Page 26 of The Dead Don’t Scream

He repeats the motion.

“Yes.”

Again.

“Oh, God.”

The Devil stops. I look down. His masked face rises between my thighs.

“Wrong man.”

“What?”

“You called for God.”

I stare at him.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Deeply.”

“You stopped because I said God?”

“It’s insulting.”

A laugh bursts out of me. Dante bites the inside of my thigh. The laugh becomes a gasp.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

He bites slightly higher.

“Dante.”

“Better.”

His mouth closes over me again. My head falls back. Fuck this man and that fucking tongue my god. Pleasure climbs quickly, intensified by the ridiculous conversation, the red lights, and the sight of a horned monster devouring me as if my orgasm is a matter of wounded pride. My fingers tighten around his mask.

“Dante.”

He groans.

“I’m close.”

He doesn’t stop. Thank fuck. His fingers curl while his tongue works faster. My body tightens around him. Heat spreads through every muscle, racing toward a breaking point. I look into the mirror. A stranger stares back. Her hair is wild. Her cheeks are flushed. Her white dress is bunched around her hips while the Devil kneels between her thighs.

She looks shameless. Hungry. Alive. Dante told me to watch her. So I do. The orgasm hits hard enough to blur my reflection. I cry his name as my thighs close around his head. Dante holds me exactly where he wants me, drawing out every pulse until I’m shaking against the mirror. He doesn’t slow down. The pleasure sharpens.

“Dante.”

His mouth remains on me. I tug his mask.

“Wait.”

He adds pressure. The sensation becomes almost unbearable.

“Yellow.”