My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 651

Capítulo 651: Contract

Underworld, December 21, 2025. Four days before the Celestial Tournament.

In one of the most luxurious buildings in the Underworld capital, the night stretched slowly and comfortably.

Vergil was reclining on a sofa that was too long to be merely decorative, his body relaxed as if finally having a rare moment of pause. A pink-haired woman rested beside him, using her thighs as a pillow, her face tilted towards him with a satisfied smile—the kind that doesn’t ask for attention, but knows it has it.

“I understand what you want,” Paimon said, her voice heavy with feigned resignation as she lazily traced circles on his chest with her fingertips. “But you know that getting these things is damn expensive, right?”

She made a slight pout, deliberately exaggerated.

“And it’s not even for me to use,” she added indignantly. “That should be a crime.”

Vergil chuckled softly and calmly ran his fingers through her pink hair, an intimate and automatic gesture. “I know, my dear,” she replied, in a tone too calm for someone asking dangerous favors. “But I really need these things.”

Paimon closed her eyes for a moment, sighing as if fighting her own conscience.

“Damn it…,” she murmured. “I can’t just take this from Amon’s safe. Ginseng is ridiculously expensive.” She opened her eyes slowly. “We’ll have to make a contract.”

The look she gave him next wasn’t professional.

It was provocative. Too aware of the effect it had.

Vergil raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sure. Go ahead,” he said. “Where do I sign?” — the light tone made it clear it was a joke.

Paimon rested her elbow on the sofa and looked down at him, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he replied with the same calm. “And I know you wouldn’t do anything that would really harm me.”

She remained silent for a few seconds, studying him. Then she sighed, surrendering.

“You’re unfair,” she finally said. “It barely touched me… and yet I’m already here, seriously thinking about arranging impossible things for you.”

Vergil tilted his head slightly. “Hey, I’ve kissed you a few times.”

Paimon chuckled softly.

“Too few,” she murmured. “You could kiss me more. Touch me more. Tease me more.” She moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper laden with intention. “Sometimes it seems like you do it on purpose.”

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself—without much success.

“…Do you realize the effect you have on me?” she finished, with a slow, dangerously honest smile.

Paimon moved with too much naturalness for someone who claimed to be trying to compose herself.

She rose slowly, her knees pressing against the sofa for a moment before settling into Vergil’s lap, her weight light and calculated. His legs were trapped between hers, and the smile she wore now was no longer playful—it was warm, direct, dangerously close.

She put an arm behind his neck, her fingers sliding down the nape of his neck intimately enough to elicit a restrained shiver. Her other arm rested on the back of the sofa, maintaining her balance as she leaned forward.

Vergil didn’t move.

Not to push her away.

Not to pull her closer.

He simply watched her intently, his clear eyes following her every move as if assessing a carefully thought-out move.

Paimon brought her lips close to his ear, her voice descending into a warm whisper, laden with intent.

“I’m on fire…” she murmured, “But I’m all wet down here.”

The air between them seemed to thicken.

Vergil let out a slow sigh—not of discomfort, but of control. One of his hands rose and landed firmly on her waist, enough to hold her there, enough to let her feel his presence.

“Paimon,” he said softly, his calm tone contrasting with the intense closeness. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

She laughed softly, resting her forehead against his for a moment, her pink hair falling like a curtain between them.

“Of course I know,” she replied, without denying it. “I always know.” Her eyes sought his, gleaming with that dangerous mixture of desire and defiance.

“And you,” she continued provocatively, “also know you could stop me… if you wanted to.”

Vergil held her gaze for a few seconds that were too long to be casual.

Then, with a calm gesture, he pulled his face away slightly just enough to speak clearly.

“And you know,” he replied, “that I don’t make contracts under emotional pressure.”

Paimon made a theatrical face, but didn’t move away. On the contrary, she settled in more comfortably, as if she were determined to make the negotiation as difficult as possible.

“Then consider this,” she murmured, with a slow smile, “an… extra motivation.”

“I already have enough motivation,” Vergil replied, “But first, business.”

“Right. Sign.” Paimon’s voice came out firm, almost solemn—and yet, still carrying that provocative tone that never completely left her.

A pink magic circle opened in the air between the two, soft runes swirling like petals of light. From it emerged a floating scroll, the ancient paper pulsing with living demonic energy.

“You have too strong a soul,” she continued, analyzing it with an experienced gaze. “It can’t be sold. It can’t be fragmented. It can’t be pawned.” She made a brief pout, as if it were a technical inconvenience. “Then I’ll put something else in its place.”

The runes began to rewrite themselves.

It wasn’t the original contract.

It was something new.

Vergil narrowed his eyes slightly. “What did you put down as payment?”

“Nothing much,” Paimon replied, too casually for someone meddling with the fundamental laws of the Underworld. “Just a bond with me.”

He arched his eyebrows.

He watched her for a few seconds—searching for hesitation, trickery, a trap.

He found nothing.

Paimon was… fine. Confident. Sure of her decision.

Vergil sighed.

“Very well.”

He bit the tip of his finger, a drop of blood trickling slowly. With a simple gesture, he touched the parchment and signed.

The contract glowed intensely in pink, the same shade as Paimon’s power. The runes set with a dry snap—definitive.

For a brief instant, something beneath her black dress also glowed, an ancient, intimate symbol… and then vanished as if it had never existed.

The parchment began to burn on its own, turning to ashes of light that dissipated into the air.

Vergil felt it. Not pain.

Not weight.

But… something different.

He placed his hand on his chest, frowning. “Hm?” He murmured, assessing his own essence. “My soul… has grown larger?”

No.

That wasn’t it.

It was something else.

A thread.

A deep red thread, invisible to ordinary eyes, but too clear to him. It connected his heart directly to another point—too familiar to ignore.

He had seen it before.

When Katharina, Ada, and Roxanne signed the master-servant contract.

But this…

This was different.

More intimate.

Deeper.

Mixed with something he knew very well.

Vergil slowly raised his gaze.

“…You didn’t do it.”

Paimon smiled.

A satisfied smile. Triumphant.

“I did.”

A heavy silence fell for a second.

Vergil ran a hand over his face and sighed. “You could have warned me sooner,” he said, without anger—just weariness. “This is going to cause me a lot of trouble.”

She shrugged, unconcerned.

“You only had to ask,” he added. “I wouldn’t have refused.”

Paimon winked.

Then laughed.

“Ah, Vergil… you were playing with my feelings.” She approached, her gaze sharp, confident. “And I’m too old a demon to be waiting.”

She snapped her fingers.

The contract reappeared in the air, now with additional seals—gold, pink, absurdly formal.

“Demonic contract? Not at all.” She shook the parchment with satisfaction. “I updated it.”

Vergil read it.

Once.

Twice.

“…This is a—”

“A marriage contract,” Paimon finished proudly. “Signed. Sealed. Recognized by the laws of the Underworld.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head.

“Then I’ll call you husband from now on,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Since you signed the papers… everything’s fine.”

Vergil was silent for a few seconds.

Then he sighed. Again. “…You’re impossible.” Paimon smiled even more.

Paimon moved first.

With a slow, deliberate gesture, she slid her fingers to the clasp of her black dress. The fabric fell over her shoulders with the same naturalness with which she took control of everything around her—elegant, confident, dangerously comfortable being desired.

Underneath, dark lingerie contrasted with her pale skin, designed to provoke without needing permission. Long stockings held up by thin straps accentuated every curve as she took a step forward. She smiled.

A smile that didn’t ask for approval—it merely confirmed the obvious.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked, her voice low and warm.

Before he could answer, Paimon took the initiative, guiding his hand to her waist. The touch was firm, real, and he made sure to maintain contact there, as if to say, “Don’t run away from this.”

Vergil stared at her.

There was no surprise in his gaze. There was attention. Focus. The same absolute presence he had in battle—now turned entirely towards her.

Paimon tilted his head, drawing close enough for his breath to mingle with hers.

“I’m still on fire,” he murmured. “And you know it.”

She gripped his hand tighter, pulling it closer, her gaze fixed on his, intense, determined.

“Are you going to leave it like this…” a slow smile appeared on her lips, “or are you going to put it out?”

The answer didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

‘This woman… I was going to leave her for later… but she’s irresistible.’ He said, lifting his hand and cupping her face, he slipped his thumb into her mouth and she began to suck.

“Hmm,” she said between the wet slurps of her sucking. Vergil could already feel her panties starting to leak.

“You little minx,” Vergil said.

“Are you complaining? I feel something hard hitting my pussy,” she said, smiling.