Page 115 of Demon Food

What a pretty, perfect little hole you have.

My eyes shot open when sharp teeth scraped across my ass, un-fucking-mistakable as he kissed my hole, alternating between lips and tongue and teeth while his thick tongue flattened against my sensitive opening, soaking me, tasting me.

And then I felt it. He pressed the tip of his ghost tongue inside me.

I didn’t recognize the sound that roiled from my throat, echoing through the room as my spine bowed in an even more exaggerated arch.

“Yes,” I said, thrusting my hips back into him the same time a deep demonic snarl slid through my skull.

My needy human. The voice was otherworldly and wild as a thorned rose. Tell me you want it.

“Gods, yes,” I whispered. “I want it.”

You want my tongue inside you, my hungry human?

“Yes.”

Say it.

“I want your tongue inside—” I gasped when he pressed it further.

Then I gasped again because holy gods, it was way more than just the tip, and my mouth fell open wide as a warm sting sliced through me.

“What were you saying?” he asked, but I didn’t know, and it didn’t fucking matter.

“You,” I breathed, edging myself back against him, moaning when his long tongue inched further. And further. “You’re fucking filthy.”

“And you love it.” It was a husky string of harmonious Vultaen, too posh for how filthy he was. “Where is my tongue right now, human?”

“Inside me,” I breathed, smacking the floor with my palm when it pushed even further, lost to sensation and the unknown thrill of what he’d do next while stinging, tender pleasure engulfed me as I opened for him. As he took it so far. Too deliciously far.

This ass is MINE.

The word mine rippled and tremored inside my mind, repeating itself until it was all I could hear as my breath sizzled between my teeth.

“It is,” I was slurring, my cheek pressed against the cold marble. “It is yours.”

How could it not be? When his sinfully long ghost tongue was filling me, commanding me, making me writhe helplessly against the floor.

Hands were encircling my wrists. Encircling my throat. Splaying across my lower back and chest and everywhere and gods, it was good. It was so fucking good that my eyes rolled into my skull.

I’d never felt anything like it as his tongue lashed against that spot in the front of my groin. That fucking spot. He was exactly where I needed him to be.

The future king of Novithia was milking me raw, his long tongue upbraiding it inside me like the lashes of a wet whip.

The future king of Novithia was more than just a king. He was a fucking god.

My knees trembled as I rocked back against him, pressure building quickly in my groin. I was going to explode. I was going to shatter.

You are throbbing, his demonic voice scraped at the insides of my mind.

I was. I was throbbing, and I was his. As far as he wanted to take it. As brutal as he wanted to be.

My mind was mush. My body was overrun with so much sensation, too much sensation such that everything pulsated in it. My cock pulsated. My head pounded. I squeezed my hands into fists, yanking uselessly at the invisible force pinning my wrists together, while my vision spotted in dots of black.

“Don’t stop,” I panted against the cold marble.

Fucking scream.