The city outside barely roused, but the Wet Deck pulsed with the energy of a long, wicked night winding down. Selene was already gone, slipping out through the private exit, collar hidden beneath her cloak, a satisfied ache in her every step. Damon watched her go from the upper landing, one hand lazily scratching his stomach, cock half-hard beneath loose pants. He let himself grin—there was nothing quite like breaking in a noble, especially one who'd shivered, moaned, and whispered "master" until dawn.
Downstairs, the lounge was a mess of bodies and booze. Sunlight crept through painted glass, turning the stains on the carpet into little rainbows. Fizz prowled the room with a tray of "hangover cure" shots—some herbal, some just strong enough to stun a horse—waking the last of Lucien's sorry entourage. Lucien himself looked like a corpse that'd lost a fight with a bottle, slumped sideways on a divan, one shoe missing, shirt open, gold chain gone. His hair stuck to his face, and his eyes barely opened as Fizz nudged him with a bare foot.
"Up, Lord Lucien. You and your little princelings have fifteen minutes before the house charges for another hour."
Lucien groaned, clutching his head, and glared blearily at Fizz. "I'll have you—fired, you little—"
Fizz cut him off with a deadpan stare and a glass shoved into his hand. "Drink. You'll want to be able to walk out of here under your own power. Some of your friends are already missing their trousers."
Muffled curses floated up from under a pile of bodies near the bar. One of Lucien's cronies tried to stand, only to flop back down with a whimper. Lucien drained the glass and made a face, but the potion started to work, bringing a little color back to his cheeks, even if it tasted like rotten grass and old whiskey.
Damon slipped down the stairs, glancing over the carnage. Fizz caught his eye and gave a sharp nod—everything under control, money safely pocketed, no messes to clean up that couldn't be blamed on the guests. Lucien glared at Damon, eyes full of old rivalry and new humiliation, but Damon just flashed him a crooked, knowing grin. Lucien looked away first.
A hush fell. Even the most battered noble dogs sensed it: Lilith had arrived. She swept out from her private suite with all the ceremony of a goddess walking into her own temple, hips rolling, hair wild, golden eyes narrowed in lazy amusement. Her dress was less clothing than a promise—a shimmer of dark fabric barely covering her massive tits, ass sculpted to taunt, a slit riding high up her thigh, every step threatening to expose everything. Her nipples were obvious through the gauzy top, hard and dark, her skin glowing in the morning light.
Lucien's jaw dropped. He stared, utterly enthralled, breath hitching at the sight. Lilith's gaze flicked his way, sharp and dangerous, a little smile tugging at her lips. For a second, the room seemed to hold its breath.
Fizz moved without missing a beat, stepping into Lucien's line of sight, voice smooth as silk. "Eyes up, Lord. That's not a show you can afford."
Lucien bristled, fists clenching. He opened his mouth, but the threat died in his throat. Fizz's stare was cold, bored, and behind him Lilith's power pulsed—subtle, undeniable, the kind of pressure that reminded even the dumbest noble that the Wet Deck was not his playground. Lucien swallowed hard and looked away, cheeks burning.
Lilith prowled straight to the bar, ignoring the lords and their stares, plucking a glass from Fizz's tray. She poured herself a shot—fiery green, the house special—and threw it back in a single swallow. She made a satisfied sound, eyes half-lidded, then crooked a finger at Damon.
"Sit, boy."
Damon snorted but obeyed, sliding onto the stool beside her, their thighs pressed together. Lilith's leg was bare and hot, her scent spiced and dark, promise of sex in every breath. She ran a hand down his arm, nails sharp, not quite gentle.
Fizz poured them each a drink. "Rough night?" he asked, voice dry.
Damon grinned. "You could say that."
Lilith leaned in, her lips brushing Damon's ear, breath hot. "Did you finish with your little noble pet?" she purred, loud enough for Fizz to hear, voice full of wicked amusement.
Damon smirked. "She's a fast learner. Didn't have much pride left when I was done."
Lilith barked a laugh, squeezing his thigh, her hand dangerously close to his cock. "Careful, Damon. You start getting attached, you'll forget you're a demon. We don't fall in love. We feed. Human sin, human weakness, that's all we're after."
He grinned, not backing down. "Easy for you to say. You're practically a goddess in this place."
She tilted her head, studying him with predatory curiosity. "You're stronger than you were. I can smell it on you. Maybe next time you'll actually be able to keep up."
Damon's hand slid onto her bare knee, thumb stroking slow circles, watching the way her pupils dilated. "Maybe I should remind you who wore who out last time."
Her lips curled. "That was just a warm-up." She twisted on her stool, pressing her tits into his arm, hand drifting up to his chest, nails scraping just enough to sting. "You think a few humans will make you strong enough to take me? You'd better keep fucking, boy. We only rewards the depraved."
Fizz watched, amused, from behind the bar, eyes flicking between the two demons and the hangover crowd now trying not to stare. Lucien sulked in his seat, glancing back at Lilith every few seconds, only to be caught by Fizz's steady gaze or the silent warnings from the staff.
In Damon's mind, the Dickcord system flickered—voice as snide as ever, but laced with static, as if something deeper watched from behind the code. "She's out of your league, cockboy. You want to get a taste, you'll need to rack up a few dozen more notches—preferably noble, preferably depraved. Or you could just fuck her and die happy, if you're into that sort of thing."
He hid a smirk. The system was right. Every time he fed, every time he broke a new toy, he felt it—power building, a spark of something ancient deep inside. But Lilith was on a different level. He wanted her to break him, wanted to see how far she'd push him, how much she'd take before he broke.
Lilith traced the choker mark on his throat, leaned in and licked it, slow and possessive. Her breath was warm, her tongue flicking over his skin. He shivered, not bothering to hide it.
"You like the games, don't you?" she whispered. "Makes you hungry."
"Only with the right partner."
She laughed, the sound low and dirty, and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him right there on the barstool. Her ass pressed against his cock, grinding slow, lazy circles. The room quieted, everyone pretending not to watch but unable to look away.
Fizz just polished a glass, shaking his head. "You two need a room, or is this the morning show?"
Lilith flashed him a grin. "You're welcome to join, pretty boy. I'll even let you pick the toys."
Fizz raised an eyebrow, lips twitching, but said nothing.
Damon slid his hands up Lilith's thighs, squeezing the thick muscle, feeling her warmth through the barely-there fabric. Her pussy pressed hot against his cock, only a wisp of silk between them. He could smell her—ripe, eager, just as much on the hunt as he was.
She leaned down, tongue tracing his jaw, lips nipping his earlobe. "You going to fuck me, or just play pretend?"
He cupped her ass, pulling her tighter, grinding up into her. "Maybe I want to see you beg first."
She bit him, just hard enough to leave a mark. "That'll be the day."
They stayed tangled for a minute, hands everywhere, breathing rough, teasing each other with little brushes and bites, making promises neither quite fulfilled. Damon's cock throbbed, hard as iron, but Lilith just smiled, slow and cruel, and slid off his lap with one last lingering roll of her hips.
"Maybe next time," she purred, licking her lips.
Lucien, now mostly sober and mostly dressed, finished counting his remaining coins. He scowled at the bill Fizz handed him—three times what he'd expected, itemized with brutal detail. The Wet Deck charged for everything—drinks, food, broken furniture, ruined sheets, missing jewelry, even the "emotional distress" of having to listen to his friends snore.
"This is theft," Lucien grumbled, voice thin.
Fizz shrugged, perfectly calm. "It's the price of hospitality, Lord Lucien. You're welcome to contest the charges with the city watch. Or the royal treasury. I'm sure they'd love to hear how you spent the night."
Lucien's face blanched. He shoved a handful of gold coins across the bar, stood up, nearly stumbled over his own feet, and marched out, his entourage trailing like beaten dogs. The Wet Deck's staff watched with thinly veiled amusement, a few of the girls whispering and giggling behind their hands.
As the door slammed shut, Fizz set the coins aside and flashed Lilith a wicked grin. "He'll be telling that story for years—just not the way he wants to."
She tossed her hair, rolling her eyes. "He'll come crawling back, or someone else will take his place. Nobles are all the same. Ego and gold, nothing else between their ears."
Fizz joined them behind the bar, counting the night's take. "You get enough out of them?"
Lilith smirked. "We bled them dry. Even the big talkers couldn't keep their purses shut."
Fizz mixed himself a drink—something complicated, layered, his own little celebration. "How was your night, then?"
She glanced at Damon, eyes twinkling. "Productive. Broke in a new noble, scared off a few old ones, made a little money, got my rocks off. All in all, a success."
Fizz whistled, low and impressed. "Not bad. Even managed to keep the place intact."
Their voices dropped as they started sharing the latest noble gossip. Fizz recounted his own brush with a pair of aging lords—full of talk, empty of coin, eager to impress but terrified of scandal. Lilith rolled her eyes, calling them "all bark, no bite." They swapped stories of who'd been seen sneaking where, whose wife was about to divorce whom, and which merchant was most likely to be arrested for embezzlement this month.
Damon half-listened, his mind drifting, eyes roaming Lilith's body as she lounged against the bar. She caught him staring and grinned, reaching over to tweak his nipple through his shirt.
"Keep dreaming, boy. You're not ready for me yet."
He growled, catching her hand, pulling her close until her breath ghosted over his lips. "Let me prove it."
She brushed her lips over his, soft but hungry, then bit down, hard enough to sting, making him gasp. She let him go, licking his lower lip, then turned back to her drink.
Fizz, unbothered, just raised an eyebrow. "You two finished, or should I put up a curtain?"
Lilith snorted. "Don't tempt me, Handler."
Fizz shot her a look, the barest hint of heat in his eyes. "You couldn't afford me."
They all laughed, the sound rolling out into the empty lounge, full of old sin and new plans.
Conversation shifted as Lilith dropped a fresh bombshell, her tone suddenly cool, serious. "News from the palace: royal inspection's coming. They're sending an official to check on the city, see if Lucien's even halfway competent."
Fizz shrugged. "If his sister keeps the city running, he keeps his seat. But if she stumbles—"
Lilith smirked. "If she can still walk after last night, I'll be impressed."
Damon grinned, pride swelling in his chest. He wanted to see Selene in action—wanted to push her further, make her beg, make her rule.
Fizz nodded. "If the inspection goes badly, we might get a new governor. Or the whole place could turn upside down."
Lilith tipped her glass toward Damon. "Better make sure your little noble doesn't crack under pressure, stud. Would be a shame to waste all that effort."
He raised his own glass in silent toast, their eyes locking, something wicked and understanding passing between them.
As they drank, the bar's gossip twisted to rumors of other noble power plays—whispers of blackmail, secret deals, alliances shifting with every coin exchanged. The city was a game board, every player ready to stab, fuck, or betray the next.
But beneath all the noble drama, something colder simmered. Lilith's voice dropped as she leaned close, her breath tickling Damon's ear. "The church is moving. Word is, they're sending a saintess and a paladin to the city. No one knows if it's a blessing, an inspection, or a witch hunt."
Fizz's eyes narrowed, glass paused at his lips. "Never good when they show up. Saints have a way of turning parties into funerals."
Lilith's mouth twisted in a sharp smile. "Let them come. Maybe we'll teach them what real sin looks like."
Damon grinned, imagining the possibilities—pure, holy flesh corrupted in the Wet Deck's beds, piety stripped away one filthy act at a time.
The system flickered in his mind, voice hungry. "Now that's a milestone worth chasing. Corrupt a saintess, break a paladin—let's see if heaven can handle hell's favorite cock."
Fizz glanced between them, sharp as ever. "If they're coming, we need to be careful. Nobles are one thing—priests and paladins have longer memories and sharper knives."
Lilith tipped her glass, unbothered. "Then we'll just have to give them something to remember."
The three of them raised their glasses, a silent toast to sin, power, and the chaos to come.
Outside, the city of Desire's Dock stretched toward noon, hungover and restless, unaware that new games were about to begin.
Inside, the Wet Deck's most dangerous players sat at the bar, plotting, scheming, bodies tangled, hunger unsatisfied, eyes locked on the horizon.
And in the shadows, the system whispered:Bigger prey, bigger rewards. Let's see how depraved you can get.