The Sacrifice by Jessica Gadziala



Just as I was starting to enjoy the sensation of getting clean after feeling unwashed for so many days, a movement in the mirror over the vanity drew my focus. And there at the corner of the mirror, just barely visible, was the demon. Ly, his demon brother had called him. If I recalled my lessons correctly, that made him Lycus. He was second-in-command only to the leader, Ace.

But there he was, looking at the mirror. Looking at me in the mirror.

His eyes were intense, his jaw tight, his body rigid. As my gaze moved down the length of his body, I saw the bulge at the fly of his jeans. Even as my focus stayed there, his hand lowered, undid his button and zipper, reached inside, and pulled out his erection.

I might not have had experience with men personally, but I knew just about everything there was to know. We had many anatomically correct male God statues, drawings, and paintings.

In the flesh, as it were, was very different from statues and pictures. Those always made it look hard, yes, but in real life, it looked somehow hard, yet somehow soft at the same time. Like if you ran a hand across it, it would be smooth and warm.

The statues and pictures hadn't prepared me, though, for this.

For this man.

No, this demon, I reminded myself.

But regardless of his origins in hell, this flesh he was wearing was all man.

And impressive, at that.

I pressed my thighs together at the length of him, the girth, realizing my hand would barely close around him.

That should have been intimidating, a little worrisome.

But all I felt was a heat, a thrill, a tightening of desire.

As his hand started to stroke his cock, the sensation only grew until it felt like it was overtaking me completely, until there was an oppressive weight on my lower stomach, a throbbing between my thighs that begged for release.

I didn't dare, though, knowing he could see me. It was bad enough I was allowing him to watch, had said nothing about him looking at me while I was nude.

I soaped my hands again, wrinkling my nose a bit at the plain scent of it, so used to the soaps my coven and I made each summer filled with flowers and herbs, earthy and familiar, then ran my hands down my body as Ly kept stroking himself, somehow making his cock get bigger, thicker, as he went.

A jolt moved through me as my hands brushed over my breasts, finding them heavy and sensitive, then drifted lower, over my belly. I raised one leg out of the hot water, soaping it up as I casually watched the mirror, finding Ly's eyes so heavy-lidded they were almost closed in his desire. I washed my other leg. Then my hand moved upward, slipping between my thighs under the guise of completing my washing, but as my fingertips met my cleft, stroked upward to brush over the little bud at the apex of my sex, a wave of pleasure too intense to deny burst from my touch and outward, making my body jolt, making my head loll back, making a surprised whimper escape me.

It was right then, too, that Ly hissed, his lips forming the foreign—yet somehow instinctively sinful-sounding word—Fuck—as he reached completion, his body stiffening, his cock producing his seed.

It shouldn't have been thrilling, but that was the sensation that moved through me as I watched.

My gaze stayed on him as he recovered from his release, found a discarded piece of clothing on the floor, and cleaned himself off with it.

Then, I followed his movement as he seemed to be coming into the room.

With me.

A second later, there he was, at the sink, washing his hands as his gaze moved to mine in the mirror.

Nothing about him right then made me think he knew I had been watching him as he had been watching me.

Which meant my reaction should have been shock and outrage for him intruding on a private moment.

"Get out," I demanded, hoping my voice sounded more forceful to him than it did to my own ears.

To that, he switched off the water and turned to face me, pausing for a second, then making his way toward the tub.

"This is my room, witch. That is my tub you are soaking in. You don't make demands here. You don't tell me to do anything, in fact," he warned me, voice steely, cold, even, but I inexplicably felt a heat moving across me at the sound. "This is my water," he went on, squatting down at the side of the tub, running his hand across the surface of the water, making it lap up over my breasts, causing my nipples to harden.

At that, Ly's breath rushed out through his nose, his eyes flashing, seeming redder for a moment as he reached for my hand that was still holding the bar of soap, rested right above the triangle of my sex. He covered my hand and the soap with his, pushing it downward so it slid between my thighs, the touch making my legs shoot out, my back arch, a whimper to escape me.