"My lord!" Velmaria panicked, quickly taking the knife from his hand and tossing it to the ground with a clink. "Forgive me—I shouldn't have blacked out so suddenly." She tore a strip from her sleeve and gently wrapped it around the bleeding cut on Malrik's finger.
And as if a spell had lifted, the pain surged in full.
The wound throbbed and stung sharply as the cloth tightened, forcing Malrik's breath to hitch. His eyes welled instinctively, the childlike part of him warring against the growing pride that refused to cry out.
Velmaria cooed softly as she lifted him, pressing him gently against her chest. "There, there," she whispered. "It'll be just fine, my lord. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Her voice trembled with genuine emotion, her arms protective.
"Let…" Malrik mumbled, his voice shaky and small.
"What was that, my lord?" she asked, still rocking him, already mid-motion in pulling down the front of her dress.
The swell of her breast emerged—pale and smooth, faintly flushed from the heat of battle and emotion. Soft and generous, it exuded the warmth of a caretaker, though the demonic allure in her blood lent it a hint of unnatural perfection, the kind that could comfort and tempt in the same breath.
Malrik's words caught in his throat as his eyes fell on her breast—soft, full, the skin pale as moonlight. Her areola, perfect in shape and hue, sent a ripple of instinct through him far stronger than any pain.
Don't you say it—
"…Milky," he muttered anyway, the word slipping out with a kind of dazed reverence as his small, bloodied hands reached toward her.
Velmaria smiled gently, brushing his hair back. "Drink, my lord," she whispered, voice low and aching with devotion. "Let me soothe you…"
He didn't need to be told twice. His lips latched onto her breast, warm and firm against his mouth.
The taste that met him was oddly sweet—not milk, but something more subtle. Skin, warmth, and a trace of her perfume and sweat, all mixed into a flavor that made his pulse slow and his mind quiet.
He suckled without urgency, not out of hunger but instinct, lips forming a seal as his tongue flicked curiously over her nipple. It stiffened under the attention, and he felt it pulse slightly with each tug. One of his small hands rose, kneading the soft mound clumsily, fingers splayed over flesh far too large for them to grasp.
Velmaria held him close, arms cradling his tiny form as if he were the most sacred thing in existence. She said nothing more—only stroked his back in slow circles, her breathing steady, her head bowed over him like a priestess before an altar.
No milk came. That didn't matter. It was the act that comforted, not the sustenance. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the way her heartbeat echoed steadily against his ear—all of it quieted something wild and rattling deep inside him.
His tail wiggled, trailing down her dress and slipping between her thighs.
It reached her pussy with little resistance—she was completely bare down there. His tongue circled her nipple, drawing a soft moan from her lips, while his spade-shaped tail slowly pushed into her folds.
Her breath hitched as the tip of his tail flexed within her, exploring her heat with slow, deliberate pulses. She arched slightly, her fingers tangling in his hair as he suckled at her breast—not with hunger, but with reverence, grounding himself through her.
The warmth between her legs bloomed, her hips shifting to welcome the intrusion. She whispered something soft and broken, her voice trembling in the still air. He didn't answer, not with words. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, letting her feel the slow grind of his need against her thigh.
There was no rush, no frenzy. Only heat. The rhythmic sway of his tail, the wet sounds of her folds parting, and the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his cheek.
Velmaria felt the gentle exploration of Malrik's tail, a sensation that sent a warm, tingling pulse through her core. She was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, her demonic lineage ensuring she was well-versed in the art of carnal delights. Yet, there was something innocent and pure in Malrik's touch, a raw, untamed curiosity that stirred a different kind of heat within her.
His tail, slick with her arousal, pulsed rhythmically, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure that made her inner muscles clench. She could feel the rough, spade-shaped tip and the ridged texture of his tail—every detail amplified by her heightened senses.
It was a slow, deliberate dance, a claiming that was as much about comfort as it was about desire.
Velmaria's breath hitched as Malrik's tail delved deeper, his exploration becoming more insistent. She could feel the slight resistance—the barrier that marked her as untouched.
A soft, satisfied smile played on her lips.
She had given herself to no one—not out of innocence or fear, but because her former lord, Thorneveil Abyzrakul Tenebris, had kept her pure ever since the conception of her new master.
Every moment, every restraint, had been in preparation for this.
Her fingers carded through his hair, gently guiding him as he suckled at her breast. She felt his need, his desire, and his hunger for her. And she was glad. Glad that he was finding solace in her body, glad that he was claiming her in this primal, instinctual way.
"More, my lord," she whispered, her voice low and sultry, yet filled with a tender affection. "Take more of me. Let me soothe you; let me be filled with your warmth, your love."
Malrik's tail pushed deeper, his tip breaching the barrier with a soft, almost imperceptible—
pop.
Velmaria felt a brief flash of pain, a sharp pinch quickly swallowed by the warmth of their connection. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair, but her voice remained steady, her words a soft, encouraging murmur.
"That's it, my lord. Take all of me. Let me be yours, completely—"
Before Velmaria could finish her sentence, a glint of cold metal caught her eye. Hmm? Her smile curled wider. Hmm? Oh, this whore's trying to take us by surprise, it seems~