Chained to the Devil’s Daughter (Mating the Elements #1)

5

Searra

I really shouldn’t. Important conversations would soon crash down the door, and if they found Hell’s usurper queen being railed by an escaped prisoner on the war table, I might lose credibility.

Responsibility didn’t keep my hand from sweeping between our legs, lust drooping my lids until I could barely see Ash'ren watching me like he wanted to devour my soul. Trembling, I slid two fingers around my clit and down, scissoring the thick length jutting from my pussy. Ash’ren growled, the dark vibe emanating from him worsening.

“You fucking love my seed.” He growled the fact like it was a revelation. “You want to be filled and bred, little fire demon pups running around the garden. You’ll keep coming back for more and more. My little cum slut queen. You’ll take my knot so well.”

Flames, I’d missed being his little cum slut. I’d bathe in the stuff if I could, and he knew it. He managed to make the term sound like an endearment that I wanted to wear with pride. I lifted my feet onto the table, my heels hooking over the edge, and watched him fuck into me as I rubbed my clit with deteriorating mastery.

“Y-your s-slut.”

“ Mine .”

“Always!” My motor functions failed, and I came with a cry that Ash’ren muffled with his hand.

If the way his muscles threatened to collapse around me was any indication, Ash’ren had to physically force himself to stop. Thinking quickly, I laid back until my fingertips grazed the towel from the drink tray and wiggled it underneath my bottom. With a half-step backward, he retreated from my pussy, his tree obscenely large dick smacking his thigh wetly.

Tucked into his arms with spent seed steadily soaking the towel, I basked in the surreal moment as long as possible. Our bubble was rudely popped by three solid knocks.

“One moment!” I shouted, surprised when my tone was more clipped than panicked. Firmly taking hold of his face in my hands, I kissed Ash’ren deeply. “I could spend weeks in your arms, but rebellions don’t manage themselves. Or they do, but then there’s a lot more fire involved.”

“It’s not fire you need?” His voice was tired, exhaustion bleeding through his cracks. “I’ve got fire.”

“It’s not, but I’ll take yours anyway.” Another abrupt knock. “Patience!”

With one last chaste kiss, I awkwardly scampered to the simple washroom, a necessity for long war talks, and, apparently, quickies.

The splotches of white washed from my thighs in time for the knocking to take up a greater pace. I lowered my skirts, patted down my braids, and exited the washroom to straighten up the table.

A fist collided with the door again and warlord Lavar roared an annoyed, “Open up, princess!”

“Another flipping moment, kindly!” I shouted back.

“Who’s that?”

“A well-respected warlord.” An unreliable tank of a man whose motives I had yet to understand. “An ally. The kind of demon not afraid to sacrifice his own.”

“Hence his high rank.”

“Yup,” I said with an exaggerated p .

“Then why do you keep him around?”

“I have a hunch.”

“Of fucking course you do,” Ash’ren mumbled, and despite the fatigue written in his lowered brows, the look he gave me made heat climb my spine.

“My attendant can show you to your room. You’ll have privacy, a warm bath, and new clothes. I wasn’t aware of your, erm, new size, but whatever doesn’t fit can be tailored. Or…” My gaze slipped from his masculine bulk to where I fidgeted with my gown. “Or, of course, you can sit in for this meeting and I’ll escort you myself. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

“I’ll stay.” He’d pulled out a chair, plopped down, and commandeered the dragoncherry bowl before finishing his reply. “I’ve had enough privacy for a little while.”

With a cough, I rolled my neck, smoothing my skirts and my dour expression in time for the door to slam open.

“Warlord Lavar, how good to see you!”

Lavar stomped in like it was his war room, and we were the intruders. My foot drifted backward, and I hoped my smile was sturdy, but it didn’t matter. The warlord’s good eye immediately landed on Ash’ren’s broken horn and bare wing bone.

Lacking all subtlety, I positioned myself between the two. “You have an update, I presume?”

The demon grunted. The severity in his gaze was redirected to the table and I quietly exhaled.

“We already have the solution, my lady,” Lavar said gruffly, watching me pour three glasses of thick orange liquid over ever-ice with a critical eye.

“A nonviolent solution.” I offered the tray, and Lavar snatched a glass without a nod of gratitude. “As discussed.”

“There are no viable nonviolent options!”

“I’m not so sure,” I chuckled nervously and offered Ash the drink tray, our gazes lingering. “Your view isn’t shared by our engineers.”

“A fool and a quack. I’m sure they can handle this.”

“Me too!” I exclaimed before catching his sarcasm. Rolling my eyes, I dared to sip the imported volcanic panic and rasped, “I believe in them.”

A low whistle drew all attention to Ash’ren, who’d tipped the chair on its back feet. “Are you calling your queen a fool as well?”

“She isn’t a queen yet,” the warlord ground out. “She’s a symbol.”

“You risk the rebellion to deny her title?” Ash’ren dropped a fat dragoncherry in his mouth. Red juice ran down his chin like blood.

“Risks must be taken.”

“Something we agree on! Ha!” I chirp before Ash’ren can say anything else.

“Which is why you’ve let your pet out of its cage,” Lavar snarled. “How many risked their lives to set him free?”

“Do not.” I slammed a palm on the table, finally breaking their dick-measuring contest. “Do you truly wish to rehash that night, warlord? Your rogue behavior nearly cost your seat in this room.”

I almost didn’t recognize myself. This overbearing tone was my least favorite development taking charge of Hell. I dared not glance at Ash’ren, though I’d heard his chair settle onto the floor.

“Right now, you answer to me. Unless you’d like to admit your treason to my father and pray for his mercy.” Lavar snarled but held his tongue. Pleased, I lightened my tone. “Have you anything more useful to say?”

The gray strands of his beard crackled with embers, his empty eye socket a flaming candle. Shockingly, he didn’t sound as angry as he looked. “Indeed, Your Highness. Fuegis and that Hydran witch have developed a prototype.”

At the mention of my first suitor, Ash’ren metamorphosed into a literal ice cap. Bad as I wanted to grovel, I refrained. “What prototype?”

“What do you think?” Lavar intoned. “Some wacky bullshit, like always! They’re claiming it would mitigate casualties.”

“This is wonderful news!”

“This is suicide. That thing will never work. You’ll get us all killed.”

“I’m fully aware of your opinions, sir, and yet, you’re still here. In my war room.”

A torch flame burst from the end of Lavar’s beard, traveling up to puff menacingly out of his eye socket before settling. He downed the last few gulps of volcanic panic and set the glass down with impressive gentleness for a man so full of rage. “Your father has no perception of mercy, so I am at yours. Yet you insist on trusting the lives of our people to a Hydran witch.” His voice climbed octaves. “Do you comprehend how many lives would be lost with a stampede this great? And yet, you make me out to be some reckless extremist!”

“Geysis isn’t only a Hydran witch,” I snapped, all my queenly responses fleeing at the rude mention of my friend, as though being a witch was something negative. “She’s a Hydran spy.”

Whatever was keeping Lavar in check imploded. “You’ve allowed a spy to infiltrate our circle?”

“I vetted her myself.” A dramatic scoff expressed the older man’s faith in my judgment. Bringing the glass to my lips, one sniff had my nose scrunched up. “When are they testing this prototype?”

“Two hours. Ring Ten.”

“I’ll be there.”

I flicked my wrist in dismissal. The grouchy warlord snarled and stood abruptly enough to send the chair teetering.

Ash’ren remained still in his seat. Judging by the quirk of his brow, he was thawed from earlier. We had plenty to discuss. Absentmindedly, I pet my velvet choker and hiked back onto the table.