I pushed myself up from between her legs and bent over her, gripping my cock and tugging it fast. My hips pressed forward to meet my momentum. My eyes feasted on the beauty beneath me, her body still flushed from the pleasure I’d given her. I came and ropes of my cum painted her soft, pale body, landing in frantic lines across the great swells of her breasts. I groaned loudly as I finished.

The sense of ownership was intense. A beautiful creature coated in my release. She was mine.

Once I was finished I touched her more, every soft place she had—exploring her gently, sucking her pink nipples in my mouth and rolling it around with my tongue, licking up my own cum from her body as I rolled her earlobes in my fingers.

Then I found my mouth on her cunt once more and gave her another orgasm because she deserved them all.

After she came again, we lay together. She kept playing with my softened cock, enamored by the piercings while I tried to ignore it and let her do as she pleased.

"You and Lorcan?" She asked, pulling her hands away. I noticed she’d started to fidget the longer we lay there. She got out of bed and began to get dressed.

"Hmm? What about him?"

"You fuck him don't you?" It was more an accusation than a question. I shuddered all over, my already half-hard cock thickening more as that image from earlier flashed in my mind. Him on the bed naked, looking up at me with wide eyes, bite marks on his flesh, and an almost hopeful look on his face.

I swung off the bed and began getting dressed as well.

"He's not mortal,” I said, “but I don't fuck him."

"Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. "He lived in Ireland with you?" She was putting on jewelry, sterling silver with a million gemstones flickering in the soft light she’d turned on.

"For a time," I said, pulling up my pants.

"He has no accent." Lacey was a curious one. Was the interest in Lorcan? Hard not to be interested in him.

"He's from the States," I told her, tugging on my shirt and pulling on my jacket. I got my boots on and saw she was still getting herself fixed up. She hadn’t even put on clothes yet and was still working on the jewelry, slowly savoring each piece as she put it on—dragging her fingers across it.

"But his name?" She asked as I walked up behind her.

"I gave him his name. Lorcan means fierce one," I told her. My hands traversed her curves. If this was the only time she decided to try out the headless horseman I wanted to memorize the way she felt in my hands. She looked at me in the mirror in front of her, slipping her earrings on.

"He had no name?"

"John Doe," I explained. Demons were rare but incubi enjoyed living in this realm. However, it was common practice for them to leave any children they might have in the care of others. He’d been passed around, an unwanted burden and no one bothered to name him anything but John Doe. He had a pathetic excuse for an upbringing and found himself on his own by fourteen. I was furious every time I was made to remember it.