You swore you wouldn’t do this again. Not tonight. Not after the way you spent last night writhing in your sheets until you were raw, fingers buried in your cunt. Not after the mark he left still burns faintly against your skin.
Angry.
Insistent.
Alive.
And yet.
The ache builds like a fever, clinging to every inch of you. No position is comfortable, no distraction lasts. You toss, you twist, and finally your hand betrays you, sliding down beneath the blanket, pressing between your slick-damp thighs like it has a will of its own.
The instant your fingers touch the aching heat, the mark reacts.
It sears hot, molten, as though someone pressed a brand into your flesh all over again. The heat doesn’t stay in one place, it spreads, creeping through your veins until your pulse thrums with it. You suck in a sharp breath, already trembling, already too far gone.
And you hear him.
Not with your ears, but somewhere deeper, in the dark corners of your mind where you don’t want him to live. A low, amused murmur that curls like smoke.
“Ah, there you are. I wondered how long you’d last.”
Shame claws at you, but it’s drowned by the wave of pleasure that rips through your body as you move your hand again. Your hips lift, chasing it, greedy despite yourself. Every slick stroke feeds the fire in his mark. It pulses in time with your heartbeat, no, not your heartbeat.
His.
“Good,” the demon purrs. “So good for me. You can’t help it, can you? That’s why I chose you. That’s why you burn so sweet.”
You shake your head, whimpering, though whether it’s denial or surrender even you can’t tell. Tears sting your eyes. You can feel him, watching, feeding, drinking every broken sound you give him like wine. You can feel the tether drawing tighter, the bond sealing deeper with each desperate thrust of your fingers.
It feels like it will never be enough. That ache will never be sated no matter how many times you clench and shake and cry out. Toys don’t help. You’ve tried everything.
And yet.
You should stop. You should stop. But the heat crests higher and higher, and you’re falling, breaking, coming apart under your own hand with a shuddering cry. It doesn’t feel like release. It feels like being opened, like pouring yourself out into waiting hands.
And he takes it all.
When it’s done, you collapse against the mattress, body limp, skin damp, chest heaving. The mark glows steady now, satisfied, like an ember that’s been fed. Your thighs still twitch, oversensitive, needy, but the demon’s laughter is low and sated.
“Mine,” he whispers, the word an iron chain around your ribs. “Sleep now, little sinner. Tomorrow, you’ll give me more.”
And you know, with a hollow ache in your chest, that you will.
I’ve watched the sixth episode of “Sex Education” Netflix series. And because I’ve already run out of expressions of my emotions about these series previous time I’m going to get straightly to SPOILERS! Let’s start with Eric. Eric is feeling very bad and tries to dress “straight” (if you know, what I mean), and to “toughen up”, but kind of in a wrong way. Otis tried to have sex with Lily (it was her initiative, of course) but it ended… not according to the plan, because of his child’s trauma, caused by his father having sex with his patient and then his parents arguing. Also, Ola (the cool handyman’s daughter) offers him to ask her out. Another thing I liked a lot, is a little plot about Aimee – a girl who always has a boyfriend but didn’t know what she herself wants and Otis offered her to masturbate and, even though, firstly she was sceptic, afterwards, she really enjoyed it.
