Chapter 42: Risk-Reward 2 (R-18)

The air between us hasn’t moved in minutes. Only we have.

Madison’s breathing is a damn mess—fast, shallow, choked between needy whimpers like she’s hanging by a thread. Her thighs press tight, clenched like she’s fighting her own body, skin flushed that soft, trembling pink, lips parted and dripping with want. Those little demon horns are crooked now, tangled in her wild hair from where I’ve been—touching, teasing, commanding.

And the way she’s looking at me? Like I’m her salvation and her executioner in the same breath.

She’s absolutely wrecked. And I haven’t even really touched her yet.

I’m standing right in front of her, one hand wrapped around her wrist like it belongs to me, the other ghosting along her jawline, slow and cruel. She falls apart from just that. Just the idea of me.

"Say it," I tell her, low and calm—but it hits with the force of a storm.

She knows what I want. Hell, she’s known since the moment she put on that costume.

Madison licks her lips, swallows like it hurts, and when her voice finally comes out, it’s barely more than a breath.

"I want you to take me," she whispers, wrecked and raw. "Right here."

In a fucking public library. Madison Torres wants to get ruined in a place where someone could walk in any second.

I tilt my head, drinking in her desperation. "In a public library?"

"Yes," she chokes. "Please. I need it. I need you."

She’s begging now. Good. I want her ruined by this moment.

"You want to get fucked dressed like a demon," I murmur, my lips brushing the edge of her cheek, "by someone who isn’t even supposed to exist."

She shivers violently, her whole body vibrating like she’s about to come apart from just words. "Yes. God, yes."

"You want to be destroyed," I growl, my voice dropping until it’s barely above a whisper, "by a version of me that doesn’t love, doesn’t forgive—just takes."

Her breath catches. Then it shatters.

"Yes," she cries out. "Please. I want you so fucking bad it hurts."

She’s falling to pieces for me. All for me.

I drop my hands to her hips and grip—hard. My fingers press through the sheer fabric of her succubus outfit, and she leans into it, begging for more, not less. Like pain and pleasure are the same thing to her now.

"On your knees," I say.

She drops instantly, hitting the carpet with a thud. No hesitation. No shame. Perfect. She’s learning.

"Not to worship," I tell her, unbuckling my belt with one hand, voice sharp. "But to earn your fucking redemption."

She whimpers again. Her hands tremble as they settle on my thighs. She’s burning up—cheeks red, breath short, eyes wide with need. Like she’d do anything just to be forgiven by me.

And when I finally free myself, her mouth parts slightly. Yeah. She forgot how big I am again.

The way her pupils blow wide is almost adorable.

"You won’t be able to take it," I tell her flatly.

She nods like a maniac. "I’ll try. Please. Let me try. I’ll do anything."

I grip a fistful of her hair—firm, controlled—and force her to look up at me.

"You’re not doing this because it feels good," I say. "You’re doing this because you embarrassed me. You treated me like your plaything. Now you pay for that."

"I know," she gasps, lips brushing my tip. "I’m sorry. Let me fix it. Let me make it right."

Madison Torres is about to choke on my cock in the middle of a fucking library...Because she feels bad for embarrassing me at lunch.

This day just keeps getting better.

She opens her mouth—and instantly struggles. Her throat tightens, her eyes water, and she gags before even half of me’s in. She’s not built for this. But that doesn’t stop her.

Her nails dig into my thighs. She’s fighting her body to prove something. And that—that—is what makes her perfect.

She’s pushing past her own limits. For me.

That’s real obedience. That’s real repentance.

And I’m going to reward it. Brutally.

I exhaled—sharp, shaky, primal. Her mouth had heat like it could melt the last thread of restraint I had left. My enhanced senses soaked in every twitch of her jaw, every breath, every drop of spit glistening on her lips as she pulled back gasping. Her eyes were glassy, blurred by tears and need, voice broken into a whimper that barely passed for language.

"I can’t—" she stuttered, trembling. "It’s too big... I can’t take it all—"

That flicker of defeat in her voice sent a thrill through me. She was frustrated. Mad at her own body for not surrendering faster. And God, that did something to me. Watching her fight herself for me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared down at her—dominating the air between us. She was on her knees, wrecked already, and I hadn’t even truly touched her yet. My silence screamed louder than anything I could say, until I finally let the words fall.

"You’ll take whatever I give you," I growled—voice like frost burning over fire.

Then I moved.

I dropped to my knees in one clean motion, grabbing her waist and pulling her onto me like I had every right. She gasped, barely registering what was happening as I settled her into my lap and forced her to straddle me right there on the fucking library floor. The cold metal of the bookshelf pressed into her spine while my chest molded against hers—hot, solid, unyielding.

She froze for half a second, realizing just how little she was wearing. That tiny skirt offered no protection—her heat pressed right against the thick weight of my cock, separated by nothing but tension and willpower.

Time to ruin her.

Her whimper was small, panicked. Her body already trembling under the gravity of what was coming.

"I’m not ready—" she tried to speak, but I shut it down instantly.

"You’re mine." My voice hit her like a hand to the throat—low, commanding, final. "And if I say it’s time, then it’s fucking time."

She nodded, frantic and breathless, like any resistance left in her had evaporated. Her fists grabbed my shirt, white-knuckled, clinging like she needed something to keep her grounded while the rest of her came undone.

I didn’t wait. I crushed my mouth to hers, stealing her breath, tasting her desperation. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a warning. A promise. A fucking claim.

When I pulled away, our lips barely separated, I whispered against her mouth.

"Try to stay quiet... if you can."

And then I pressed in.