“Fuck,” I grunt as she starts to whimper my name, begging me to come on her, in her, fill her with my knot. “You make such filthy fucking sounds.”
I use my right hand to stroke my shaft while my left hand reaches down to her breasts. I fondle them through her sweatshirt, use my tail to massage my testicles, and collapse onto one knee on the edge of the couch, putting my cock just below lip level. Releasing her tits, I use two hands to cover the knot. Grunting, I choke, “Open your mouth.”
She opens her mouth, such an obedient little whore, and sticks out her tongue as far as it’ll go just as the release hits me like a truck. Cum erupts from the tip of my cock in a bright white, with a slightly silverish hue. It hits the side of her face before I manage to shove the head of my dick into her mouth. I don’t stuff her fuller than that, even though I want to.
I empty and the sight of her throat working so rapidly to swallow load after load just makes me come harder, in a more violent stream. Sweat beads on my hairline. Electricity buzzes up my horns. My tail’s tip rings my balls and squeezes, and I damn near have a fucking stroke when she suctions her lips.
I must come for five hours. Maybe it’s only five minutes, but it’s both the longest and shortest five minutes of my life. Because when it’s over, there’s cum all over her mouth, dribbling down her chin, wetting her lips, and dripping onto her sweatshirt.
“Fucking Christ,” I hiss.
“Can I lick your knot, Darius?”
Fuck yes. I remove one hand and bring my knot to her mouth, let her lick the cum from it and suck on as much of it as she can until finally, it starts to recede. “Goddammit,” I say when I’m finally able to let go of it without it feeling extremely sensitive, so sensitive it borders on painful. I drop down onto my back and lie on the bright turquoise-pink-yellow-and-tan carpet I robbed from her apartment.
After a few minutes of silence, in which the only thing audible are our labored breaths, she finally says, “Fuck it. Keep the couch. I want the knot.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monika
The days pass. Eleven of them, to be precise. I’ve lost the forehead bandages, I’ve gotten the knot three times,and I’ve had exactly zero in-person meetings with the folks at the COE, courtesy of my new live-in boyfriend, who’s been fielding all my phone calls.
The only time I’ve seen Mr. Singkham and my other contacts at the COE was at the funeral hosted for the COE combatants who were lost in the battle against the Marduk. It was a miserable, bleak affair. It rained in Sundale that day. The only bright spot was what happened afterward. In a strange twist, Vanessa and Roland ended up coming to our penthouse for dinner. And, in an even stranger twist, Darius cooked for everyone. He didn’t even grumble about it, too much. It felt almost like ... he was buttering them up. Maybe even buttering me up. But for what?
Maybe for the renovations. More of my stuff keeps arriving to his penthouse every day, and the worst part is that the buttering is working. Anytime I think about going back to my own flat to get something, check on something, do some work, have some alone time ... I get back massages, or delicious snacks, or my pants ripped off and stuffed full of blue monster dick. It’s hard to stay focused. It’s forced me to reconcile a shocking truth: I would have moved out if I wanted to.
“How are you feeling?” Darius asks, voice gravelly this morning.
I smile and arch my back as he prowls up my body on the bed. “Good. Especially after that.”
“You seem better. Your stitches are healing up,jagiya.”
The shock of hearing him call me by a common Korean term of endearment—one heard often in my favorite K-dramas—hits me this time like it does every time. I know he does it to unseat me, and I smile. “God, I’m so into you,” I tell him as sunlight filters in through the semitransparent blinds.
“Don’t I know it,meine Liebe. Now, get up. I got sheets to change.”
I feel strangely nervous as I get up and hobble awkwardly to the bathroom. I hover in the doorway as I watch his naked blue ass fuss over a pillowcase. I think his horns might have gouged a hole in it somewhere in the midst of our morning escapades—another one. I squeeze my legs together and clear my throat. He glances up at me with that same annoyed look he gave the pillowcase.
“I really did mean it ... what I said,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I know it’s been a short time, just a few weeks, and like ... we fight a lot, but I ... I want to lick the cum off your knot until I’m eighty, or a hundred, or five hundred, or however long humans live.”
Darius stands upright. His penis looks freaking gigantic, even soft, as it flops against his leg. “My eyes are up here, baby girl.”
I clear my throat and switch my weight between my feet. I expect to see him laughing at me—smiling, at the very least, but he’s just staring at me with that annoyed look reserved for pillowcases that have offended him.
“I turned blue for you, baby.”
My mouth runs dry. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t ever doubt this.” He gestures between us. “Not ever. I may not say or do shit like I’m supposed to, but I’m gonna make sure nobody ever gets in our way again.”
I squint. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He winks and blows me a kiss at the same time. “Go take a shower. You smell like dick.”
“You’re an asshole.”
