Chapter 13

Zagan

I’D WANTED TO FUCK HER senseless as soon as I saw her curvy body in that red dress. It took all the patience I had in my bones not to take her right there in that bathroom, but I knew if I did that, Eden would barge in with a demand to join. So I waited. I planned to continue waiting until we were done here, but that was before .

Before her ass swayed in that tight red dress to multiple songs.

Before her chest heaved with heavy breaths, her nipples poking through the thin material.

Before her hooded eyes grew sensual and hungry for more than Eden’s attention.

I couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

It didn’t help the straining of my cock when one of our songs came on overhead. The way she always reacted to my singing—physically and sexually—was intoxicating for me. For so long now, all our songs did was remind me of my struggle to write. Yet I went from never wanting to hear another one of our songs again to needing them on constant repeat, all because of the way it made the brown of her eyes shimmer with lust, the way it made her pulse race with the melody, or how it made her body automatically seek out mine.

Now, my dick sank into her warm, wet pussy, and I groaned at the pure ecstacy of it. She felt so good wrapped around my cock, and the sounds she made as I entered her were like my own personal symphony. I could feed from her, listen to her, and feel her all day long and never grow tired of it.

Which was good considering I was stuck with her for the foreseeable future.

Once I was fully inside her, I placed one hand on her hip and let the other continue rubbing and toying around the edge of her bundle of nerves. Despite wanting her, I didn’t make a move to thrust, and I didn’t actually touch her clit. She was about to take the lead on that.

With my finger teasing her but not fully touching her where she wanted and my dick filling her up but not moving, she began to squirm restlessly. I grunted, because just that subtle movement felt divine , and she hadn’t even truly started moving yet.

“Zagan.” She whimpered my name in a desperate plea.

“You want more?” I asked, gravel filling my voice.

She hesitated a moment, her anxious eyes scanning the room. It was a huge audience, and I waited with baited breath to see which my sparrow wanted more—to let her desires run free or to let her fear win. Finally, she nodded.

I chuckled low at her answer and squeezed her hip. “Better get moving then. You control what happens right now. How deep I go. How my fingers touch your wet cunt. How much passerbyers see of what we’re doing. It’s all you right now.”

She shivered and groaned like a cornered animal afraid and unsure of what to do. I smirked, growing restless for more myself, but I held firm, not giving her more of my fingers or any deepening of my cock.

My sensual song continued to wrap around us, and maybe it was the lyrics guiding her or maybe it was her own desperate need to keep going with what we’d started. Either way, her hips shifted the tiniest fraction, pushing back against me and brushing my fingers through her slick lips.

White hot pleasure shot from my groin and up through my body. She let out a small gasp like she couldn’t believe how good that small motion felt. The fingers of my left hand dug into her thick thigh, and the other waited for her to grind against it, hovering just shy of her clit.

Her head swiveled around slowly like she was double-checking who watched. She gripped the table’s edge and lifted her hips to rub herself over my finger and sink back down on my shaft. This time, she didn’t pause after just one movement. She bucked again, making my fingers drag over her clit and send my dick pushing in and out of her.

I growled deep in my throat, absolutely loving the way it felt to sink in and out of her. She squeezed me tight and grinded her ass into me like she wanted to go faster, wanted to ride me harder, but was holding back. Every move she made was careful. It was obvious she was trying to be discreet with her reactions and body, but that worry didn’t stop her from continuing to rise and fall on my cock.

“More,” she whispered, her head falling forward on a breathy exhale. She leaned back with another plunge of my shaft, and the motion made her long brown hair cascade down between us like a shining waterfall, one that begged me to run my hands through it. “Zagan, I need more. I-I don’t know what I’m doing.”

I trailed my tongue up the side of her neck, awfully satisfied with her pleading. “It’s because you’re holding back.”

The song overhead neared some lyrics that were fitting for this moment, so I released her thigh and gripped her throat, pulling her back flush against me to sing in her ear, “‘Take what you want from me. Let your pleasure crash down like a raging sea.’”

Lust clouded her eyes as they stared at my mouth, listening to me usher her on. It was like a switch had been flipped, because she shifted against me again to take me deeper, and her eyes closed as her lips parted on a throaty moan. I groaned at the sweet sound and the pure ecstasy engulfing my body.

She leaned forward and placed her forearms on the table to brace herself as she moved her hips in a way that let her ride my dick harder and faster and rub her clit fully against my digits. I squeezed her throat and let my head fall back as she coaxed me closer to the point of no return. The delicious taste of her mounting pleasure filled the back of my mouth and my chest.

Feeding off sex was like light growing inside your gut. It was dark and empty when slowly, at your core, it got brighter and fuller until you were brimming with this warm, buzzing ball of pure energy. Nothing compared to that feeling, and her sexual pleasure and satisfaction was blinding . In my long ass life, nothing had ever tasted or felt as good.

Her movements became frenzied as she bounced on my cock and stroked herself against my hand. I could tell she was getting close, and her hunger to feel that blissful explosion made her grind her hips harder, clearly no longer caring if someone looked over here and saw her flushed face and shuttered eyes as she bounced up and down.

“That’s right,” I urged, digging my fingers into the skin of her neck. “Ride me like it’s the last cock you’ll ever get.” Because it is , I thought with a sense of self-satisfaction. Just as I couldn’t sleep with anyone else because of the bond, she couldn’t, either.

Her throat spasmed under my palm in what would’ve been a scream if I hadn’t been cutting it off. Her pussy tightened around me as she came. I grinned at the fullness now in my gut, and wanting to finish things right, I released my tight hold on her throat, grabbed both her hips, and pumped myself in and out of her hard and fast. She gripped the table tightly, meeting me with each thrust, and finally, I, too, reached that electrifying release, spilling myself inside her tight little hole.

“Fuck,” I gasped, breathing hard. “I may just stay buried inside you forever.”

Her back slumped against my front, and she tipped her chin back to look at me. “It may be kind of hard to walk like that.”

I laughed, the sound coming easier than it typically did for me. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

I pulled out, and she quickly grabbed her dress to cover herself as she fell into the seat beside mine. I didn’t take my eyes off her flustered, fumbling movements, even as I tucked myself away.

Her gaze met mine again, and she watched me like she was searching for something. Finally, she asked, “Does your voice enchant people? You know, like a Siren.”

I quirked a brow at her, fighting the mirth that tried to rise up in me. “No. I’m not an enchanter or Siren. Just a demon who happens to be good at singing.”

She seemed to process my words with a measured nod. “Interesting. Your voice … It always does something to me, especially when you sing.”

I smirked and rested my cheek on my fist. “Oh? Pray tell.”

She shrugged. “It’s just the way it sounds. Beautiful and sexy and dark and everything in between. It makes me …”

Her hesitation only fueled my interest more. I nudged her. “Makes you what?”

Her eyes refused to meet mine, and she fiddled with the hem of her dress. “Want things.”

I licked my lips and tilted my head knowingly. “Like the things we just did?”

“That,” she said, a pink blush blossoming on her cheeks.

Figured. I chewed on my lip around my piercings and flicked some trash on the table, watching it bounce across the surface and over the edge. Part of me wanted to tumble to the ground with it.

Her answer was typically the response people had to my songs and my singing. It made them horny or made them fantasize about me and all the things I sang about. Which was fine. I loved sex and being what men and women dreamt of having in their bed. But sometimes I wished my voice made them want—

“And more,” Iyla added.

Everything inside me stilled, and I raised my eyes back to hers.

More?

She cleared her throat and met my gaze with a resoluteness that hadn’t been there before. “It makes me want to … I don’t know. Jump. Scream. Fly . It makes me feel like I could do anything and it be okay. Like I can really live and it be okay.”

I stared at her, and I wasn’t sure if I was breathing anymore. The way she heard me, like my voice and songs were more than just fuel for a good time, made my own heart begin to pound—a heart I often forgot existed. A tightness filled my chest. The overwhelming swell of emotion was one I couldn’t put a name to. All I knew was I liked how this caged bird heard me in a way others didn’t. My fleeting words in a song became a map to herself.

Schooling my face so she couldn’t see the effect her statement had on me, I asked, “So you don’t feel allowed to live right now?”

She seemed startled by my question, like she hadn’t realized saying what she had would admit something she’d been denying this whole time. I sat back and waited as she looked down at her lap and gathered her words.

“Fine. I admit it,” Iyla said softly. “I-I do, sometimes … maybe … slightly, feel like my life isn’t my own.” She pinched her fingers to make a small gap and glanced at me. “Only a teeny bit.”

“A teeny bit,” I repeated with a humorless chuckle. “I see. Well, let me give you some seasoned demonly advice. You can do anything. The only one stopping you is you .”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “It’s not that easy. My Mom—”

“Has her own life. This one is yours. Stop trying to live it for her.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she searched my gaze with a sort of desperation, like she wanted to believe me but struggled to. I’d had a hunch that a parent was what kept Iyla on such a tight leash. I hadn’t seen any religious artifacts in her home or signs of any other reasons to keep her constantly on edge. From the small comments she’d made about her mom’s rules or from that short but hostile phone call this morning, it became clear that Iyla’s mom had a strong hold on her.

I’d been willing to bet everything Iyla did—every step she took, every belief she had about herself, every plan she made for her future—stemmed from her domineering mother.

“Have you ever tried speaking up?” I asked. “Have you ever tried telling her what you want?”

She slowly shook her head. “Not since I was little. I got shot down a lot and stopped trying.”

“Maybe it’s time to give that another go. You’re both adults now. Tell her what you want and start living how you see fit. Don’t live under her control anymore.”

She swallowed hard, and her eyes watered. She opened her mouth, closed it, then whispered, “I don’t know who I am if I’m not her version of Iyla.”

The admission seemed to scare her. It was probably the most honest confession she’d ever made, and we both let the weight of it hang between us. Who was Iyla without a leash? Who was Iyla when she let go and breathed on her own?

I offered her a supportive smile and leaned in until our noses nearly touched. “So let’s find out together.”