Page 27

Malice

Oh, but this goddess should know better. Malice has never been the type to refuse an invitation. Frankly, he’s never been the kind of demon god to even wait for one.

Wonder’s tits smash into his chest, full and plump, the points of her nipples sharpening. Her leg split around his, the better to pin him down, put him in his place like a misbehaving thug.

Dense air radiates from between her thighs. It’s heat. For the life of him, Malice has no clue how the hell he knows this, but the sensation feels familiar. Like an overcast memory.

Or it could just be the goddess’s singular effect on him. She’s just that potent, making him feel all kinds of shit he never has with other deities.

He laughs around the pain, the jagged chuckle sawing from his mouth. “If the lady insists.”

For good measure, Malice lets the comment linger, prolonging the moment. This gives Wonder a minimum of time to squint. “Meaning what?”

He arches one conniving eyebrow. “Meaning you forgot the other hand.”

Her eyes blaze. But before she can permanently misshape his fingers like clay, Malice slams his free palm on one shapely asscheek and hauls the female against him. The brunt throws them harder against the wall, his fingernails biting into her flesh through the flimsy curtain.

Wonder’s mouth bounces toward his own. At the last second, his reflexes stall the goddess in place, stopping her lips millimeters from a destructive collision with his own. Their gazes slam together, a magnetic force turbo-charging the air.

And fuck it all. The temperature is coming from her pussy.

The press of Wonder’s cunt against his dick goes straight to Malice’s head—both heads, figuratively speaking—like booze with a high alcohol ratio.

The inebriation works its magic, thickening the weight of his balls and hauling his cock upright.

Nothing new. But everything new.

Why? Because despite the fully loaded glower she throws at him, Wonder’s grasp on his digits has loosened, vivid green saturates those irises, and her dilated pupils flicker to his mouth. Her prior words before leaving the mortal realm cycle like a broken record through his mind.

I hate you.

Maybe so. But that’s not the only thing this studious goddess feels.

The knowledge pumps Malice with adrenaline. And hey, even if mutual hatred is fueling this moment, he’s okay with that. He can be a cheap date when he wants to be, especially if it takes the edge off.

“You know,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t serious about whipping out my ammunition.

In hindsight, it’s a trite phrase, the sort of uninspiring drivel used by male douchebags.

Unfortunately, my verbal expertise is a little distracted by your anatomy and a single yard of inconvenient fabric.

But toss out the words try me , and that’ll fix the problem.

I’ll translate the comment in my own language, reshaping the letters into something like punish me .

In which case, you’ll get what you wish for. ”

“I would never wish for you,” she whispers, her voice as thin as a butcher knife.

Why does that comment strike home with the force of an arrow?

Wonder gasps as Malice’s talons nudge into her ass. That tiny excuse for a curtain scarcely conceals everything important, all the NSFW parts barely shrouded while the rest of her figure spills from the margins. Putting it mildly, the material is rippable, just like his waning patience.

It’s true. He’d been messing with her minutes ago, the taunt pushing another button. Except she’d pushed back, not tapping a button so much as ramming her knuckles onto the mechanism, setting Malice loose like a rocket from a launchpad.

Her bathed flesh dampens his clothes, the wetness seeping through the transparency of his shirt.

A concentrated scent rises from her freshly washed cunt, floral and laced in the musk of arousal.

With the force of a tidal wave, the fragrance packs Malice’s lungs.

Another pinch of it, and he’ll drown in that smell, happy to go down with the ship.

He must look legitimately demonic, because Wonder’s outtakes hitch. Those succulent nipples toughen into pink stones, the skin puckering through the fabric, the darkening shade peeking through. That alone beckons his mouth like rock candy.

To compensate, the points of his claws nip her ass deeper. Insufficient to break skin yet. But enough to offer a preview.

“Tell me,” he rasps, the words slicing a path over her shaky mouth. “Do you like sharp things?”

Releasing her ass, he runs the honed stub of one fingernail between Wonder’s glistening clavicles, then over the line of her cleavage, the onslaught pebbling her flesh quicker than a brushfire.

From there, his index finger traces the top of her tits, rowing back and forth along the makeshift neckline.

Wonder squeezes his trapped hand, the pressure pulling a hiss from his throat. Resilient goddess. She’s still holding his other hand hostage.

Even so, Wonder doesn’t shimmy away. If anything, she moves in the barest inch, the heat emanating from her pussy intensifying, same as those choppy exhalations.

Shit. She has no idea. No fucking idea how much power she has over Malice in this moment, how much of a chokehold she’s got on him. He’d let her break every right finger, as long as he has a spare hand to touch her.

All or nothing, Malice rakes each claw lightly over her tits. “Do you like sharp things against these soft things?”

As if he’d just unbolted a latch, her fingers release his other hand. Then her palm veers upward and swings. Without looking away from her, Malice’s free fingers shoot out and snare her wrist, intercepting the smack.

They freeze. Their gazes fasten, bodies flush and panting, siphoning oxygen into each other. At this rate, they’re going to drain this… where the fuck are they?

The Lunar Cartography branch. That’s it.

At this rate, they’re going to drain this area of every invisible atom. The necessity for air is about to become obsolete, replaced by the need to subsist off one another’s vitriol. A life-force unto its own.

Wonder’s throat bobs. “You do not scare me.”

As if that’s news. “I don’t need to scare you, in order to hurt you.”

Because the warning comes out guttural, another telltale sign of spiteful lust creeps across her features. Even though he’d cut off her incoming slap, Wonder’s eyelids flutter, hooding to half-mast. Her lips part, falling slightly ajar, a threadbare sound catching on her tongue.

Fuck it. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Another gasp ejects from the goddess’s throat as Malice drops her arm, clamps onto her hips, and whips her around.

Her body twists, veering away from him. Digging into her waist, he uses the momentum to hoist Wonder backward.

Her vertebrae rams into his frame, the flared ovals of her rump crashing against his lap, the impact bloating his cock.

Sweeping aside her brown locks, Malice dices the next words across the ledge of her ear.

“And sometimes the hurt feels good.” Her mouth drops open another inch, shivers ratcheting up her skin as he snakes an arm around her midriff and scrawls the back of one solitary pinky down the side of her breast. “I like extra meat with my kinks. More flesh to grab, suck, taste, bruise, and ruin. Do you like that kind of sex?” The rogue fingernail slants over a rough nipple, then down to her quavering navel.

“The sort of reckless, fearless, shameless fucking that has no rules?” His digit slopes along her hip bone, edges to the curtain seam, and halts over the gap. “Or is your pussy too clean for smut?”

The tip of his claw runs up and down over the stitching. A crucial fact becomes evident from the moisture coating the material. One flick to the side, and he’ll expose her bare cunt, the lips drenched like a dirty secret.

Fuck. Malice is lucky he remembers the definition of a vowel, much less how to string words together. “Not that I need an answer anymore. But with an unbiased name like Wonder, I highly doubt you’re averse to exploration.”

She gulps hard, swallowing an invisible walnut. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re soaked,” he murmurs. “Do you enjoy being wet?”

The goddess trembles, a blush suffusing her complexion. If Malice were the chivalrous type, he’d mistake that reaction for penitent or innocent. But he’s not a human gentleman, and she’s not a mortal puritan. They’re deities who live forever and fuck like it too.

“I bet we can make you wetter,” he muses, towing his finger over the curtain, hovering centimeters from her protected clit. “I think we can make you spill like a faucet.”

Aggression cinches Wonder’s profile. Her mouth compresses, blocking out whatever noise wants to spring free.

Ah, ah, ah. That won’t do.

Malice tilts his head, brushing his mouth over her jaw. In response, her incisors dive into her lower lip, fighting to trap in a whimper. Nonetheless, the sound finds a way out, slipping between a precarious crawlspace.

So he goes in for the kill. Like a hellish motherfucker, Malice skims his fingernail down the inside of her thigh.

A teaser. A preview.

As uncensored as a confession, that whimper drops fully from her tongue. Liberated at last, poor thing.

The pause that follows drives him crazier than he already is. But then the goddess’s body makes a choice. On a grudging moan of surrender, she widens her stance, opening her thighs.

Hell. Yeah.