Page 77 of Infernal Bindings

I take a step back, then another, until the backs of my calves hit the gilded bedframe. Once again, Salios looks like Daemon, and when he clears his throat, everyone listens—their conversations dying out as quickly as they started. “A little witch has been caught in my kingdom,” he announces. “I’ve decided to grant her clemency, if she can survive a proper incubus feeding.”

Jeers break out. Laughs and hoots and whistles too.

My racing heart feels like it might explode from my chest. This is so much worse than that stage at the club.

“We’ll have one hour to play with her. Wish her luck.”

Salios waves his hand and a fifty-foot hourglass appears in the pit beside me, shadows spooling around it. The sand is as golden as Salios’s wings, and as bright as starlight. It casts a warm glow over me and the bed—some sort of fucked-up spotlight.

Daemon appears next, dressed only in his leather pants. His brows furrow when he glances between me, the bed, and the crowd of winged demons. Before I can explain what’s happening, Salios whispers something in his ear, and Daemon’s eyes widen with understanding. His throat bobs when he looks at me again.

Sand and shadow spray as Daemon approaches the mattress, shaking his head. The noise in the arena drowns him out, where only I can hear him. “Annie, it’s too dangerous. I don’t have that kind of self-control.”

“Would you rather it be someone else?” I ask, unable to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course not. I just—I don’t want to be the one who kills you.” His voice cracks. Slowly, he takes my hands in his, and for a moment I let myself pretend that I never learned about the sleep-feeding. That he’s not a murderer. That I’m still madly in love with him.

“Then don’t be.” I say it matter-of-fact, like he can control the situation when we both know he can’t. Only two days ago, I’d been in my father’s office after Daemon overfed. Truthfully, my body still hasn’t had time to recover either. But I don’t think about that.

“Is it settled?” Salios asks, just to us. When Daemon nods, the archdemon steeples his fingers. “Excellent.”

A sudden weight curls around my neck, wrists, and ankles—matching, angel-blessed cuffs to the ones Daemon is wearing. “So you don’t try anything stupid,” Salios explains. “I won’t have you channeling me or casting any silly spells during our game. No one likes a cheater.”

A moment later, a golden chair appears near the head of the mattress, which Salios gracefully lowers himself into. That’s… uncomfortable.

He crosses his legs as if this is the most casual thing in the world. “Oh, and one more thing—that body simply won’t do.”

With a snap of his fingers, Daemon’s body transforms. His leather pants rip into shreds as his muscles and bones expand. Pale skin becomes deep red, and wings burst from his naked back. A moment later, all of Daemon’s fingernails have been replaced by claws, and twisted horns stick from his skull. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and yet it is. In all the time we spent at the club, Daemon was never truly naked. I swallow at the sheer size of him—his height, his muscles, his oversized cocks.

It’s too much.

My gaze lingers on his body, my own trembling in response. The crowd of demons laugh when I try to take another step back, and instead fall into the bed, the soft feathers crumpling beneath me. The cloak I’m wearing billows open, exposing myself to the crowd—save for my pussy that’s still protected by the chastity belt.

“Unlock her for me,” Salios demands Daemon, dangling a little silver key in front of him. “Courtesy of Sylrin.”

Black claws pluck the key from Salios’s hand. As Daemon climbs onto the bed, his glowing and pupilless red eyes stare down at me. Face screwed into an unreadable mask, he spreads my quivering legs apart and inserts the key.

The lock clicks open.

I suck in a breath as Daemon wordlessly removes the belt and shucks it to the floor, exposing the rest of me for anyone to see. In my periphery, the golden hourglass flips, shaking the arena and the frame beneath us.

And so it begins.

37

THE SPECTACLE

“You can’t come,” Daemon whispers, his face nestled between my thighs. He licks a trail up my slit and plunges two fingers deep inside me, burying them to the third knuckle. I gasp at the intrusion, arching my back against it. “Warn me when you’re about to, and I’ll change positions.”

Why on earth would I want to do that?

My head swirls when his mouth finds my clit, sucking down on it until it aches.

In the background, demons jeer at us, and my cheeks heat. All too aware of our audience, I try to squeeze my thighs together, but Daemon pulls his fingers out of me and his rough palms hold me open as he eats me out for everyone to watch.

Their serrated teeth and horned faces blur together in an endless sea of red, until Daemon peers up at me, his face glistening with my arousal. “Don’t look at them, Annie, look at me. I’m the only one who matters here.”

I let myself believe that. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pull him closer to me, riding his face as he works his forked tongue lower, curling it inside me. It goes further than what should be physically possible, hitting so deep that tears of pleasure and pain fill my eyes. My whole body quivers, sending me higher and higher and—