Azazel plants a hand next to my hip, towering over me for all that he’s bent nearly in half. I never thought I’d be one to have a size kink—or a hate-sex kink—but I can’t deny the way my pussy pulses in response.

My dress is tangled around my waist, exposing my thong. He makes a sound deliriously close to a true growl and rips it off. It’s such a smooth move that my hips don’t even jerk. With one last look at my face, he goes to his knees.

On his knees and with me sitting on the table, we’re nearly the same height. He yanks down my dress and palms my breasts, but there’s no savoring the movement the way there has been historically. The fury that drives me . . . Well, I can’t tell if it’s present in him or not, only that he’s intense in way that leaves no room for softness.

Good. I want none.

He plants one giant hand on my chest and pushes me down onto my back. Then he dips down and . . . Holy shit, he hooks my thighs over his horns, spreading them wide and exposing me fully.

I open my mouth to command him to do . . . something. Something that will put me back in control. Something that will make me feel less vulnerable.

I never get that chance. He covers my pussy with his mouth and kisses me with a frenzy that makes my eyes roll back in my head. I writhe on instinct, not sure if I’m trying to get away from the slick slide of his long tongue or arch closer. Azazel doesn’t allow me to decide. He palms my ass, lifting my hips even as his horns press my thighs wider.

He thrusts his tongue into my pussy; it’s nearly as thick and long as a cock but able to curl against my G-spot. I cry out, my words garbled with need. “MorePleaseDon’tstop!” I don’t know how he understands me, but he does.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps working me with his tongue as pressure builds, pulling my body tighter and tighter. I reach out wildly and my hands find his horns, then hold on with everything they have. And then I’m coming, the orgasm hitting me with the strength of a rogue wave, unexpected and violent.

Azazel eases his tongue out of me but doesn’t move away. He kisses my pussy as if he can’t get enough the taste, as if he never wants to stop. He nuzzles one thigh and then the other, nipping me lightly in the way I like sometimes, before moving back to roll the flat of his tongue against my clit.

This was a mistake.

I can’t find the breath to say so, to tell him to stop. That’s why I grip his horns tighter, why I arch closer. Not because I want to. Not because I know what comes next, how he can go for hours, alternating his attention so that I’m never quite overstimulated to the point of commanding him to stop instead of begging for more.

My second orgasm seems to build on the first. And then the third adds even more. And on and on, until I’m wrung out and limp, my hands falling to the table as I blink up at the stone ceiling.

“This was a mistake,” I rasp.

He moves back instantly. Azazel carefully disentangles my legs from his horns and stands. He cups my face, his gentleness unwanted, and yet . . . I close my eyes and lean against his palm. Just a little.

The moment I realize what I’ve done, I try to retreat. Azazel is already moving, scooping me into his arms. I’ve never felt so small in my life, and if there’s a part of me that wants to nuzzle up to him, it’s only the post-orgasm haze confusing my senses. “Put me down.”

He ignores me, walking out of the room and through the halls with what feels like dizzying speed. Or maybe it just feels that way, since spare moments later he’s shouldering open the familiar door to my bedroom.

I expect—dread, hope for—him to enter the room, lay me on the bed, and continue what we started. Instead, he sets me on my feet and holds my shoulders until he’s sure I’m steady.

I wish I were as sure. My body feels like it belongs to someone else, limbs loose and heart pounding. I look up at him, and if there’s any consolation to how shaken I am, it’s that Azazel appears equally so. His chest rises and falls with harsh breathing, and his cock is a long line against his pants.

I swallow. “You⁠—”

He cups my cheek again, something in his eyes that I can’t quite define. “Hate me if you must, Eve. Punish me all you like. I can take it.” He kisses me, the lightest brush of his lips against mine, and then takes one large step away and then another. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

I can’t corral my racing thoughts enough to think. “Stay.” I blink up at him as if he summoned the word against my will. Surely I didn’t just expose myself in this horribly vulnerable way.

He doesn’t close the distance, doesn’t stop his retreat. “Not tonight, Eve. Not like this.” Then he goes, shutting the door softly behind him.

Leaving me alone.

I hate how my heart drops in my chest. I hate how it feels like he’s rejecting me when I’m the one who set the tone for the night. I especially hate how it feels like I set out to punish him but only ended up punishing myself.

Seconds tick by, my body cooling even though my heart rate isn’t returning to anywhere close to normal. He could have fucked me until dawn, and I wouldn’t have done anything but beg him for more.

And through it all, he didn’t disobey me once. He didn’t speak. He didn’t push. He simply gave, paying penance with his mouth despite our mutual desire for more.

It doesn’t make sense for his restraint to make me even angrier. It’s not fair—I can recognize that—but I’m not in the mood to be fair. Not anytime in this century.

I march into the bathroom and wrench on the shower. Because of course they have indoor plumbing in the fucking demon realm, and I loathe that I’m grateful for it. I yank off my rumpled dress and step beneath the blistering spray. I press my hands to the tiled wall and duck my head, letting the water cascade over me, blocking out the rest of the world. All of it does little to reset my mind and emotions.

This accomplished nothing. Pleasure usually unwinds me, but I’m more tense than when I marched to dinner, ready to fight. I sigh and shut off the water. I don’t know what I’m more pissed about. That Azazel just made me come until my body went limp . . . or that he walked away. It shouldn’t matter. I hate him for what he’s done; wanting him to choose me is a fool’s game. Unfortunately, that lost little girl inside me, the one who was always passed over, time and time again, is a ghost I can never quite vanquish. It hurts to be left. Far more than it should.

An enticing scent reaches me as I towel off. My heart picks up. “Azazel?” There’s no answer. Why would there be? He left, and I know it’s not fair to blame him for it, but again, I’m not in the mood to be fair right now.

Back in my bedroom, I find a covered tray sitting on the desk. A peek shows a steaming-hot dinner. No wine, which makes my lips quirk despite myself. “You are such an overbearing asshole.” My smile fades away. I don’t know what to do. I don’t see a way out of this.

Worst of all, lust still coats my skin, demanding more, more, more.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 7

I’m ashamed to say I hide for days after that disastrous dinner. Azazel comes to my door several times and knocks as politely as if he were a suitor instead of my captor. And he just as politely leaves when he receives no answer.

There’s no reason for that to upset me further. I should be grateful for the reprieve. Should be pleased that no matter what else is true, he doesn’t intend to take advantage of the power dynamic.

No, that’s all on me. I’m the one who climbed in his lap and demanded something I knew would hurt us both. And the bastard gave it to me without hesitation—only to leave me wanting more.