Wet Desires
she whispered into the dark.
The demon froze, buried deep, but her tail twisted inside me, ridges grinding against sensitive nerves. I clenched around her, fighting the urge to move, to scream.
“Just… a bad dream,” I managed, voice muffled and strained.
Beatrice hesitated, then lay back down. “Pray for peace, Sister.”
The demon resumed—harder, faster, as if the interruption fueled her. “Close call,” she growled. “But you’re dripping more now. The risk makes you wetter, doesn’t it?”