“Sounds like Puca bullshit. Don’t tell me you two acted this out,” I said but fuck it made my cock jerk thinking they had. That when they were alone they pretended I was there with them, fucking them. I cursed and kissed Lorcan before he could say anything. My hand slid around his hips and I held him tightly to me as I forced three fingers into his body, using his own cum as lubrication to force my fingers in.

“Just like that," I said as he kept rocking back on my hand. I held my fingers steady, delighted in how he was working hard so I could stuff my big cock into him.

“Fuck me,” he rasped. I nodded, pulling my fingers out and smoothing his cum over my cock. I wanted inside him and I couldn’t wait any longer. His tail wrapped around me, aiming my cock directly where I wanted to bury it. I growled, grabbing his hips and thrusting forward roughly. My eyes practically rolled into the back of my head as I worked my way into Lorcan. I could hardly believe I was inside him at all after so many years of wanting it.

He groaned my name and I started to pump into him quickly, frantic to chase the pleasure his body gave me. He grabbed my neck suddenly and tugged me closer, his lips pressed to my ear as he hissed something to me.

For a moment, I didn't know what he said. It didn't sound like a language I knew.

Then it hit me.

“No,” I gasped in disbelief. His name. He'd told me his demon name as I rutted into him like a beast. It was the utmost respect a demon could give another person and it was a rare thing to do. And to give it to me? A person who could kill with just a name?

"Dullahan," Lorcan sighed, brushing the tears from my eyes.

"Fock," I grunted, overwhelmed. I came right away, pushing in deep. He gave me his name, God. I kissed him hard, desperate for more of this feeling inside me—the elation and joy that brought tears to my eyes.

I pulled him up my chest. Then I kissed him more.

“I love you, Lorcan,” I said between kisses.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said in return.

Then I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him too tightly because soon we might be dead.

32

I’d been sitting on the roof for the last thirty minutes, staring at the sky as if glaring at it long enough would make the missile explode before impact. Puca had remained at my side the whole time. He sat on the edge of the roof, kicking his legs out above the city beneath us as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

I stared at him, wondering what it was that had him so calm. Was it because he was at peace with his life, fine to end it all now? Was it because he had lived so long that he just couldn’t manage to care anymore about life and death? Was it because he was a bonafide psychopath?