Page 229 of The Devil May Care

But I want to. Because I understand what this is—even if I don’t know the name for it. It’s more than trust. More than desire. It’s belonging. And gods, I’ve wanted that for so long it hurts. So I sink beneath the water again. Not far—just enough to let the warmth slide over my head, to clear my mind. When I rise again, I do it slowly, quietly, and resurface behind him.

He doesn’t startle. I rest my hands on his shoulders and lean forward to press a kiss to the back of his neck. His breath catches—sharp, then steady again. The muscles beneath my palms twitch, then settle. I don’t speak. I shift around him, meeting his eyes as I climb into his lap, legs wrapping around his waist. His hands hover, unsure where to rest, but mine aren’t.

I cup his jaw, brush my thumbs over his cheekbones, and kiss him again—slow and steady this time. No fire. Just warmth. Just truth. His hands find my back and we breathe together. His lips part when I kiss him again, but he doesn’t deepen it—he waits. Always so careful with me, like he’s afraid to take too much. Like I’ll shatter if he forgets I’m human. But I’m notjusthuman anymore. Not here. Not with him.

My hands slide down his chest, tracing the heat and strength of him beneath my palms. The flame-light catches along the edges of his collarbone, highlighting the lines of his throat, the curve of his shoulders. His embermark pulses faintly, answering mine.

He still hasn’t moved.

“Caz,” I whisper, teasing.

One dark brow arches, but he doesn’t speak.

“I don’t bite.”

“I know.” His voice is low, rough. “But you might burn.”

I smile, slow and wicked. “I’ve been on fire since the day I got here. You think I haven’t noticed?”

His expression flickers—caught between reverence and restraint. He wants me. I can feel it in the way his body responds to mine, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides like it’s killing him not to touch me. So I make it easy for him, I lean forward, lips brushing his ear.

“Let me,” I murmur, fingers brushing over the curve of his jaw, the back of his horns, the heat at the nape of his neck. “Just for a minute. Let me have this. Let it be mine.”

He leans back against the stone, arms braced behind him, eyes locked on mine.

“It’s always been yours.”

I kiss him again, slower this time. My hands trace over the ancient patterns of his Embermark, which shimmers beneath my touch. The water shifts and eddies around us, warm and grounding. The glow ofthe flame behind us bathes everything in red-gold light, like we’ve stepped into the heart of the Realm itself.

I straddle his lap again and settle there, meeting his gaze. He’s hard pressed against my inner thigh, the dusky column of his cock curving up the flat plane of his belly. I cant my hips, letting the solid length of him drag through my folds, bumping up against my clit. I do it again, and again, losing myself in the rhythm between us. He gasps softly when I move against him, his fingers tightening on my hips. There’s reverence in the way he looks at me—like he can’t believe I’m real. Like I’m a prayer answered in flame and water and ash.

I had plans. Fantasies and dreams and ideas of what I wanted to do the next time we were here like this. Not in the hot spring, but together, naked. Intertwined. It’s not every day a girl gets to live out her kinky demon sex fantasies with the prince of Hell, but heat is melting my brain, want is fizzing in my blood. And I reach for him, slotting him right at the slit between my legs.

I lean in and kiss him again, letting the heat between us rise like smoke as I press my hips to his taking him deep into my body. I rock forward and back and his breath catches. I shift side to side and he sucks in air. I loop in a figure eight, feeling my own spine shudder as he bumps up against the sensitive front wall of my pussy, his pubic bone grinding against my clit. I twist against him, out of control as the heat builds, the tension coiling in my gut. Am I supposed to come this fast? With this little warm up? Do I fucking care?

I let it build and build until the edges of me blur. I don’t know where I end and he begins. The feeling is terrifying—and safe. Like falling, but knowing you’ll be caught.

We move together, slow at first, careful. One hand loops around my waist, dragging me in tight until he can cup my opposite hip, angle me the way he wants. His free hand cups my breast, thumb scraping my nipple. I gasp and he lunges for my mouth, swallowing the sound before it can escape.. The water glides around us, steam rising like the Realm is holding its breath. I rest my forehead against his, eyes half-lidded, and breathe him in.

Caziel doesn’t speak, but the way he touches me says everything. His hands are steady and sure, but gentle. Worshipful. He kisses the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder, the mark at my chest—eachpress of his mouth sending a pulse of heat down my spine. Urgent, but careful.

I don’t know how long it lasts. Time unspools here, stretching out and curling in on itself. I lose track of how many times I fall apart in his arms. How many times he whispers my name like a vow, a tether, a truth.

My Embermark pulses with his. I catch the moment the flame seems to notice us. It flickers through the spring like a pulse, not burning but alive—aware. Something ancient and deep inside me stirs. The heat wraps around us, not painful but personal, almost possessive. The flame isn’t just watching, it’s bearing witness.

Pervert,I think, but I can’t bring myself to mind.

The tension coils. Pulling tighter and tighter, as if it can suck the heat and the color and the flame right out of my skin. I gulp in air and press our mouths together, desperate as I press my tongue past the seam of his lips to tangle with him. My lungs ache but I’d rather starve myself of oxygen than pull away.

“Caz.” It’s a plea pulled from the depths of my soul. “Please, Caziel. I need—”

“Caziel Draeth Zorathiel Azmodean, Heir of the Ember Crown, Flame-marked of Crimson, Scion of the Burning Line.”

“Caz,”

“Caziel Draeth Zorathiel Azmodean, Heir of the Ember Crown, Flame-marked of Crimson, Scion of the Burning Line.” The words seem to echo between my ears as he repeats them.

I twist against him.