013

– Vuk Kael Lasković

The fortress gates closed behind us with a heavy thud that echoed through my bones like a war drum finally falling silent.

We walked the corridors in charged quiet — no words, just the soft click of her heels and the low thunder of my pulse. Every guard we passed dropped to one knee, eyes averted, sensing the storm coiled between us. Good. Let them feel it.

I opened the doors to our chambers myself. No servants tonight. No interruptions.

The hellfire sconces flared brighter the moment we stepped inside, as if the room itself had been waiting.

Maureen paused just over the threshold, wine-red gown catching the crimson light like fresh blood on snow. She didn’t look around. She looked at me — silver eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed the color of ripe sin.

“Thank you for tonight…” she whispered, voice small, almost reverent. Her gaze dropped to the floor, lashes casting shadows on those perfect cheeks.

My little moon. Shy after I’d fed her venison from my fingers, danced with her under auroras, promised to ruin her in front of the entire city skyline.

Perfection.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

Two strides and I was on her. My hands found her shoulders — gentle, always so fucking gentle — and I pulled her flush against me. She gasped, tiny and startled, and then my mouth was on hers.

Mercy.

I had craved this every second since I’d forced myself to behave in that restaurant. Her taste — red wine and dark chocolate and lunar power — exploded across my tongue. I kissed her like a starving male finally allowed to feast: deep, claiming, fangs grazing her lower lip until she whimpered into my mouth.

When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Her hands fisted in my open coat. My cock was already straining, knot throbbing against the seam of my trousers.

I stepped back just enough to shrug the coat off. Let it fall.

Her eyes tracked every movement, pupils blown wide.

Shirt next. Buttons scattered across obsidian as I tore it open. The glowing bite on my shoulder caught the light — her mark on me, still tender, still mine to wear like a crown.

Trousers last.

I didn’t rush. I wanted her to see everything she did to me. Three hundred and fifty years of nothing, and now this — hard, aching, leaking just from a kiss and the sight of her in that dress.

When I stood bare before her, cock jutting heavy and thick against my stomach, knot already swelling at the base, I watched her throat work on a hard swallow.

Fear flickered in those silver eyes. Not of me — never of me — but of the size, the intensity, the inevitability.

I closed the distance again, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs stroking the satin over her ribs.

“I promised to ruin you tonight, little moon,” I rasped, voice shredded. “Slowly. Thoroughly. Until the only word you remember is my name.”

Her breath hitched. Slick scented the air — sweet, intoxicating, mine.

I turned her slowly, pressed her back to my chest, and began unlacing the gown with deliberate care. Every inch of skin revealed was a revelation: the crescent scar at her throat glowing brighter under my touch, the faint silver veins along her spine, the perfect curve of her ass.

The dress pooled at her feet like spilled blood.

No underwear. Of course.

I growled low, fangs scraping the fresh claiming bite on her shoulder. She shuddered, leaning back into me, trusting.

Good girl.

I walked her forward until her thighs hit the edge of the massive bed. Bent her over slowly — palms flat on black furs, ass presented like the offering she was.

Then I dropped to my knees behind her.

Worship first.

Always worship.

My hands spread her open. My mouth followed.

One long, filthy lick from clit to entrance and she cried out, legs trembling.

I didn’t stop until she was sobbing my name, until slick coated my chin and dripped down her thighs, until she came twice on my tongue alone.

Only then did I line up and sink into her in one slow, relentless thrust.

Her scream echoed off obsidian: high, shattered, perfect.

My roar followed: raw, ancient, victorious.

She was impossibly tight, velvet heat clamping around every ridged inch as I buried myself to the hilt. Her walls fluttered in shock and pleasure, trying to adjust to the invasion, slick easing the way but doing nothing to hide how perfectly she stretched for me.

I stayed seated deep, hips flush against her ass, letting her feel the full weight of me: the throb of my cock, the press of my knot already swelling against her entrance, the way her body trembled around mine.

“Breathe, little moon,” I rasped against her ear, one hand splayed across her belly, holding her pinned to me. “Feel how you were made for this. For me.”

She whimpered, fingers clawing the furs, back arching as another wave of slick coated us both.

I pulled out slowly: agonizingly slow: until only the flared head remained inside. Then I drove back in, deeper this time, grinding against that spot that made her sob my name.

Again.

And again.

Each thrust deliberate, measured, ruining her one inch at a time.

Her legs shook. Her thighs glistened. Every drag of my cock pulled broken sounds from her throat: pleas, gasps, my name over and over like a prayer she didn’t know she knew.

I kept the pace slow for as long as I could stand it: centuries of control finally bending under the weight of her. My hand slid up her spine, fisting in white-gold hair, arching her back so I could watch her face in the shattered mirror across the room: lips swollen, silver eyes glazed, tears of overwhelm tracking down flushed cheeks.

Beautiful.

Mine.

When her walls began fluttering harder, the first warning of her climax, I stopped.

Completely.

She whined, pushing back desperately, trying to chase the friction.

“Not yet,” I growled, voice shredded. “I’m nowhere near done ruining you.”

I pulled out: slow, torturous: until she was empty and clenching around nothing.

She cried out at the loss, body shaking.

I turned her gently, lifted her trembling form, and laid her on her back in the center of the black furs. Her thighs fell open instantly, slick folds swollen and glistening, entrance fluttering with need.

I crawled over her, caging her with my body, and kissed her: deep, reverent, tasting her tears and her pleasure.

Then lower.

Fangs scraped her throat, pausing over the glowing bite to suck a fresh mark beside it.

Lower still: mouth closing over one perfect breast, tongue swirling the nipple until she arched off the bed.

Lower.

Until I was between her thighs again, spreading her wide, licking her clean of us before driving my tongue inside her once more.

She came instantly: hard, sobbing, thighs clamping around my head as I drank every pulse.

Only when she was limp and gasping did I rise.

My cock jutted heavy between us, slick with her, knot swollen and dark.

Her eyes fixed on it: wide, nervous, hungry.

“I… I want to taste you,” she whispered, voice small and brave. “Please.”

Fuck.

The words nearly undid me.

I sat back on my heels, fisting the base to keep from coming at the sight of her crawling toward me on shaky arms.

She settled between my thighs, white-gold hair spilling over my skin like moonlight. Her tiny hands wrapped around me: couldn’t close fully: and she looked up, uncertain.

“I’ve never…” she admitted, cheeks burning. “Not like this. Not because I wanted to.”

The confession speared through me: rage at anyone who’d ever forced her, gratitude that this was hers to give freely now.

I cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip.

“Then let me teach you, little moon. Slowly.”

She leaned in, tentative, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of pre-cum at the tip.

My hips jerked involuntarily.

She startled, pulling back.

I laughed: low, rough, affectionate.

“Not wrong, love. Perfect. Just… sensitive.”

Emboldened, she tried again: lips parting, taking the head into her warm mouth, sucking gently.

Fuck.

It was clumsy: too careful, teeth grazing once, rhythm uncertain. But it was her: eager, trusting, trying so hard to please me.

I groaned, hand threading gently through her hair: not pushing, just anchoring.

“That’s it,” I praised, voice gravel. “Flatten your tongue… yes, like that. Suck a little harder… gods, yes.”

She hummed around me, the vibration shooting straight to my knot.

“Take what you can,” I rasped. “No more. Just… fuck, you’re doing so good, Maureen. So fucking good for me.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she tried deeper: gagging slightly, pulling back with a wet gasp, then trying again.

I praised every effort: every swirl of tongue, every soft suck, every time her hands stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach.

“Look at you,” I growled, thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. “Taking the Alpha Devil’s cock like you were born for it. My perfect little moon. My good girl.”

The praise made her moan around me, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

I let her set the pace until my control frayed: until the sight of her swollen lips stretched around me, saliva and pre-cum glistening on her chin, became too much.

“Enough,” I snarled gently, pulling her off with a wet pop.

She looked up, dazed and proud, lips red and shining.

I hauled her up my body, kissing her fiercely: tasting myself on her tongue and growling at the filth of it.

Then I flipped us.

Her back hit the furs. I spread her thighs wide, hooked them over my forearms, and opened her completely.

One thrust and I was buried again.

This time I didn’t hold back.

I fucked her deep and hard: every stroke punching the air from her lungs, headboard cracking against stone, knot catching on every withdrawal until she was begging: incoherent, desperate.

“Please… Vuk… need…”

I ground deep, rolling my hips until the knot finally breached.

Her scream shattered the air as it locked us together.

I roared, hips jerking, pumping her full in thick, endless waves until it leaked around us and soaked the furs.

She came again: harder: walls milking me in violent pulses, body bowing off the bed, nails raking bloody furrows down my back.

I didn’t stop moving: grinding through the lock, dragging every aftershock from her until she was sobbing with overstimulation, clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in the universe.

Only when she went limp: boneless, breathless, utterly ruined: did I still.

I rolled us carefully, keeping the knot seated, pulling her on top so her weight rested on my chest.

Her head tucked under my chin, fingers tracing lazy patterns over my heart.

I stroked her hair, her back, the glowing bite on her shoulder.

“Mine,” I whispered against her temple, voice wrecked. “My perfect, brave, beautiful mate.”

She made a soft, content sound and pressed closer.

Outside, the eternal storm howled.

Inside, the devil held his moon.