Immediately, he grabs hold of me so tightly, his blunt ugly nails dig into my flesh, but the pain grounds me in the moment, savoring his adoration fully. His tongue darts into my mouth, and I open for him eagerly, toying at his tongue until I pull away.

  As our mouths part, our foreheads rest upon each other, and my voice trembles as I consider the words I ache to say. “I love you, Thorne. More than anyone I have ever known. I swear I will never let anything or anyone take you from me again.”

  I see the tears in his eyes, and my heart swells. “I love you too.” His voice is steady and full of conviction.

  I break.

  Tears continue to leak from my eyes, and I smile a rare and gentle expression I had thought forever lost.

  For the first time ever in my bed, we don’t allow ourselves to sate our lust; instead, we hold one another, gently kissing until Thorne straddles me. “I want to fuck you gently for the last time until we see one another again.”

  How can I say no to him?

  Thorne begins to kiss down my chest until my cock aches. The moment it extrudes from my pouch, he takes it in his tiny hands. This is the first time he has pleasured me of his own accord, and yet he does so adeptly without need for instruction. Each stroke of his hand stokes the fire. Once I am panting, I feel him seat himself upon me.

  My eyes flare open as I watch my soon-to-be-betrothed writhe upon my cock. His movements are slow, tantalizingly so. His hips move in such a way, I swear he must have been a dancer. I grind into him, matching his speed and depth as if the two of us are dancing a slow waltz.

  Strangely, this deliberate speed amps up every burning emotion I feel for Thorne, creating a suffocatingly intense desire to come. It is as if I can’t last a moment longer. The love I feel for him and the way his tight little ass hugs me tightly are enough to drive any sane man to derangement.

  “Thorne…baby, please.” The endearment flies from my lips, and I half expect him to gaze at me with disgust. I am satisfied when his eyes grow softer and his hands plant themselves upon my chest.

  Thorne’s speed increases then, and he grinds and writhes upon my cock with such tenacity that I hardly keep up. His cock throbs, leaking precum in thick rivulets down my chest. Grabbing it in my hands, I begin to stroke it in tandem with his undulation until his breathing becomes nothing more than pants.

  “Aamon, please let me come.”

  The plea ignites our orgasms as we, in unison, scream out in ecstasy as release overtakes us in bliss.

  “I love you,” I say, though it sounds breathless and weak. Thorne makes me weak for him and only him, and I will make him stronger. Together, we will let nothing tear us asunder.

  “I love you too, Aamon.” He plants soft kisses on my throat until he reaches my cheek. “I will always love you.”

  Hawthorne

  My gaze sweeps across the barren land. This part of Hell is an utter wasteland filled with jagged rocks and ash-laden soil. Nothing could grow here, and yet, here we are determined to help that.

  Tiny shoots push through the soil, evidence of the lack of minerals. They are shriveled and yellowing. Aamon stands beside me, his body aglow with a dark magic, but despite the darkness of this realm and him, he appears radiant.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Aamon asks if his voice is measured and calm. The gravity of what the two of us are about to do hangs between us. “You know this pact will tie you to Hell, and it will bind you to me.”

  I meet his eyes with quiet determination. “I want this, Aamon, and even if you do not believe me, I want you.”

  The mere thought of being away from him for months at a time gnaws at me, but I understand the necessity of it. My living body cannot sustain staying in this place for long without losing my life.

  He grabs my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  From the shadows, Lilith and Luce approach the two of us, their presence commanding as ever. Lilith’s crimson lips curl in a smile that barely hides her amusement. Luce, even with all his measured grace, appears, for once, present and alert. His eyes glow a molten gold as they lock onto the two of us. Despite their mischievous nature, they agreed to Aamon’s terms, allowing me to reside here in Hell during the bitter winter months in the mortal realm. However, there are conditions I must meet.

  Lucifer steps forward, his voice echoing across the barren field. “A blood pact,” he says, with authority. “We are to bind Thorne to Hell for the winter season, just like your silly Greek story. It’s only fair. There’s a lot of work to do.”

  Lilith nods, her gaze flickering between the three of us with a crooked smirk still upon her face. “These pacts are not easy to break unless we kill one or both of you. As we both know, I’m not above it.”

  There is nothing I know more than that Lilith is not one to be crossed, and Luce will follow suit if he feels sure it’s advantageous to step in. Glancing at Aamon, a sense of warmth and utter calm overtakes me. His expression is calm but determined, and his eyes hold no ounce of fear—only a quiet resolve that I have come to admire. He is ready.

  “We are prepared.” Aamon reaches out, firmly grasping my hand in his as he pulls me closer to his side. “This is necessary, and not just for Hell. Thorne and I will see this through.”

  The two of them laugh and shake their heads. “I can’t believe we are binding you two together in holy matrimony,” Lilith says, snorting. “How rich.”

  I feel no trepidation about what this means for us. Aamon is to be my husband, and once I pass on, my rightful place will be here in Envy with him. My soul belongs to him and him alone. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, I glance his way, smiling. He is mine, and I belong to him.

  “Very well then,” Lucifer says, snapping his fingers as a ceremonial athame appears in his hand. The blade is dark obsidian and etched with runes that subtly glow in the dim morning light. I feel the familiar thrum as it’s handed to me first.

  “Make the cut for one another.”

  Aamon extends his hand toward me without a moment of hesitation, baring his palm to me. My eyes search for any sign he may refuse, but there is none. Instead, I see behind his golden eyes a glint of admiration. Slowly, I bring the blade to his skin, drawing a deep cut across his palm. The bright red liquid blooms across his skin, pulsing with magic.

  As I pass the athame to Aamon, I watch as he brings it across my pale skin. The sting of pain forces me to bite at my lip as a groan closer to ecstasy than pain threatens to bubble from my throat. We press our palms together, and the magic envelops us in an electric rope. It swirls with color, from basalt to emerald and finally settles on a geranium pink.

  As it mingles, I feel a surge of power between us intensify. There are voices surrounding the two of us, whispering melodious chants, racking my head with pain. The air hums with energy, and the ground beneath my feet pulses rhythmically.

  I look at my husband momentarily, sensing our shared purpose thrumming like a living thing. “Repeat after me,” Aamon says, his voice low and steady. “I, Thorne, bind myself to the land of Hell, to nurture it and my husband. In return, I shall receive strength and wisdom from the land and from his oath to me.”

  There is a warmth in his tone, and I find myself repeating the oath aloud. The power resonates deeply through me, and I add, “With this pact, we will create a place of peace, sustenance and growth for all who live in Envy.”

  As Lilith and Luce begin to clap their hands, it sounds so far away as the earth trembles beneath us in response to our oaths to one another and the energy between our blood. The barren land responds eagerly, begging me to touch it, to release the building pressure.

  “Well, thank heaven that’s over.” Lilith’s smile gleams with satisfaction, and she grabs Luce’s hand in hers. “The pact and marriage are complete.”

  Luce’s voice is a touch more serious, though there is a magical twinkle dancing in his eyes. “You are now bound to Hell, and to Aamon’s care. During the winter months you’ll live here with him, helping Envy regain its food sources.” He pauses and flashes a dazzling smile. “Until you piss off Lilith and she undoubtedly regrets her decision. I promise to keep her from bothering you both too often.”

  A chuckle worms itself from my lips at the two of them, whose motives I have yet to understand. “I will be on my best behavior.”

  “Don’t make me regret it, pretty boy,” she purrs and winks at me playfully. “For now, I suppose you get to live…”

  I don’t miss the way Aamon growls with annoyance, but he remains silent as they banter with me. I sense he’s still unsure if they will uphold their bargain with the two of us. Somehow I know they mean what they say. The conversation I had with them proves they truly care about their people and Aamon, even if in the past, their methods were not the most productive. They truly mean well, though they are the most chaotic duo.

  “Well, okay then. We will leave you to say your goodbyes.” There is no mistake that the tone shifts in Luce’s voice, or the way Lilith’s eyes lower to the ground.

  The painful tug on my heart aches. Even with the pact settled, I know what this means. For the next six months, I will be without Aamon, though it will not be in vain. I shall use every moment to practice my magic and remain focused on gaining my strength until I return again.

  Lilith and Luce bid us farewell one more time, fading slowly into the shadows until just Aamon and I remain in the barren field. I find myself unable to tear my gaze from him. He is more than just my captor, my ally or marquis—he is my husband, and part of me in ways I have never imagined.

  “We’ve done it,” I whisper, feeling a strange sense of devastation lingering in my stomach.

  Aamon smiles, though I see the bittersweet edge in it. “You will be back when winter comes, but for now you have to leave.”

  The pull of the mortal realm was already tugging at me, and had been for a few nights now. I knew that, once the cold winds blew, I would return, but in the meantime, I needed to leave. “I wish I could stay.”

  Aamon wrenches me into his arms, enveloping me in a firm embrace. “I wish I could keep you for a lifetime, Thorne, but your mortal life has to be lived to its fullest.”

  Tears well in my eyes; a sob shudders from my chest. “I will live it every day and practice my magic. I will continue to help others with this new gift you’ve given me.”

  Aamon tips my chin up to him and softly presses his lips to mine. His tongue slips inside my mouth, and my eyes close in response. A quiet certainty settles in my chest knowing I am irrevocably in love with Aamon. I am bound by magic, but more than that, every fiber of my soul belongs to him.

  “I love you,” I say when our mouths break apart.

  Aamon peers into my eyes, smiling softly with so much adoration and love that I surely feel it in my bones. “I love you too, Thorne Grimwood.”

  With one more farewell kiss, eventually we know it’s time for me to leave. A portal similar to the first I was pulled through materializes in a swirling vortex of shadow. As I step inside, I watch as Aamon fades from view, a sense of renewed longing settling in my chest. I know this is only the beginning, and winter will come again. When it does, we will continue to build the future we started together.

  For now, my deal with the demon Marquis holds a special place in my heart, and I cannot wait to see him once more.

  Thank you for reading My Deal With The Demon Marquis!

  For more monster romance, check out Wings of Desire, releasing in October.

  About the Author

  Hi my name is Leona Wilde and I’m a monsterholic. I live with my two cats and thirty plants in North Carolina. The best way to be my buddy is cheesecake, sending me monster art, recommendations and screeching like an opossum.

  If you wish to find me search for me on Goodreads and Bookbub.

  I am most active on Instagram so shoot me a DM.

  Also by Leona Wilde

  Wings of Desire

  Monster Match

  Scales and Seduction

  AMOR FATI

  VERA VALENTINE

  Late for an appointment, lost, and harried as hell, Milo Argus’ morning is off to a bad start. When a strange coin, an unexpected payphone and a deceptively easy job interview get things back on track, his hot new boss starts sending out some seriously NSFW signals. When simple questions turn up some very complex answers, their undeniable chemistry starts feeling a lot less like flirting and a lot more like fate. And hell, if the path to destiny is face down across a well-appointed desk?

  There are far worse ways to find meaning.

  Content Considerations:

  This short story contains mature themes, including dirty talk (like really dirty), talk of breeding, oral cleanup after-the-fact, unprotected anal sex, handjobs, creative filing systems, badly-fitting dress shoes, non-HR-approved boss/employee interactions, wildly under-negotiated hiring processes, nonexistent onboarding, office sex, and references to death (as a concept/reality, no on-page gore or violence). No pairings need a warning because sexuality isn’t a trigger, but consider this your heads up that this is a very smutty instalove(ish) story between two men.

  Enjoy!

  The storefronts blurred by as my dress shoes scuffed the sidewalk in a slow circle, seeking anything that even remotely resembled an office building. Wherever I was, it was built on the same stained, erosion-softened greige masonry that made up the city center, which is why I didn’t question my destination until the damned rideshare was already pulling away.

  Juggling the essentially-empty briefcase under my arm, an absolute conceit of an accessory intended to make me look more professional, I fished for my phone inside my suit jacket pocket. The rideshare had taken his sweet time, and now I was both lost and probably already late for the interview. I hated having to call for help before I’d even introduced myself, but better they think I was bad at directions than time management.

  “No no no….fuck!” My panicked expression glanced back from the smooth black glass of my phone’s screen, the device in question completely dead. I’d made sure to charge it last night, so what the hell was going on? Had the rideshare app really drained the battery that quickly? The opportunity of a lifetime was actively slipping through my fingers because someone didn’t know how to fucking code power management on an app. Teeth aching from stress-clenching my jaw, I forced myself to take a deep breath and relax the death grip I had on my brick of a phone.

  Focus on solutions, not reactions. My last therapy session floated through the haze of anxiety, helping scatter some of it as I opened my eyes. Okay. This wasn’t ideal, but maybe I could still salvage things. I needed a phone charger, right? Someplace around here had to sell chargers. Yeah, my debit card might have currently been on its last legs, but ten bucks in either direction wouldn’t break me. Besides, I’d find the office, nail the interview, and use my first paycheck to fatten up my anemic bank account.

  There. Problem solved.

  I made a beeline for the sign-cluttered window of a small bodega, situated across a street so empty I could leisurely stroll from curb to curb on a green light. In fact, it was weirdly quiet for a Wednesday morning, which added to the creeping dread that I was not where I was supposed to be. As I pushed open the stubborn door, the trio of old bells hung on the hinge clanged against the thick glass, jangling three times as the door swung closed behind me. An odd echo of the sound bounced off the cluttered, dusty shelves behind me, a disorienting feedback better suited to a high-ceilinged chapel than this joint.

  Before I could puzzle out the source of the echo, a phlegmy throat-clearing drew my attention to the counter. A slender, gray-haired man adjusted the cuff of his buttoned shirt from his perch on a stool, looking at me pointedly over the register.

  “Oh, uh, hey, I really need a phone charger, do you have any?” I scanned the shelves behind him as I approached the counter, anticipating the item within arms’ reach. Instead, every ledge was stuffed to the brim with dusty, creased boxes and ephemera I couldn’t identify, even when I squinted at it. Was that a bird skull sitting on top of an old-fashioned clock? It had to be some kind of weird halloween decor, no way the city would allow bones in a convenience store, religious freedom be damned. A row of jars with Egyptian-looking animals gleamed in ivory just behind the man, mysteriously free of the dust that seemed to cover damn near everything else. His smile was a little too white, a little too big; a chill shivered over my forearms as my gaze skittered away from his.

  A crooked finger tapped a small, handwritten sign clinging for dear life to the side of the register with a yellowed piece of scotch tape, misplaced emphasis quotes adding a gritty authenticity.

  NO “CHANGE” AVAILABLE.

  “No power here. Here, gift for you. Take one, call outside.” Another crooked finger descended into a shallow “take a penny” dish on the counter’s edge, stirring the unexpectedly-silver coins there like a cup of coffee as his thick, indeterminate accent washed over me.

  My jaw clenched again as doubt crept in. Solutions, Milo. “No, I’m sorry Sir, I think you misunderstood me. I don’t need change, I need a charger. For a phone?” I held up the traitorous object in question, wiggling it back and forth in the hopes of bridging the language barrier.

  He gave a rheumy-eyed smirk, shrugged, and stirred the coins again, eyebrows raising in emphasis as he nodded towards the front window. Between two yellowing posters, I could just barely make out the silhouette of a payphone booth outside. I hadn’t seen one of those relics outside of a movie for years—did the damn thing even work? Only one way to find out.

  The old man beamed with cheer uncharacteristic of city-dwellers as I closed the distance between us, dropping the coin into my outstretched palm and physically closing my fingers over it with an overly-familiar squeeze. As I made my way back outside through the cluttered vestibule, the weight of the coin itched at my brain: it was definitely too heavy for a quarter, wasn’t it? Focused on scoping out the phone booth, I didn’t uncurl my fingers until I’d edged beyond the stuck, hinge-rusted folding door. The silver disc in my palm greeted me with a lumpy, well-worn owl imprint, rather than Washington’s profile. Fuck. What the hell kind of funny money had the old man given me?