erotica about demons
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I feel him slide through the tightest spaces of my being. My hips rise to meet him. I gasp his name like it’s part of my breath.
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The way he looks at me like he already owns every secret inside me. The way I lean toward him like I’ve never stopped. We sip wine. We talk. We drift. We remember.
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He saw every place I’d been left wanting, every place I had silenced desire out of fear of being too much, or not enough. When he moved, oh gods, when he moved, his body was shadow and fire made flesh.
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But Vaelvourin did not sleep. He watched the way moonlight played on her collarbones, the rise and fall of her chest. And when he stirred, it was not to leave, but to love her again.
The Osmosis of Flesh 