

She lands between two men. Their mouths descend, one to each side of her neck.

I watch, captivated, as her head falls back, exposing the soft column of her throat like an invitation. Her back arches. Her breasts push forward, and she parts her mouth in false pleasure.

One man slides his hand beneath the high slit of her gown, brushing the inside of her thigh. The other palms her breast.

Desire spikes with the next beat of my heart, driving straight through my chest to my cock.

The woman on my lap, Morana, I’ve learned, grinds against me again, mistaking my arousal for interest. Her pride blooms with the motion.

Millicent halts any further exploration. With a coy smile, she rises and takes one of the men by hand to lead him through the crowd toward the stairs.

What are you up to, little devil?

Morana leans close, her breath a teasing whisper against my ear. “Take me somewhere quieter.”

“It won’t stay quiet for long,” I reply, sliding my hands to her hips again and lifting her effortlessly off my lap. She gasps, delighted by the strength.

I’m going to pull answers from this one. Behave, I think toward Kalix.

Kalix lazily raises his glass in acknowledgement then downs another long sip. He’s drinking more than usual. My confidence in Iris’s role starts to falter. Maybe making her play a harlot wasn’t such a good idea.

Morana leads me up the same staircase Millicent took. My eyes scan each door. Which one is she in ?

Morana pauses near the end of the hall and opens a room with a small brass six on it. She pulls me inside.

The room practically screams indulgence. Red walls. A circular bed draped in black silk. Sex tools of every kind hang on display like artwork.

Morana drops to her knees without hesitation, her lust-filled eyes lock onto mine as she unfastens my belt.

I’m still hard, lingering from watching Millicent and the eager girl kneeling before me. Morana’s resemblance doesn’t help. Blue eyes and black curls. She plays the part well.

I didn’t intend to let her touch me, but I’m already aroused and she’s too willing.

It isn’t Millicent; it’s just like any other girl I have used for release.

When she frees me, her eyes widen in surprise. “You look delicious,” she purrs, fisting the base of my length before slipping her lips down my shaft.

My breathing deepens as pleasure coils tightly through my abdomen.

“Don’t talk, I have better use for this mouth.”

I grip her hair and thrust forward both rough and unrelenting. She gags as I stretch down her throat. I don’t look down. I see now that her eyes are the wrong shade of blue, her hair devoid of wild curls.

She’s a beautiful girl but my hunger is drawn to someone else.

I look up, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and pretend it’s Millicent. The fantasy hits hard, and I thrust harder, tripling the pleasure and unraveling what little restraint I have left.

“Such a good girl. You can take it all,” I groan, catching my breath as the fantasy blooms.

I remember the weight of my little witch’s breasts in my hands, the softness of her thighs, how easily they bruised under my grip, and the way her reluctant moans slipped past her defenses.

Touch me.

She had been so needy that night, I barely held myself back. In my mind, I sink into that memory, into how tight she would be, her taste, how hard she would milk my cock when she came.

And the way she’d scream my name until it burned in her throat.

“Fuck, Millicent.”

Her name bursts from me and I bury myself deep, spilling my release in this girl’s throat. My grip on Morana’s hair doesn’t loosen until I’m done.

When I finally let go, she pulls back, gasping to catch her breath. The haze lifts, and clarity cuts like ice.

I curse myself.

I hate when I gaze down at her to see she is not Millicent.

Fuck. What the fuck?

Irritation pricks so sharply at my skin I feel the need to itch. No. I don’t desire a lying, murderous, manipulative, bond-forcing bitch.

Morana rises and reaches for me. “I can be whoever you want me to be, baby.” Her eyes gleam as she leads me to the bed.

I shove her down onto it roughly.

As if you could ever be the shadow of Millicent.

I slap myself mentally at the reflexive thought.

Refastening my trousers, I then walk to the wall, returning with rope. She blinks up at me, confused, until I bind her wrist and ankles tight.

“What I need, baby,” I say coldly, “is the girl who gives me answers,”

Her expression changes instantly.

“Answers?”

“Who is the manipulator here? Are there multiple?”

I sit beside her on the bed. My eyes flash with brilliance and I push into her mind.

Who the fuck is this guy? Ariella is going to need to know about him. Immediately.

“Where is Ariella?”

Her jaw slackens. “You…you can read minds?”

Dread floods her features, all pretense gone. She tugs at the ropes. Too late.

“I can do many things in your mind,” I whisper. “Observe.”

I squeeze. Pressure bursts behind her eyes. She screams in agony, body arching off the bed. No one comes. This is a sin house; such things are common here.

I release her. She slumps into the bed, gasping for air.

“Where is Ariella?”

She says nothing, but her body shakes in fear.

Have it your way.

I squeeze again and this time I let all my frustration at calling Millicent’s name seep into the woman with her reminiscent eyes and hair. I watch with great satisfaction as she is pushed to the point of unconsciousness, only to return to me and repeat the cycle until I get what I want.