Chapter 272: Chapter 272: The Weekend with the Demon 3

“LOOK AT YOU,” Grayson growled, pressing his forehead to hers as her nails scored down his back. “Already dripping for me, and I’ve barely started.”

She barely registered the moment he freed himself—only the sudden, searing pressure as he dragged the blunt head of his arousal through her slick folds, teasing, tormenting, before withdrawing with a dark chuckle.

Her retort dissolved into a broken moan when he thrust home without warning, filling her so completely her vision whited out at the edges.

The glass shuddered against her back as he pinned her wrists above her head, his hips rolling in slow, devastating circles designed to wring pleasure from her in ways she’d never imagined.

Every nerve ending sparked under the deliberate drag of him, the stretch bordering on pain before tipping into something darker, sweeter.

The world narrowed to the points where they connected: his palms bruising her thighs as he hitched them higher, the sweat-slick press of his chest against hers, the relentless drag of him inside her that left her gasping nonsense against his collarbone.

He twisted his fingers in her hair, pulling just shy of pain to expose her throat before laving his tongue over the frantic flutter of her pulse—a predator savoring the kill.

She after merciless thrust, Mailah felt her body splintering, her muscles locking around him as pleasure coiled tight at the base of her spine.

Grayson groaned against her skin, his rhythm faltering for the first time, his breath ragged as he murmured something guttural and unintelligible—a prayer or a curse. The sound of it, raw and unfiltered, sent a fresh wave of heat cascading through her.

His hand slid between them, his fingers slick with her own arousal as he circled her nub with ruthless precision.

The dual stimulation—his driving deep, his fingers working in tight, relentless circles—threatened to undo her completely.

She writhed against him, her heels digging into the small of his back, her breath coming in sharp, fractured gasps that matched the erratic pulse of his hips.

The glass pane fogged where her palms pressed against it, the condensation cool against her overheated skin as Grayson bent her forward, his teeth grazing the nape of her neck.

His free hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks, his fingertips pressing into the dip of her pelvis as if he could imprint himself there. Every thrust now carried a ragged edge, his rhythm fracturing into something desperate, his usual control fraying like a rope pulled taut.

Mailah’s thighs trembled with the strain of holding herself up, the muscles in her core tightening with each deep, punishing stroke.

The sensation was almost too much—the fullness of him, the way his body curved over hers, the raw, unfiltered sounds he made against her skin.

She could feel the tension coiling tighter inside her, a wire pulled to breaking, her breath catching in her throat every time he bottomed out inside her with a groan that vibrated through her ribs.

His fingers tangled in her hair again, yanking her head back just enough to expose the column of her throat as his mouth crashed against hers, teeth clashing in a kiss.

There was no finesse left—only the primal, ragged push and pull of their bodies, the slick heat between them, the way he twitched inside her when she clenched around him on a particularly sharp thrust.

She felt the moment his control unraveled completely—his breath stuttering against her lips, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as his fingers dug bruises into her hips.

The sound he made was raw, guttural, muffled against her shoulder as he buried himself to the hilt and held there, shuddering.

Mailah gasped as warmth spilled deep inside her, the sensation triggering her own climax like a match tossed into gasoline.

Her muscles clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, each contraction milking another broken sound from his throat as he pressed his forehead to hers, their shared breaths mingling in the scant space between them.

His fingers still worked between them—slower now, gentler—circling her oversensitized nub with just enough pressure to draw out the aftershocks until her thighs trembled uncontrollably.

She could feel every inch of him inside her, the way he twitched faintly with the last echoes of his release, the slick heat where their bodies remained joined.

Grayson exhaled sharply through his nose, his forehead still pressed to hers as his other hand slid from her hip to splay possessively across her lower belly.

The gesture was unexpectedly tender, his thumb stroking idle patterns against her skin as if marking the place where his seed pooled inside her.

Mailah shuddered when he finally pulled out, the sudden emptiness making her thighs twitch involuntarily.

He caught her before her knees could buckle, his grip shifting to cradle the backs of her thighs as he lifted her effortlessly—her damp skin sticking slightly to the glass before peeling away with a faint sound that made her blush.

Grayson carried her to the couch without breaking stride, his bare feet silent on the hardwood, his breath still uneven against her temple.

He didn’t lay her down so much as arrange her, his hands lingering at her hips to adjust the angle of her body before sinking down beside her, his thigh pressed hot and heavy against hers.

Mailah watched, dazed, as he traced a single finger along the inside of her knee—a shockingly delicate touch from a man who’d just taken her like a force of nature.

The contrast made her shiver; his fingertip left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, her skin hypersensitive now, every nerve ending still thrumming with aftershocks.

Grayson’s breath was warm against her thigh as he pressed his mouth to the faint bruises his grip had left earlier—not an apology, but something more unsettling: a claim acknowledged, a violence softened into reverence.

She felt the scrape of his stubble, the wet heat of his tongue smoothing over marks that would darken by morning, his exhale shuddering against her damp skin.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dark with something unnameable—not satisfaction, not hunger, but a quiet, terrifying intensity that made Mailah’s pulse stutter.

He caught her wrist before she could touch him, pressing her palm flat against his sternum where his heart hammered beneath sweat-slick skin, the rhythm erratic, human.

She felt the exact moment his breathing slowed—not gradual, but like a predator forcibly calming itself, each inhale measured, deliberate.

His thumb traced the delicate bones of her wrist, the pressure just shy of painful, as if he were reminding himself she was real, solid, something he couldn’t break even if he wanted to.

The sweat cooling between her shoulder blades made her shiver, but Grayson’s body was a furnace against her side, his thigh pressed tight enough to hers that she could feel the coiled tension lingering in his muscles.

His fingers flexed around her wrist once, twice, before sliding up to lace through hers, their palms pressed together in a way that felt oddly intimate after what they’d just done.

Mailah turned her head to study his profile—the sharp angle of his jaw still clenched, the faint pulse at his temple, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light.

She shifted, trying to tuck her head into the hollow of his shoulder, but Grayson remained as rigid as the walls around them.

To him, the “act” was a completed transaction of energy and dominance. The idea of lingering in a tangle of limbs seemed to baffle him.

“Mailah,” he said, his voice a low vibration against her temple. “We just mated. What are you trying to do?”

Mailah let out a soft, tired laugh, her breath warm against his skin. “It’s called cuddling, Grayson. It’s what humans do when they like each other.”

Grayson went silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “I do not see the tactical advantage. If an enemy were to enter now, my response time would be delayed by the three seconds it would take to untangle my arm from your hair.”

“Three seconds won’t kill us,” Mailah murmured, pulling his arm more firmly around her waist. “And there are no enemies here. Just the ocean and us. Relax.”

Grayson exhaled—a sharp, impatient sound—but he didn’t pull away. “You are requesting proximity for the sake of… sentiment?”

“I’m requesting it because it feels good. Because I want to be near you when you aren’t trying to ’neutralize’ a seagull or run a multi-billion dollar firm.”

Slowly, almost painfully so, Grayson’s muscles began to yield. It wasn’t a graceful surrender; it was the reluctant softening of a predator that had decided, just for this hour, that the prey was too comfortable to disturb.

He shifted his weight, allowing her to drape herself over him.

“Is this sufficient?” he asked, his tone clipped. “Am I currently… ’cuddling’?”

“You’re doing great,” Mailah whispered, her eyes closing. “You’re like a very handsome, very grumpy heater.”

“I am a demon prince,” he muttered, though his hand began to move—not in the sharp, demanding way it had earlier, but in a slow, awkward stroke down her spine.

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