The room was still warm from their bodies, the air thick with that sweet aftertaste of passion.
Derius lay back on the silken sheets, hands behind his head, wearing that grin that was somewhere between smug and satisfied.
"You know…" he began, tilting his head toward her, "I didn't think demons could laugh after—"
She burst into a chuckle before he could finish. "Laugh? I'm trying not to fall apart from what you just did to me."
Derius smirked. "Fall apart in a good way, I hope."
"In a very good way," she said, her voice dipping into something low and teasing. "I didn't think human… well, half-human men… could be that fun."
"That fun?" Derius said, raising a brow. "That fun is an insult. I was incredible."
She gave him a playful shove. "Fine… incredible. You've ruined me for anyone else." She laughed again, shaking her head. "just hope all this semen you are pumping inside me don't get be a baby." she turns to him holding his man hood. "Let's go again."
Derius' smirk widened. "I like the way you think."
They were halfway into their second kiss, her fingers curled into the back of his neck, when—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Derius froze. "Oh, not again."
She groaned, still holding him. "Tell them to go away."
He sighed. "You don't tell them to go away. They… don't take it well."
Outside, behind the closed doors of Derius' chamber, twenty women had gathered, draped in silks and jewels. They weren't knocking impatiently — they were talking, each taking turns like it was some divine council.
"He has the most perfect eyes," one of them whispered dreamily.
"Perfect eyes? Have you seen his chest? Like carved stone, but warm."
Another laughed softly. "Forget his chest — it's the way he looks at you. Like you're the only woman alive."
One fanned herself. "And his voice… Saints help me, I'd listen to him read battle reports all day."
"His mighty cock?, why are you all not talking about that.?" she turns sad said, "isn't that why we came here."
A quieter one murmured, "I just… like how safe I feel near him."
By the time they knocked again, Derius was rubbing his temples.
"I can't send them away again," he muttered. "They'll riot."
"You have a riot of women?" she teased.
He gave her a look. "You're about to see what I mean."
When he opened the door, the twenty of them swept in like a wave of perfume and color. Their chatter filled the room instantly, each of them casting curious glances at the demoness on the bed.
The twenty women entered in a graceful wave, each lowering their heads slightly — not out of shyness, but out of the quiet fear of displeasing him. Their silk robes shimmered in the morning light, scented with rare oils that clung to the air.
Derius stood near the doorway, broad shoulders relaxed, watching them like a king observing his court.
They moved to surround him, but none dared touch first.
One finally spoke — a tall, statuesque woman with dark curls.
"My Lord… we feared we had lost our place last night. You never turn us away."
Her voice trembled slightly at the last words.
Derius let the silence stretch before answering, his tone smooth but commanding. "You were turned away because I had something… greater to attend to. Do you understand?"
A soft murmur rippled through them.
"Yes, my Lord," they said almost in unison, though a few glanced at the bed where the demoness sat lazily draped in a sheet, golden eyes flicking over them with an amused smile.
The pale-haired beauty stepped forward, bold enough to speak. "Forgive us, my Lord. We missed you… terribly. Please, do not let it happen again."
The others nodded or whispered in agreement.
"Please, we cannot bear it."
"We thought perhaps you were… finished with us."
"Do not punish us so, my Lord."
Derius's lips curved faintly, enjoying their desperate need for his attention. "Punish?" He chuckled low. "You have not seen punishment."
They went still as he pulls out his man hood.
He stepped forward, brushing past them with the kind of power that made them lean back slightly — not out of avoidance, but because his presence pressed against their senses like a storm.
From the bed, the demoness tilted her head. "They adore you," she said, voice dripping with amusement.
"They serve me," Derius corrected without looking back. "Adoration is a luxury I allow them."
At that, several of the women bowed their heads again, murmuring promises not to fail him, not to speak against him, and never to question his choices.
And Derius — utterly at ease, without a trace of fear — smiled, knowing they would do anything to keep his favor.
The women moved like dancers before a god, their eyes lowered but their bodies trembling with anticipation. They circled him slowly, offering themselves not with crude desperation, but with the reverence of worshippers placing gifts at an altar.
One by one, they stepped forward — touching him, leaning against him, murmuring their devotion.
"For your love, my Lord, I would give everything."
"Take from me what you will."
"Only say the word, and I am yours."
"My body belongs to you. My lord."
They sought not just his touch, but his approval. Every glance he gave was a blessing, every faint smile a reward.
The demoness watched from the bed, her golden eyes narrowing in interest. She had seen men desired before, but never like this — never with such hunger and fear mingled together. And when she moved, it was not as they did.
She rose with the grace of shadow and flame, gliding toward him, her steps deliberate, her gaze locked on his. When she reached him, she touched his face — not as a servant, but as an equal. Her voice was a whisper only he could hear.
"You command them… and make sure they get it hard... I also want a big taste of that big meat my lord."
"So please command me too."
The room seemed to still. Her closeness was different, almost dangerous, and yet Derius accepted it.
The women began to understand. They watched the way she moved around him, the way he didn't merely receive her affection but met it — and they copied, softening their touch, finding a new rhythm. What followed was not frantic, but flowing — like a tide around him, wave after wave of devotion and service.
By the time the sun shifted across the room, the women lay scattered across the cushions and silk rugs, covered with Derius semen their hair tousled, their breathing uneven. Some had fallen asleep, some whispered to each other, all thoroughly drained.
Derius, however, stood tall — unshaken, his presence still heavy in the air his man hood still strong and heavy like that of a demi-god .
From the bed, the demoness lay half-curled, her lips curving into a rare smile her pussy leaking out thick semen.
"Now," she murmured, "I see why they all love you, Lord Derius."
Without a word, he moved to her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. She let him carry her without resistance, her gaze locked on his as he brought her into the steaming bath. His hands moved with deliberate care, cleansing her skin, smoothing back her hair — treating her not as one among many, but as something singular.
When she was clean, he wrapped her in silk and set her back upon the bed — not at the center, but upon the highest pillows, like a queen among courtiers. The other women, still catching their breath, looked at her with new recognition.
Derius did not linger. He strode from the room, his steps echoing through the marble halls until he reached a hidden chamber deep within his fortress. From a locked chest, he retrieved an ancient robe — black as midnight, embroidered in gold thread that shimmered faintly as though lit from within.
When he returned, the demoness sat up. His voice was low, certain.
"This will let you walk beneath the sun without it burning you. Wear it, and the day will be yours as much as the night."
Her eyes widened faintly. For a moment, the unshakable demoness was silent — and in that quiet, even the twenty women could feel it.
Lord Derius had chosen her.