Sympathy for the Demons (Promised to the Demons #1) - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,56
was from anything I had ever experienced with a nymph. I had not realized. Or perhaps something in me, deep down, had realized, and it was why I didn’t care for nymphs very much. Nymphs liked sex, but they didn’t care who you were. It was clear to me that Jenny and Bevan wanted to make love to each other, and no lust spell could have shown them the way to the tenderness of her caress or the way he was taking his time even though I knew what urgency burned inside him. She should have been screaming with pain right about now as he fucked her carelessly.
As I watched him touch her breasts, and the way she threw her head back, I was getting so hard myself. And even as I held my breath, it got worse. He entered her, and her body arched with pure pleasure, the vision showing every beautiful contour of her form, and Bevan’s arms around her.
I almost made him hurt her. I almost ruined this for her.
It was like I hadn’t really considered my own actions until I had dodged them. I just did what any demon would do, but a rock of guilt sunk to the bottom of my gut.
I suddenly grabbed Uram’s jacket in both hands and swung him toward the door. “You’ve seen enough. All of you, get out.”
“Fine by me!” Jameson said, strutting past us with his feathers all ruffled. “I told you I didn’t want to watch!”
“You too, Gillian!”
“Oh, yes, master, I—I didn’t want to watch either,” she said, red as a beet.
I threw Uram out of the house, down the stairs, and he scrambled right back up and grinned at me, then shook his head.
“Go gather firewood,” I told them.
“In the dark!?” Gillian said, cowering behind Jameson, or at least trying to, considering she was almost two feet taller than him.
“There is a moon, and this is Etherium. You have nothing to fear except my wrath.”
I slammed the door shut and bolted it. Now I was alone with the spell and the sight of Jenny and Bevan locked together, moving in a rhythm of perfect silent communication, as she reached back and tugged at his hair and he was still very much enjoying the feel of her breasts—as was she, by the look of it.
My own need was growing overwhelming, yet I already had the sense that nothing I could do would truly satisfy it. I still took out my cock and stroked it, to get what relief I could.
What is the fuss over this, anyway? I’ve been to more than a few orgies in my younger days. It isn’t like I haven’t seen two people fuck a thousand times. That’s all it is. They couldn’t really even be in love…
Would I know what love looked like when I saw it?
I had certainly assumed I knew what love looked like. A noble, lofty emotion, far above carnal desires, and one that was considerably more bittersweet. Love was, in my mind, the same as chivalry, and honor, and was all about a wife who brought elegance and a good reputation to the home and produced fine sons, only to die tragically—but perhaps I was a bit biased on that account, as my own witch mother had died giving birth to me. It was so long ago that it rarely crossed my mind. I didn’t feel I had a mother at all, only the unforgettably powerful memory of my father, Lord Vorsel.
What I saw now was different, especially as they reached the peak of their satisfaction. As I watched Jenny’s breasts bob and her hair sway over her shoulders, her legs spread wide, her hips pumping quickly, I stroked myself fast and felt my own heat rush to spill my seed. I let it shoot onto the coiled rag rug, marking my territory. The servants could clean it up later. The thought made me feel briefly powerful, thinking of them debasing themselves, especially when I thought of Jenny herself on her hands and knees scrubbing my cum from the rug.
But then, as my own rush faded, Jenny and Bevan were still entwined, laying beside each other on the bed. Jenny’s rather dextrous toes casually moved along Bevan’s feet. He messed with her hair, arranging it over her shoulders again. They were still talking. She put her hands on his cheeks and they kissed again.