Chapter 45 Satisfaction
(Apollo)
He grabbed the demoness by the chin, forcing her head back. She looked up at him, fluttering her thick, inky lashes.
“My Lord,” she moaned in seductive exaggeration.
The sight of her face displeased him. It was the wrong face. Not her face. With a flick of his hand, tight black smoke wrapped itself around her face, covering everything he didn’t want to see. The magic muffled her features into a blank, shifting mask, erasing the curve of her mouth, the shape of her eyes—making her no one, nothing, a vessel instead of a person.
The demoness stumbled but held her composure; anything less would earn her a swift death.
“Stand and bend over,” he growled, lifting her by the hair and forcing her over the armrest of his throne. Her reptilian skin burned against the touch of the throne's stone. She screamed and reared backward, but Apollo forced her down.
“Stay!” he demanded. It was an order. A command. One she could not disobey, no matter the pain she was in. And he wanted her in pain. He needed to punish something.
With swift fingers, the torn remains of his pants were stripped away, freeing his hardened length. He gripped the base of his cock and slapped the head against the demoness’s ass.
He wasted no more time and rammed into her with zero abandon. She screamed again, either in pain or surprise; he didn’t care. He tightened the smoke around her neck, shutting off her voice. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. It’s not the right sounding gasp. It’s not the right tone of surprised breath. It’s not what Adelaide sounds like.
Apollo thrust his hips, harder, faster. Slamming his hips into the back of the demoness’s thighs. The tightness was perfect. The wetness. The grip. But it still wasn’t right.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His mark pulsed and heated. Pictures of Adelaide’s naked body lying on the silk sheets on his bed flooded his brain. He could taste her on his lips. Feel the warmth of her skin. Imagine the feel of her delicate human flesh under his grip.
He pictured the way her breath would stop if he squeezed her throat just right. The way her eyes would dilate and bulge as he rammed himself into her. The way that tight little human pussy would clench around him.
Oh, it had been way too long since he indulged himself with a human.
Adelaide’s fire, her spark, would be such a good match for him. He would get so much pleasure out of breaking her. Claiming her. Branding her his in every possible way.
Apollo groaned and thrust harder. His body quaked with pleasure. His muscles tensed and shivered. Black bat-like wings broke through his human skin from his back. Thick dark fur sprouted along his arms and chest. Long black claws grew from the tips of his fingers. Then came his horns, thick, twirling, pointed horns reaching for the sky.
As one of his many beast forms came forward, he gripped the demoness’s tail in one of his giant bear-like paws, lifting her off the ground. The other paw he wrapped completely around her middle, keeping her impaled on him like a good little whore.
“Fuck me, Adelaide,” Apollo groaned and slammed hard and fast into her wet heat. Pleasure shivered down his spine; he could feel the release looming at the edge.
His long black tail curled over his shoulder, then slithered down his side. He curled it around her neck and squeezed. He felt her breath halt and her body tense from the fright.
“Yes,” he hissed, revelling in the feeling of her pulse slowing.
The demoness clawed and flailed, trying to get free. Trying to get air. There was no point. He was done with her now. He slammed her body back against him hard and mercilessly. His giant, beastly cock broke through whatever was inside her. He felt the pressure against the head of his dick, and then the pop once it snapped.
He came.
His hot seed burst from him, filling the demoness’s limp body. A strangled groan clawed its way out of his throat as his body slumped back on the stone floor. For a heartbeat, the flames around the throne bowed low, as if the entire chamber exhaled with him—and then, slowly, rose again, disappointed.
He tossed the demoness’s body aside and watched as it dissolved into smoke and ash. Then he looked down at his still erect, still throbbing barbed cock.
“Fuck,” Apollo hissed the word through clenched teeth as his body slowly shifted and morphed back into its human shape. He wrapped his hand around his still-hard cock and squeezed. No satisfaction. No relief. Only hunger sharpened to a painful point. The act felt mechanical, empty—a reflex his body went through while his mind stayed fixed on another room, another heartbeat.
His magic snarled under his skin like something caged and furious. His breath trembled.
He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing once in front of the throne before stopping abruptly, chest heaving. “This isn’t working,” he growled.
Not the throne. Not the violence. Not the body he had just destroyed.
None of it was enough. None of it touched the fire she had set inside him. The mark at his arm still burned like a brand pressed fresh to flesh, and every time he tried to smother it with distraction, it only flared brighter—as if insulted by the attempt.
His mark throbbed once—sharp enough to make him gasp.
Adelaide.
Her fear spiked. Just barely. Just enough for the bond to catch it. A flick of panic, a sharp inhale, the way her pulse stuttered and then sprinted—it all slid into him like a knife made of light.
His vision snapped toward the direction of his chambers. “Don’t,” he growled at himself. But his feet had already shifted. His body was already turning toward her.
Always toward her. Like the throne, like Hell, like the Pact itself no longer held his leash—only the fragile, furious girl in his bed did.