That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King’s Slave Mate Novel

Chapter 670: But now, it did.

Fucking hell, it did. Clawing at him like a feral beast defending its territory.

Daemonikai had no idea if it was because of her messy heat hormones failing to condition his rut properly, or the events of the night-the danger, the helplessness he had felt earlier-but the urge to possess her with his fangs was there. And it was strong.

Gums aching. Fangs throbbing. Saliva pooling endlessly no matter how hard he swallowed. "Your body should be outlawed," he growled, his voice as animalistic as his thrusts. Slam. Slam. Slam.

"Too fucking addictive."

"Mercy! Please! More. Oh gods. Enough. More-"

Daemonikai chuckled darkly, watching the delicious contradiction spill from her lips.

"My sweet, indecisive little slut…" he drawled, dragging his tongue over his teeth.

"Make up your blissed-out mind."

"Oh goddess…!"

She could not. She would not. She was ruined. Ravaged.

So he kept going, pounding into her even as more slick gushed from her loosened body, amplifying the wet, sloppy sounds into something obscene.

"I cannot stop," his voice sounded wrecked.

"Just a little bit more." He was obsessed with this body.

"Cannot have enough."

???????????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????????: ????ⱥ????????????ν????????????⧸????????????

His eyes remained locked onto her enticing throat-that pulsing vein…

He was starving.

And she was right there.

His fangs elongated, and with a grunt of surrender, he sank them home.

She yelled, the sound rising sharply before cutting off. Everything in her went slack. In seconds, every active muscle, every trembling bone, every tense fiber in her body melted into the sheets. His Riel-sweet, devoured, bewitching little princess-was out like a light.

Devil's sticks, perhaps I should not have done that.

Her blood trickled down his throat like hot, rich ambrosia-the delicious food of the gods.

Daemonikai's roar of pleasure as his cock exploded was muffled against her neck. He pumped into her, release jetting out in thick, powerful ropes, filling her so deep. Spilling yet again into that pulsing, loosened mouth of her abused womb.

His body shook. His breathing roared. His mind blanked into white noise.

Then, he collapsed on top of her. For the briefest moment, all strength left him, and he felt as weak as a newborn, struggling to steady his breath.

When he finally pulled out, his semen dribbled from her, thick and plentiful, threatening to spill onto the sheets. A feral snarl tore from his throat.

Riding on pure instinct, he seized her limp thighs, pressing them together and tilting her hips upward to keep every last drop inside her.

None must drip out! Mine, mine, MINE!

Moments later, Daemonikai emerged from the bathing chamber, calmer and satisfied. He draped himself in one of Vladya's loose, comfortable garments.

.

.

.