Page 55 of Her Demon Mate

But that part of me is the part that is filled with anger and grief and guilt, and Azron deserves the part of me that is filled with love for him.

So I move as slowly as he does.

The room is warm and slightly humid, and sweat trickles down my body. My nipples are tight and hard, and I am already wet when Azron has finally undressed completely, and our mouths lock together again.

He places a hand softly between my legs, and I move my hips and pelvis, pressing against his hand.

We kiss softly as he gets me ready. He strokes me slowly, still kissing me, until I fall back and he falls with me.

When he presses into me, his shaft is hard and stretches me out completely, filling me up so well that I could almost convince myself that my sadness never existed.

Azron places his hands on both sides of my head and covers my body with his own, then thrusts slowly into me.

Unlike the last time, now when the pressure builds inside me, it builds painstakingly slowly.

Unlike the last time, there is no explosion. Instead, my climax ripples through me softly, warming my body, making me gasp with shock and pleasure.

Azron feels my pussy, warm and wet, convulsing around him, and he shudders. I keep my legs and arms tightly locked around him so that he presses himself closer to me, pressing his face into my neck.

His lips are light and soft against my neck, and then we are kissing again when he reaches his own end.

We lay in silence for a while.

“I love you.” Azron breaks the silence when I am halfway to unconsciousness, exhausted from crying. “I love you.” He strokes my lips with his thumb. “And you don’t have to worry about me not wanting you. I will always want you.”

I roll onto my side and press my face into his chest.

I don’t say anything, because there are no words to describe how I feel.

Except maybe one word.

Guilt.

Because the truth is that I lied to Azron. And he can never really love me unless he knows the whole truth.

26

AZRON

The other side of the bed is cold when I wake up.

Elia fell asleep in my arms last night. Our legs were intertwined, and we were holding hands.

I reveled in it. In her warmth, in her softness, in her comfort.

But the other side of the bed is cold as my eyes open. I am wide awake almost immediately, and all I can think of is the fact that Elia is gone. Again.

She just left. Without saying goodbye. Without waiting for me to wake up.

I am angry – of course, I am. But I also feel hollowed out. Like something is missing.

But then I realize that I have always felt this way. I have always felt hollow. And last night, with Elia, was the first time that I felt filled up again.

With her I had new strengths, strengths that I never had before. With her close to me, I regained the honor that I have been working to regain my entire life.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I mutter to myself as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.

I don’t understand her. Elia. I don’t understand her. I thought she wanted me as much as I wanted her.