Page 196 of Demon’s Snack

Her smile changes the air in the room. “Do it again, and perhaps I will expand my classification.”

I do it again.

We keep the rhythm before every touch, breath first, contact second, power third. Isolde sets the pace with maddening precision, and I follow because following her here teaches me more control than fighting myself ever did. The hunger rises with desire, and each time it crests I draw it inward, shape it, and send it into the ward stones in controlled waves. The sigil grows more intricate, branching into a protective pattern that glows across the wall without scorching it.

The bond flares once so violently the window rattles in its frame.

For a heartbeat, the old instinct surges with it, demanding more heat, more closeness, more everything. Isolde’s hands tighten on my shirt.

“Corin,” she says, voice low and commanding.

I catch the surge at the center of my chest, fold it down through the channels the devourer carved open, and release it in a single narrow pulse toward the wall. The sigil brightens, then steadies into a deep gold glow.

Isolde exhales against my mouth. “Excellent.”

I grin despite the heat shaking through me. “You just praised me like a useful horse.”

“I praised you like a man who finally followed instructions.”

“Worse.”

“Accurate.”

I pull her into me with one hand, consuming her with my gaze. She meets my eyes spark for spark. I take her lips again, reveling in her exquisite taste. My hand glides from the small of her back to the delectable slope of her bottom.

And squeezes, claiming my territory. My Isolde, forever.

She squeals, but in a good way. Isolde throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, fierce and unafraid. Our tongues slide together, and my heart jumps up in tempo. My cock gives a hard twitch as it engorges with blood. Already I can feel the nerves in my skin anticipating the sweet feel of being inside Isolde.

“Isolde,” I growl into the nape of her neck. My tongue slithers its way to the meaty part of her shoulder. I bite, just hard enough that she feels it, and her nails tighten on the back of my neck. Her body presses into me, as if seeking to be as close as physically possible. My rod is screaming to feel her, so I free it from my trousers with one hooked nail.

“Gods,” she groans as I kiss, lick, and nibble my way from her neck down to her chest. She shrugs out of her garments with minimal assistance. I grow impatient before she removes her undergarments--so I rip them asunder with a low, animal growl.

She gasps, then kisses me even harder. I slide my fingers between her buttocks until I feel the softness of her warm, wet pussy. Isolde moans into my mouth when I slide my fingers inside. She’s warm, slippery, and ready to take me. All of me.

Isolde lifts her hip as I grasp her thigh, moving her leg up. She grabs hold of my horns for leverage, little desperate moans and sighs escaping her mouth as she eagerly assists in her own impalement. The head of my cock pushes between her soft folds and glides deep inside. I grit my teeth, eyes tightly shut at the sublime pleasure of her sheathe.

I curve my spine and thrust into her with a hard pop of my hips. She cries out, fingers tightening around my horns. Her pussy convulses tightly, almost as if she’s trying to draw me in even deeper.

Our bodies find a rhythm, and it’s sublime, unforced, a perfect syncopation of our needs and desires. Her toes curl and her eyes roll back in her head as I up the tempo of our intimate dance. I blink sweat out of my eyes--do you know what it takes to make a demon sweat?--as my cock screams for releases. I can’t let that happen. Not yet.

I am determined to hear her scream my name in pleasure first.

“Corin,” she gasps between pants as her legs lock around my hips. “Corin…Corin!”

“Let us come together, my sweet,” I say in a taut voice, still maintaining control. But just barely.

“Oh Corin!” she screams, gripping me tight as a vice. I can’t hold back another second, and release inside of her. She squirms and writhes in my arms, our limbs entangled like forest vines. I hold her tightly as her body turns to jelly, shivering and gasping as the pleasure continues to roll through her.

“My Isolde,” I gasp. “I love you so.”

“I love…you,” she manages to say in a wavering voice, as her body still spasms from the intensity of her climaxes.

I sit down on the bed, cradling her in my arms. We remain there, foreheads touching and hands still linked, the heat inside me has settled into a low, obedient hum that feels less like a storm and more like an engine finally tuned to its own purpose.

“I swear to you,” I say, voice rough, “no one gets to weaponize your bloodline again. Not Vaerith. Not some council clerk with a seal. Not me by accident because I’m afraid of what you do to me. Your blood is yours. Your power is yours. The bond is ours because we choose it, not because dead men wrote theories in margins.”

Isolde’s fingers tighten around mine.