My Wives are Beautiful Demons

The car dropped them off in front of the hotel as if they were entering a palace disguised as modern civilization—sparkling marble, chandeliers that seemed to capture stars, and a luxurious silence that muffled even their own thoughts.

Vergil walked through the reception area as if he owned the place, a shadow with a purpose. Roxanne, at his side, looked like an exotic goddess who had just descended from a divine stage — her hair loose, her eyes shining, her smile satisfied.

The elevator took them straight to the penthouse, and when the doors opened, they revealed the most expensive suite in the complex: a panoramic view of the illuminated city, translucent curtains floating with the air conditioning, a hand-carved marble bathtub, and a bed so large it seemed made for bored gods.

"Vergil..." Roxanne said, looking around with an expression somewhere between awe and theatrical reproach. "You used the Sapphire black card for this, didn't you?"

Vergil took off his jacket with a lazy movement and threw it over an armchair, already walking towards the balcony.

"I did," he replied, as if he were saying he had ordered a coffee. "I thought it was a good time to enjoy other people's money."

She crossed her arms, following him with her gaze.

"You're overdoing it."

He turned, a slight smile on the corner of his lips.

"I'm a demon, Rox. Money is just... pretty paper with the illusion of control. And today, the only luxury that matters to me..."

He looked her in the eyes, firmly. "Is you."

She stopped.

Just for a second.

And then the smile grew on her lips like a spark turning into a fire.

She crossed the room in two steps and, without saying another word, kissed him.

It was a kiss without haste, without hesitation. Her hand rose to his neck, her fingers digging lightly into his hair, while Vergil's body finally allowed itself to respond — arms wrapping around her firmly, pulling her against him as if the whole world were outside... and it didn't matter.

The distant sound of the city below faded away. The soft light in the room turned into warm shadows. And in that moment, between expensive sheets, veiled promises, and hearts of war at rest, there was no guilt, no weight, no past.

Just the two of them.

The kiss deepened.

Vergil pulled her closer, his fingers sliding up Roxanne's waist to her back, as if seeking an anchor for the chaos she stirred within him. Her lips were hot, hungry, and her low laugh escaped between kisses when he suddenly turned her, with a fluid, firm movement, and lifted her up.

Her back hit the table near the balcony with a soft thud—not from pain, but from surprise.

Roxanne gasped, her eyes wide for a second, before smiling with that dangerously provocative expression.

"You're more direct than usual... I like it."

Vergil didn't respond with words. He just leaned over her, his eyes now filled with that dark gleam she knew so well — like ancient storms bottled in amber.

And then he kissed her again.

This time with a restrained, almost brutal intensity, as if every second they had spent apart was now being repaid, between teeth and desire. Roxanne arched beneath him, pulling him closer, as if there weren't enough air in the world outside of that moment.

His hands ran confidently over her sides, as if they knew exactly where to touch—not just her body, but her pride, her soul, her points of surrender.

The room was silent. Only the muffled whispers of the city outside and their ragged breathing filled the heavy air.

Vergil rested his forehead against hers for a moment, eyes closed, controlling his rhythm, as if he wanted to engrave that moment in flesh and memory.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to be away from you?" he murmured hoarsely.

Roxanne smiled, her fingers tracing the outline of his face.

"Then don't be."

He kissed her again, as if it were an order. A promise. A fall without regrets.

Vergil's hands slid over the fabric of her dress with a silent reverence—not like someone undressing someone else out of raw desire, but like someone removing a queen's armor.

Roxanne did not pull away. Her eyes stared at him with absolute confidence, surrendering to his touch as if the moment had been written long before they arrived there. The black dress slowly slid down her shoulders, slipping like liquid shadow, revealing skin that seemed to glow in the soft light of the room.

Vergil watched her as if he were facing an ancient spell—something rare, forbidden, and perfectly his.

With a calm gesture, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly. Roxanne wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself be carried away with a soft smile on her lips.

He led her down a side corridor to a frosted glass door that opened with a soft click—revealing the next setting for their private moment: a private room with marble floors, enchanted candles floating in the air, and a large hot tub in the center, bubbling with aromatic steam and soft lights.

Vergil carefully placed her on the edge of the tub, as if she were made of something more precious than flesh and bone.

She laughed softly, her hand moving up his chest, unbuttoning his shirt calmly and provocatively.

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"Only when it comes to you."

He leaned down, kissing her collarbone slowly, letting his fingers trace the line of her spine until they plunged together into the hot, fragrant water.

The steam rose in soft swirls around them, muffling the world, enveloping them in a cocoon of heat, desire, and belonging. No monsters, no war, no prophecy.

Roxanne settled on the edge of the hot tub, the hot water rising in mist around her already bare shoulders. Her damp hair clung softly to her skin, while her eyes followed him with calm intensity—a look that said more than any rehearsed provocation.

Vergil, standing before her, began to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt with the slow, precise movements of someone who carries centuries of control. The garment slid off his broad shoulders and fell silently to the marble floor.

Roxanne bit her lower lip lightly.

Her eyes roamed his body as if it were living art — discreet scars drawing ancient stories on well-defined muscles, skin marked by wars and magic, and at the same time... so absurdly beautiful. He was a rare combination of restrained brutality and dark elegance. A cursed prince she called her own.

"Vergil..." she murmured, her voice carrying that intentional hoarseness. "You should come with a danger warning. Or a 'private property' sign."

He arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I thought you liked danger."

"I am danger," she retorted with a lascivious smile. "But you... you are perdition."

With a calm movement, he undid his belt and let his pants slide to the floor. Roxanne sighed slowly, not hiding her raw admiration and restrained desire. Until she noticed...

"Holy shit... it's fucking huge," she said...