Page 57

Wonder

She does more than open wide. She dominates.

His request reinvigorates her like a blast of wind, a force that sweeps away the last vestiges of worry. With a revitalized grunt, she shoves Malice’s chest. His back hits the cushions, Wonder angles her cunt over the reddening crown of his cock, and she drops onto him in a single, glorious slide.

Malice hisses, arching into her with clenched teeth. Wonder’s vertebrae bows inward, a cry cracking from her tongue, her pussy pouring heat and liquid down his flesh.

They halt, locking in place. Then they pounce.

Wonder throws her head back, moaning as Malice whips his hips, spearing into her with shallow upward pumps. She bends farther, swatting her waist, groans tangling on her lips.

This aggressive yearning shocks Wonder to the core.

She doesn’t recognize herself, yet it feels natural and right, as if a dormant spirit has risen from her marrow at last. Now that she’s granted herself permission to live for herself, take for herself, give to herself.

No guilt. No moderation. Only the true Goddess of Wonder, curious and exploratory, with a zen for discovery.

Perhaps he brings it out of her, though this demon would advocate that it was always there inside her, waiting to be set free.

With a snarl, Malice shackles her ass, tilts her steeply, and bucks his cock fast. His mouth opens, growls skidding from his lungs at the clamp of her muscles, the friction hectic.

Wanton words from her mouth, the extravagant likes of which she has never uttered. “Yes,” she urges. “Such an attentive cock. So good to me.”

Malice’s wicked lips tilt, relishing the flattery. “Hold me down.”

Despite her experience, she wouldn’t have presumed, wouldn’t have entertained the gesture.

Especially not with him. Yet he exhibits no indication the request will trigger harrowing memories.

Instead, he wants her to alter the course of history, combating those recollections, turning them into something better.

Wonder’s seizes the settee’s rim with one hand, then bands the opposite fingers around his throat. There, now she’s got him under her thumb. Like this, she rides down on his lap, fastening him to her pleasure, driving the demon into the cushions. “Oh, Malice.”

The entreaty propels his waist. While vaulting his cock, a mutual command grates from his mouth. “Again.”

“Malice.”

“Again.”

“Malice.”

“That’s it. My name,” he rasps. “Mine.”

Mine. His. Hers.

Wonder gyrates her hips and watches her slick flanks splay around his cock, the head siphoning in and out. He jams into her swifter, punting her up and down, the curtains shaking.

Neither of them last more than a minute. Rampant, he hammers hard, harder, putting his back into it until her cunt ripples around him.

Wonder ruptures from head to toe. She weeps her climax while galloping on Malice, keeping one hold on his throat but releasing the settee to claw at his thighs, the sting finishing him off.

With a jagged howl, he comes through gritted molars.

His cock spasms, the pulsation rubbing her walls, miraculous heat spilling into her.

While they empty themselves all over each other, Wonder’s consciousness vaporizes into the ether. Whereas, her body and soul remain on earth, moored to this impossible creature.

They shouldn’t be doing this. Yet she cannot imagine doing anything else. Fates forgive her, but she doesn’t want this to stop.

So it doesn’t.

***

In the Astronomy Lore wing, Wonder yelps with laughter as Malice snatches her off the floor and drops her at the edge of a study table.

Because their innuendoes and inflamed glances have taken its toll, he’s insisted on a lunch break quickie during research.

Given they’re only half-dressed—Malice in low-slung pants and an open shirt, Wonder in a silk chemise, both of them without shoes—divesting each other will be swift.

Yet instead of sprawling her across the tabletop as she expects, the demon plants a nefarious kiss on her mouth. “Move your ass from this spot, and I’ll make you regret it.”

Then he swaggers like a rogue into the aisles. Wonder bites her mirthful lips, anticipating a naughty trick. A blindfold. Or a slender rope.

What she gets is music. As if speakers have embedded themselves into the walls, an energetic song peels through the library, the makeshift acoustics provided by The Stars.

Wonder glances around in surprise, then swings toward movement ahead of her. The moment he appears, her mouth drops. Astonished humor and a spike of lust topple from Wonder’s lips.

Malice stalks from between two shelves in the same clothes. Except his back is turned, palms flat on either shelf, that firm ass swaying to the electric chords.

He’s dancing for her. Like a seductive incubus, Malice swings his waist left and right while rotating his head. Then he turns sideways, sets his back against one of the end caps, and points at her.

The music is from the human realm, recognizable to Wonder.

Holding an invisible microphone, he sings along, amplifying that raspy rockstar voice.

The lyrics are sinful, alluring, and a bit coltish.

Malice lowers himself along the facade, draping his hands down his sides, slithering to the ground before dragging himself up again.

All the while, he serenades Wonder from her perch.

A smile breaks from her lips. Linking her ankles, Wonder mouths along the words, singing back to him.

She basks in the candid view of this demon doing a striptease for her, that lattice of abs contracting as he twists her way, the open shirt hanging off him.

Foothills of exquisite flesh peeks from the gap, pectorals smooth and muscles crunching with the motions.

The collar of his black shirt slumps, exposing his collarbones and the sexiest throat she’s ever beheld.

A set of bulky arms materialize as Malice peels off the shirt, the garment landing on the carpet, the quill tattoo blazing across his back.

In a kinetic display of provocatively whiplash moves, he saunters toward Wonder.

With every turn, he frees another clasp in his pants.

The waistband dips lower, teasing out the sharp V of his waist and the shadowed tip of his cock.

All of it belongs to her. For now, at least. So long as they’re isolated, cloistered from the world.

Wonder shimmies her body from side to side on the table. She curls one finger, beckoning him. Malice sidles between her thighs, and she half-chuckles, half-moans as he raises his arms and rolls his body like a snake.

With his teeth, Malice pushes a strap of her chemise, the neckline in danger of exposing her breast. Yet Wonder guffaws with lustful joy when Malice hauls her off the table.

She hops into the air, landing in his arms, legs hooking around his waist. Her hair cascades as she flings back her head, both of them singing to the starlit rafters.

Madness, cruelty, and ferocity aside, this god is a fiendish charmer when he wants to be, which is why he’s amassed a cult following. If not chopping victims to pieces, Malice knows how to glamour everyone within a hundred mile radius.

To that end, Wonder cannot decide if she wants to spin with him or fuck him senseless.

Like a mating dance, he releases her to the floor.

Foreheads pressing, their arms and hips sync, chests and pelvises grinding.

Caught between amusement and desire as they chorus into one another’s faces, hollering at the tops of their lungs.

Clad in a minimum of clothing, Malice leads the way. Waltzing in front, he dances with Wonder through the library, his arm raised overhead, hand threaded with hers as he guides the way. Their hips rock, their outlines bleeding across the walls, the music resounding.

From wing to wing, Wonder spins atop study tables. While Malice watches with a predatory expression, he straddles mezzanine railings hundreds of feet in the air, his glorious, godly physique etched in shadows.

In the half-light, they become specters of this repository. Wild. Delirious. Hungry. Regardless of every hostile thing they’ve done and said to each other, they abandon themselves to this ravishing insanity.

Reuniting in The Crescent Sanctum, they prowl around one another, circuiting a podium designed for public readings. Malice halts on the opposite end, overhead lanterns sketching every chiseled angle of his face.

Indeed. Lord of the Underworld. A realm of their own making.

He shakes his head, riveted. Threads of hair cling to her damp skin, her mouth is split into a grin, and her nipples poke through the chemise.

“Get the fuck over here,” he growls, throwing her over his shoulder while she laughs and stalking to the nearest fuckable surface.

***

In The Cosmorium, an intimate sunken den meant for astral geographical study, Wonder bends naked over a round table, its polished surface reflecting an animated map of the universe swirling with planets.

Chains strap her ankles to the posts, while her arms stretch to the opposite end, the shackles sprawling her wide.

The demon had located the steel links in a storage cellar among writing instruments, book binding materials, and restoration tools.

Darkness engulfs her vision, a cloth shrouding her eyes. Her immortal senses supplement the loss, the ledges of her ears prickling. Heavy footfalls stalk around the table, its owner observing this display of bondage from all vantage points.

The weight of his gaze spritzes Wonder’s flesh with goosebumps. Her bare pussy twitches, fluid oozing from the slit, visible to the devil. A low, coarse noise scrolls from his chest. Amid this exhibition, he’s in his element.

Malice is hardly accustomed to safe words. Yet Wonder had been the one to insist she hadn’t needed any. Most deities don’t as they get older.

Her heart stutters, anticipation coating her skin. Heat radiates from behind as he approaches.