Page 87 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

My teeth latch onto his neck, and I’m afraid I’m getting used to the sensations: his heated scent, the warmth beneath me, and the beat of his pulse. It’s as if his body is pleading for me, begging me to drink from him, and I can’t deny the urge.

My longing is more than hunger or thirst—it’s a desire to feel our connection again. To strengthen it. To revel in it.

He knows what to expect this time, and he accepts the pleasure, driving his hard bulge against my needy core as growls emit from him. Layers of fabric keep us apart, but I’m wet underneath the teasing touch. His warm taste fills me with need.

Through our bond, I feel his desperation, too, and it spurs me on. My fingers finally dip under the waistband of his boxers, taking him in my hand. He’s hard under my touch, but I’m gentle as I stroke him. With a growl, he lowers his boxers, making his urgency apparent.

Once I’ve had my fill, I swipe my tongue over the wound, healing him. I finally pull away, and the hunger in his eyes bores into me.

His hands grip the side of the desk, hard enough that his knuckles are white, and the way he eyes me. I’m drinking from him, but he is not the prey some would think he is. When did his horns return? His wings, his claws? He’s a demon towering above me, strong and full of unimaginable lust.

Finally, he allows himself to touch me, hot enough to burn. His fingers graze against the side of my neck, and I inhale, my lips parting. Jun’s crimson eyes drag over me, drinking up my ample form. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his free hand takes mine. With my hand in his, he pins it to my side, keeping me in place.

“You fed,” he mutters. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“Then take your fill.”

Demons don’t need to feed—at least, a demon like Jun doesn’t. I know what he is. He’s a demon of the dead, a reaper demon, not the kind that feeds from lust.

But he could have fooled me by the way he drinks me up.

His hand trails across the curve of my breast, down my stomach, stopping at my thighs. He pushes my dress up, and my legs part, welcoming the touch.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispers, his claws digging into my inner thighs.

I’ve rendered him breathless, made him long to drink me up and hold me like he wants to crush me. Beneath his touch and devouring gaze, I feel like a thing of beauty. I have healthy self-esteem on most days, but nothing prepares me for how he makes my confidence skyrocket.

Jun leans in before I can answer, capturing my lips in his.

It’s ravenous, the way he kisses me, and I know he can taste his blood on my lips. He doesn’t appear to care, biting so hard that, if I were a human, I would bruise. Jun knows I’m not—he knows he doesn’t have to be gentle. I don’t want him to be. Itshows by the soft mewls I make against his mouth, encouraging his burning touch.

My sounds grow as his fingers finally touch where I need them, thumb grazing against the fabric of my underwear. I swallow the grunt passing through his lips.

Finally, he voices what I’ve been avoiding thinking.

“We don’t have as long as I fucking need. I want more time with you.” He pushes my underwear to the side, and his fingers dip in, coated in my arousal. “Fuck, princess.” He presses his forehead to mine, and our eyes lock. “Does feeding always make you feel like this? Be honest.”

“No,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

Feeding makes me feel good, close to alive, but it’s never made me feelthisgood. I’ve never been able to finish without a single touch or rendered this needy with so little. Jun does something to me, and he can see it.

“Then this is for me?” His fingers circle over my clit, and I let out a soft, needy moan.

I nod uselessly. “All for you.”

“That’s good.” He hums. The pressure builds with each touch. “You’re so wet, and it’s all for me. No one else. Mine. Tell me you’re mine. Please.”

His words are a whimper at the end, such a contrast to his growling tones.

I only manage to get out a single, reverent word. “Yours.”

His fingers plunge into my core, and it’s rough, two fingers entering—the way he kisses me is a soft contrast, a gentle peck to my lips. I never would have considered being possessed by Jun before, but I give myself to him now. Readily.

“God. Please,” I whimper, unsure of what I’m begging for.

“Not a god.” Chuckles and curls curling his fingers, rubbing against my sensitive spot. “Don’t you know better than to pray to a demon?”

“Not when it’s the devil I want.”