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Chapter 8
Iwince as the old stone presses against the bare heated skin of my back.
“Geez, that’s freezing. You’d think you’d have some warmth from hellfire piped in or something. Like heated floors and sacrificial altars. Such a disappointment.” I suck a breath through my teeth as he works my legs down, then places my arms above my head, my breasts lolling to the sides of my torso.
“The stone hurts you?” He snarls at it—actually snarls at a rock—then stomps over to a pile of fur pelts against the wall, drags two enormous white ones off the top, then returns, working them under my body until he’s satisfied none of my flesh is against the offending stone. “Better, Little Dolly?”
Little Dolly.
“Yes.” The word seeps from my lips on a smile so big, I have to squint to see over my cheeks. “So, this won’t be a blood sacrifice?”
He towers over me, the red of his eyes the brightest thing in the room, a single claw trailing over the pulse thumping in my neck.
“You may bleed for me, my queen. But I will heal you with my tongue. The pain of your sacrifice to me will bond us for eternity. My seed will unite us. You can never leave.”
“I’m not sure the mechanics are going to work, but I trust Daddy to take care of me.”
He rumbles. “You and your scent are part of me now, little offering.”
I lift my chin, refusing to tremble. “I’m not so little.” I gesture to my curves with a flick of my wrist. “And defiance is my specialty.”
He chuckles, a sound that sends goosebumps erupting across my skin, and lays one hand flat on my stomach. It covers me hip to hip. “Everything is little to me, offering. You are only my favorite little thing.”
He lowers his head, and after that chase, I brace for something rough. But it’s… gentle.
He traces a slow path down my throat, sending a delicious shiver through me. His tongue, long and rough, flicks against the sensitive skin of my collarbone.
My heart starts to thump a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He’s taking inventory, one inch at a time, and he is in no hurry. He moves lower, his lips trailing a fiery path down my stomach, over my hips. My thighs instinctively part, offering him access.
“An eager little cunt.” He sounds delighted about it.
“Just cooperative.” My whole face goes hot anyway.
“Make no mistake, I will fuck you tonight. But I have nine hundred years to make up for, and you taste better than fear.”
Then he lowers his head, and my breath hitches in my throat. His tongue traces the delicate folds as a jolt of pure pleasure shoots through me.
He circles my clitoris, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, building the pressure.
“Mm,” I groan, my fingers digging into the altar's cool stone.
He lifts his head just long enough to look at me. “Tell me which sound means more. I want to learn all of them.”
“That one,” I gasp. “The one I just—” I moan again, “like that sound.”
“Very well, Daddy will be sure you make more of that sound.”
He deepens his exploration, his tongue working its magic, sucking and swirling. My hips arch instinctively, begging for more. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I’m soaking. Wet sounds echo off the hard walls as I lift my hips, asking for more, more, more.
“Beg for it, little offering. Daddy is listening.”
I am a Darling. Darlings do not beg. That’s what mama always said.
“Please,” I hear myself say. “Please, please, pleeeeease.”
So much for the Darlings.
My back arches, my thighs clench, and a low moan escapes my lips.
