by E J Frost
“That’s real considerate.” The demon props his chin on his thumbs. “Your buddy wasn’t so considerate.”
“He wasn’t my buddy. And I know he did . . . bad things,” I trail off lamely. I don’t know exactly what Justinian did. He boasted on his website of ‘taming’ demonic energies. His partner Denys LeConie claimed to be able to speak Dan-enochian, the language of demons, which is about as Left Path as it gets. And probably isn’t a skill any demon taught him willingly. But I don’t know anything more specific than that. Certainly nothing that should have gotten Justinian killed on sight.
The demon rubs his chin over his thumbs. “Lemme ask you somethin’. You think that just because something don’t have a soul it’s okay to torture it? Stick it in a circle and kill it by slow degrees? You think that’s okay?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
“Demons live on energy. Did you know that? Yeah, I eat, but only because I like how food tastes. I don’t need it. Not like I need the energy of strong emotions. You know what happens if you trap a demon and drain its energy, day after day?”
I shake my head again and swallow hard. I can tell I’m not going to like the answer.
“It starves to death. Just like a person. Slowly and very fucking painfully.”
I rub my hands over my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“That what you were gonna do to me, witchy-poo? ‘Cause that was your buddy’s specialty.”
“No, absolutely not,” I say, hoping he can taste the truth the way he could taste Justinian’s evil. “I didn’t ask him to come here. I just want you to leave me alone.”
The demon watches me for a long moment. “Let’s say I believe you—”
I nod encouragingly.
“And let’s say I decide not to hunt down your little ghost-whispering friend—”
“Wen was only trying to help me.”
“Mmm. I expect you to show some appreciation.”
“Well, you’re already clean, so the licking thing is out.”
The demon sits up and holds out one muscled arm. “Still bleedin’.” He twists his arm, which is cross-crossed with gashes that glimmer wetly in the diffuse light. “You got a sweet tongue.”
I shake my head. The last thing I want – well, other than following Justinian to whichever Hell the demon has sent him – is more of the demon’s blood inside me. “I have healing potions downstairs. I’ll get you one.”
“Boooring,” the demon sing-songs. “Lick me. And weren’t you supposed to be waitin’ for me naked? Lick me naked and we’ll call it even for tonight.”
“No sex?” I ask hopefully.
The demon chuckles. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then remind me what I get out of the whole naked licking thing?”
“I don’t hunt down your friend and eat him. Or that pixie, who’s beginning to piss me off. No more gifts from strange fairies for you.”
I’m not sure why the demon objects to Lilliwhite, or the Squire’s bowl, but I get the picture. He’s found yet another button to push. “Fine. I’ll lick you. But I want to leave my nightgown on.”
The demon beckons with two fingers and I reluctantly crawl out of the covers. “C’mon, witchy-poo. Take that off. I’m barely wearin’ anything.”
Which is the truth, since the towel has bunched around his hips and is leaving very little to the imagination. “You’re a demon.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So . . . so.” I don’t know. I expect demons to be casual about nudity, but maybe he’s not. I just don’t want to bare myself to him. I don’t want him to see all my physical imperfections. I don’t want him to compare my body to all the beautiful women he must have known over the last thousand years. “So I’m human, okay? And I’m not perfect and I don’t use glamor on myself.”
“Glamor don’t work on me. C’mon, I want to see you. I’ve been dying to see what’s under those fucking sacks you wear.” He lifts one corner of the towel teasingly. “I’ll show you mine.”
“I don’t want to see yours,” I snap.
The demon freezes, and I realize I’ve said something really, really wrong.
“Heal this.” He turns away from me and holds out his arm.
I touch him tentatively. Among many smaller cuts that have scabbed over are three long gashes that run from shoulder to elbow, still oozing small beads of the demon’s dark not-blood.
I lift his arm and touch my tongue to the fluid that’s collected around his elbow. His exotic taste fills my mouth.
I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
“Yeah, you did. Never met a human so disinterested.” The demon sighs. “Suck a little before you close ‘em.”
After insulting him, it seems the least I can do. I suck gently at the bottom of the largest gash before licking my way up it. His not-blood trickles down my throat. It burns, like alcohol, and expands warmly in my stomach. I can feel the wounds closing under my tongue. Power trails from my mouth across his skin.
Mmm. That’s better.
I lick my way up his arm, diverting around his triceps to a deep puncture I can feel more than see. I’m at a bad angle for it and my tongue pushes into the wound more than I mean it to.
The demon groans. “Oh, yeah, just like that.”
I should be grossed-out, but there’s no taste of blood, and he’s clearly enjoying it. I smile and, because it seems like the thing to do, bite down on the warm, firm flesh in my mouth.
Power explodes out of my mouth, erupts around my teeth, and sinks deep into his skin.
“Ahh!” The demon’s back arches and then he’s whipping around and pushing me back onto the bed. My nightgown’s up around my waist before I know how it got there and my panties are gone and something huge is pushing into me.
“Stop! Stop, please stop!” It feels like he’s trying to shove both fists into me. He’s going to tear me in half.
He withdraws immediately and flops backwards onto the bed. I sit up slowly, shaking.
“Wha-what . . . ” I look at him. His thing is lying against his stomach. It’s good sized, but doesn’t look that big. Certainly nothing like what was forcing its way into me a moment ago.
“Sorry, sweet meat,” he says. He’s thrown his healed arm over his face. His voice is rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “The dead bitch kept me on a really short leash.”
“Is that . . . ?”
“Yeah. But it’s not supposed to get that big until later on. When you can take it.”
I shake my head. I’m never, ever going to be able to take that.
“Trust me, when you’re ready for it, it feels great. Once you’ve fucked a demon, you’ll never go back.” He blows out a breath and lowers his arm. “I didn’t peg you for the bitin’ kind.”
I shrug. I kind of like biting, and I liked biting him just then. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, but now I'm a little afraid of his reaction.
“So, biting. Anything else?” The demon slides up onto his elbows and looks at me, dark eyes glinting in the low light.
“No,” I say warily.
“C’mon, help me out. We’re about to do it. At least tell me what you like.”
Missionary position. I’m so not admitting this stuff out loud. I know, I know. It’s really boring. But I like it.
Nothing boring about having you under me. Anything else?
I rub my hands over my face. Avoid looking at him. Oral sex. I like giving. Not so much getting. Fingers are okay.
One, two, three? How many you like?
I can’t believe I’m discussing this with him. Even inside my head. Two are the most I’ve done.
Two fingers. Anything else?
Heat burns through my cheeks. I’m not admitting any more. No, that’s it.
Ears. Biting. Me on top. Two fingers. Got it. There’s a long pause during which he watches me. C’mon, sweet meat, ain’t you even gonna ask?
Ask what?
The demon shakes his head. What I like.
/> And it hits me how insensitive I’ve been.
I scoot over until I’m kneeling next to him, looking into his face. “I’m really sorry.”
He doesn’t look at me. Yeah.
“No, really. I’m really, really sorry. I thought you’d just – you know – do whatever you wanted. It didn’t occur to me that you’d want me to, uh—”
He lifts his head. His eyes are so dark they swallow the light. “I’ve fucked hundreds of humans,” he says. “Not one of ‘em’s ever asked. Not one.”
I touch his chest hesitantly, because he seems like he’s about to move away from me, which I should want, but everything’s confused and I’ve hurt him when I didn’t mean to, when he was trying to be nice to me. “What do you like?”
“Everything,” he says, but there’s no resonance to his voice.
I try another tact. “What would you most like me to do, right now?”
A glimmer in the darkness of his eyes. “You mean it?”
“Yes. Tell me what you’d like most, right at this moment.”
“You’ll say no.”
My stomach clenches. Has this been a ploy to get me to offer him my soul? I search his face. There’s no shark’s leer, no calculation. “Try me.”
“I want you to take off that nightgown. Show me all that soft human skin. And I want your mouth on me again. Everywhere.”
My embarrassment at showing him my flaws has vanished along with the wounds on his arm. I pull the nightgown over my head unceremoniously.
“Seduction’s not really your thing, is it, sweet meat?”
I shrug. “No.”
He reaches out and runs his fingertips down the outer curve of my arm. “Soft.” The richness is back in his voice.
I smile tentatively. “Is that what you see?”
“It’s not all I see, but, yeah, what I mostly notice is how soft you are.” He grins. “Now what about that mouth?”
“Where d’you want it?” I ask softly. Seduction may not be my best thing, but I have my moments.
The demon chuckles. “Here.” He tilts his head to the side, stretching his neck and revealing another long gash parallel to his jugular. “One of your bat friends got me.”
I could lean over and lick it closed. Or I could climb on top of him and press the softness he likes so much against him while I do it.
“Would you like me to go on top?”
“For now . . .” A darker, richer chuckle. “Yeah.” He lies back on the bed and holds his hands out to me.
I slide slowly on top of him. Skin on skin. Breasts and belly and thighs rubbing over his. The friction makes me shiver with delight, as does the rush of tingling energy that rises whenever we touch. Under me, the demon groans. His arms close around me, hands splaying across my back and pressing me tight to him. He feels warm and firm, with that sense of muscled, male strength.
“See, sweet meat, isn’t that good?”
“Yes,” I admit in a whisper.
“Knew we’d have some nice chemistry between us if you’d just relax.” He lifts his hips so his erection pushes against me. Everything inside me tightens, heats, swells. Power pools in my stomach.
“I’m, uh, relaxed.”
“Yeah, sure. Mouth, now.”
I oblige him, sliding up enough that I can lower my face into his neck and lick the wound there. Even though he’s just showered, the smell of his skin rushes up to me. Hot spices, musk and the hint of smoke. The taste of his not-blood fills my mouth like a liqueur.
He arches his neck so I can reach the top of the wound. I feel it close under my tongue and keep going, licking along the edge of his jaw, which is inhumanly smooth, over the sharp point of bone, up to his ear.
“Oh, yeah, that’s good. I can see why you like ears,” he murmurs.
I touch the tip of my tongue to his earlobe, feel its smoothness, before sliding my tongue into the warm inner recesses.
He groans, “More.”
I smile against his ear, flick my tongue gently. His hands begin to move on me, sliding up and down my back, over the swell of my ass, down between my legs. “You wanted to keep this under wraps? What a waste.” His long fingers stroke my inner thighs, slip between them.
I gasp into his ear.
“Mmm, you’re wet already.”
His voice, his heat, his fingers rubbing me, his hard length pressed against my thigh. I’m ready. As ready as I’m going to get. “Let me, um, get you a condom.”
“Later.” A dark chocolate chuckle. “Slow down, sweetness. I want that mouth everywhere. One place in particular.” He takes my hand and guides it between us, between his legs. “That chunk you took outta me’s never healed.”
“It hasn’t?” Surprised and curious, I rise off him. Kissing him healed my wrist. I’d assumed it healed him as well. And all the sex he’s had . . . has he been doing it wounded? That must hurt.
“Where’re you goin’?” he protests. “Come back here.” His big hands close around my waist, pull me back onto him.
“I was just going to look at it.”
“Look later. Mouth, now.”
I prop myself up with my hands on either side of his head. “Now?”
“Right now.” He frowns, unconvincingly. Like he’s trying hard not to grin.
I settle onto him, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him, open-mouthed, hot and wanting. He responds like he’s been deprived for years. Eating at my mouth. Holding me tight. Twining his legs around mine.
Power flows between us. Expanding outward from that pool in my belly, laced with his blood. It’s not all one-way this time. It surges through both of us. Flickering like firelight where skin meets skin. His dreadlocks ripple around my hands. I thread my fingers through the furred strands.
He groans into my mouth. More.
Do you like that?
Fuck, yeah.
I give him more. Pulling consciously on that well of energy that opened up in me at puberty. Pushing it into him. He arches under me, muscles swelling and going rigid. His big hands clamp onto my buttocks. Oh, yeah, just like that. Fuck, you got me goin’. I can’t wait anymore, sweet meat.
He rolls me over, one hand under my back to arch me to him, the other still clutching my butt, tilting my hips to the right angle. He pushes into me, thick and hard, but not painfully huge. I take him slowly, wrapping my legs around him, lifting my hips to him. He works his way in and stops when he’s seated all the way inside me. Oh, yeah, that’s good.
Yes, it is. He swells inside me. Filling me to the point where it’s almost too much. To the point where he’s stretching me and it’s beginning to burn and I’m going to have to tell him to stop, and then he eases and it’s perfect. Perfect. He moves in me and I cry out into his mouth with how good it feels.
Give it to me, sweet meat. Don’t hold back.
I don’t. I move with him, meeting him as he thrusts, achingly slow at first. I grip his back, the firm roundness of his ass, clutching him as tight as he clutches me. Kissing him as deep and sweet as he kisses me, the taste of his blood swirling across both our tongues. Sweat slides between us as he thrusts faster. His back grows slick under my hands. He reaches under me, clasping me to him. We’re panting into each other’s mouths, power flaring between us with each breath, each hard thrust.
I’m getting frantic, because I can feel that he’s close. His movements have that heavy, unconscious rhythm that a man gets right before he climaxes. And I’m not quite there yet. My body’s clenching and tightening around his but I’m not quite there. But he doesn’t come. He keeps pounding into me, shoving that perfect heat and fullness into me. And the position does it for me, the hard slamming of his pubic bone against mine pushes me over that straining edge, and my orgasm begins to spread from the outside in, fisting my internal muscles around him.
Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s it, he thinks, and I spare a second to wonder if this feels as good to him as it does to me. Then I have no time to think.
My legs contract aro
und his hips. My feet beat against the backs of his thighs as my body slips out of control. The contractions spread, tightening me around him so much he groans into my mouth and his rhythm falters, but it doesn’t matter because he’s still deep in me, still locked inside my body as I come, writhing and bucking under him. Pleasure explodes behind my eyes and I bite down on his tongue and gulp down his taste while I shudder and convulse with the force of my climax.
He holds me down, pressing me into the mattress, and it’s exactly what I want in that final moment, to be pinned while he forces his body hard against and inside mine, intensifying my orgasm until I’m screaming, shaking, coming helplessly under him.
That’s it, sweet meat. Now. Give it to me now.
I do. Letting go of any control I have. Power explodes out of me, shattering the windows and the mirror across the hallway. Witchlight flashes like lightning. He collapses on me, gasping and gulping down the energy I’ve unleashed, veins glowing under his skin.
I watch the play of light while I remember how to breathe. It’s never been like that before.
Told you, he thinks wearily. Once you’ve fucked a demon, you’ll never go back.
He surprises me by wanting to cuddle afterwards. I don’t have any post-coital expectations, but this I’m not ready for: cuddling with a demon. He got what he wanted. It’s not like it meant anything to him. A feeding. Another in the extremely long line of humans he’s fucked.
But he wants to cuddle. He rolls off me, disposes of the condom that he put on at some point, lies down next to me, and draws me to him. Strokes my back until I relax. It takes a little while to find a comfortable position. He’s big and I’m used to having the bed to myself. Then he puts his arms around me and we fit together like hand and glove.
We lie together under the covers against the cool night air blowing in through the shattered windows. The heat off his skin is like a furnace; it would keep me warm even without the sheets and blankets.
I don’t do windows, he thinks.
I smile sleepily at his thought. I can fix them. I’ve broken windows before doing spells, but not for a couple of years. I’ll have to dig out the mending charm from my great-grandmother’s handbooks.
