“Nikolas, please,” I moan, needing to see the way his eyes flash with desire every time I use his real name.
I’ve always known that he hates it—it’s why I used it to taunt him. But while I was expecting the anger hearing it caused, I wasn’t expecting the hunger that crossed his features.
“I need—”
“Trust me, Angel. I’ve got you.”
His hips roll, and although there’s still a little lingering pain, mostly it just feels insanely good.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
“That would probably offend him, Angel. I’m nothing but fucking Satan.”
His lips dip to my neck and my back arches into him, needing more. Needing everything.
“Do you have any idea how many years I’ve dreamed of this, of having you beneath me, of being inside you?” he all but groans against my lips as his hips continue to move, his cock thrusting inside me in the most mind-blowing way.
“Liar. You barely noticed I existed,” I tell him on a gasp as he grazes some deep part inside me.
His entire body stills as my words hit him and he pushes up on his palms, staring down at me with a hard expression on his face.
“W-what?” I ask, suddenly nervous that I’m doing this all wrong.
“Calli,” he breathes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever noticed.”
All the air rushes out of my lungs at the honesty in his tone.
His lips slam down on mine. His words, his touch, his kiss, the slow roll of his hips utterly consumes me.
He keeps up the gentle pace for another few minutes before his inner devil starts to take over and he sits up, ripping us apart, wrapping his hands around my hips and lifting my arse from the bed to give him the perfect angle.
“You good?” he asks, but he must read the answer on my face because he doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he thrusts forward with more power than I’m expecting.
If it weren’t for his grip on me, I’d have shot up the bed.
His lips press into a thin line and the muscles down his neck tense and ripple as he begins fucking me like a man on a mission. He’s still wearing his shirt, and I hate that he’s hiding a part of himself from me.
I feel like I’ve seen so much of the real Daemon in the past few hours and yet, he’s leaving that one bit as a mystery.
I don’t like it.
But as he keeps pounding into me, I have no chance of doing anything about it.
His fingertips dig harshly into my hips, hard enough that I have no doubt he’ll leave bruises behind.
“Fuck, Angel. Fuck,” he grunts, one of his hands releasing me and skating up my body until it finds a home around my neck.
I gasp, not used to the harsh grip as his jaw tics.
“Mine,” he hisses. “You. Are. Fucking. Mine,” he grunts possessively, slamming into me with every word.
“Tell me, Calli. Tell me that you’re mine.”
I’m so lost to him that anything outside of our connection doesn’t exist right now, and I find myself crying out, “Yes. Yes, I’m yours,” as his grip on both my throat and hip tightens, his cock swelling even bigger inside me.
“Play with your clit,” he demands. “I want to watch you come before I fill your cunt with my seed.”
My lips fall open at his crass words. I’m powerless to do anything but follow orders, and I find my hand grazing my lower stomach before I press two fingers against my clit.