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“Tell me I can come,” Malachi rasped urgently, voice thick. “I’m—can I—please, Joy, can I—?”
Feeling him spasming inside her—filling her up—seemed to drag her orgasm out, until she felt like she would pass out from the intensity.
Should he ask? But how could he, when he didn’t know what to ask? How to express what he wanted? He couldn’t just tell her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her;
“Fucking Almighty,” he rasped, his hips jolting into the mattress. She was so fucking wet. “I’m ready,” Joy gasped, arching into his touch. “I got myself ready—before I summoned you—” “Almighty,” Malachi groaned, his hips jolting again.
She must’ve used a toy; she must’ve been at it for some time—stretching herself for his dick, dripping onto the summoning circle as she’d called him.
Malachi grunted and had to stop, literally fucking whining as she came around him, her pussy like a vice.
never used to care about size, you know? You’ve completely ruined me.” “Good,” Malachi said darkly.
Joy cheered loudly. Iyore didn’t hesitate to go down low and wind her hips, grinning widely and happily at her husband, while Malcom stared at her like it was the beginning of the rest of his life.
She was a proud murderer of rapists; “normal” was no longer in her wheelhouse.
“Are you begging to be punished, demon boy?” “What if I am, little tiger?” Malachi husked against her throat.
Malachi, despite himself, was blushing. Joy “summoning” him had kind of become foreplay for them.
“Igris, entis, untis, represe.”
“Fuck, Joy. I love you. I love you.” She felt so good inside him, filling him up like this; he never wanted it to end.
“Touch yourself for me, darling,” she commanded. “Let me see you come.”
