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Inhabit Me

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5

He watched her fall apart.

Not just her body—but her mind, her breath, her soul.

She thought he was done.

She thought he’d given her everything.

How sweet.

How human of her.

He let her rest—barely. Let her tremble against the sheets, her body humming with the aftermath of pleasure no mortal hands could ever deliver. But beneath the flicker of candlelight and moon-glow, he moved. Not with footsteps, but with presence—the shadow of his will stretching long and low across her skin.

She whimpered as if she felt it. Of course she did.

Her soul was open now. Split wide like her thighs.

She belonged to him. Not just in word. Not just in flesh.

But in the old ways.

The deep ways.

His cock was still inside her, twitching. Softening only slightly—still thick, still warm, still claiming space her body would never again offer to anyone else. And her walls? Gods, they clung to him like devotion. Like worship.

He could feel her heartbeat fluttering against him. He could taste her thoughts.

“Don’t stop,” they whispered.

“Again,” they begged.

“More,” they screamed—silently, beneath her breathless, fucked-out moans.

She was pliant now. Beautiful. Like a holy vessel carved by lust and need and his hands alone.

He leaned down, dragging the tip of his nose along her cheek, breathing her in like incense.

“You think this is over?” he murmured.

She stirred—barely conscious. But her breath caught. Her lips parted.

“Please…” she whispered, unsure if she was asking him to stop or to never stop.

He grinned. Slow. Dark. Dangerous.

“Oh, sweet thing. I’ve waited centuries to find a body like yours. You don’t end me—” his tongue flicked against her throat, hot and slow, “—you awaken me.”

His hand slid down her stomach, palm broad and unhurried. He could feel where his seed was still inside her, warm and thick. It made his cock twitch again—stirring, hardening, remembering.

And her pussy, that pretty, perfect place he’d filled so thoroughly… it fluttered around him.

Begging.

Even in sleep.

He moved inside her. A slow roll of his hips. Not thrusting—just reminding her that he lived there now.

She gasped in her sleep. Her hands twitched toward him. Her legs opened wider without thought.

And his voice slid into her dreams like silk dipped in smoke.

“Good girl.”

He shifted his weight, rising to his elbows. The shadows followed him, curling down his spine, stretching across the ceiling like wings. His eyes flicked to the mirror.

There he was.

All of him.

Not the human mask he wore for her comfort—no. In the mirror, he was truth. Tall. Carved. His skin kissed by dusk, veined with fire. Black eyes with no whites, rimmed in smoke. Horns curled back from his temples like a crown. And his cock—veined, flushed, heavy—still seated inside her, slick with her release and his own.

She moaned in her sleep. Whispered his name again—though she didn’t know it.

Not yet.

He’d give it to her soon.

Not until she was ready.

Until she could take it without breaking.

And when she did… oh, when she did… the world wouldn’t be the same. Not for her. Not for anyone who dared touch what belonged to him.

Because he wasn’t just a demon. Not just a pleasure-wraith. Not just shadow and heat.

He was in her now.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Part of him lived in her.

A thread of his essence, coiled deep in her womb, tangled around her soul. Feeding on her arousal. Her need. Her surrender. Binding her closer every time she begged.

He didn’t need chains.

He had her moans.

He didn’t need a collar.

He had her desire.

And tomorrow—when she woke up sore and stretched and full—she wouldn’t remember every detail.

Not right away.

But she’d feel it.

The emptiness.

The ache.

The need.

And when she slipped her fingers between her thighs, desperate for something that didn’t exist in the waking world…

He’d be there.