How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  “No?” he asked, his mouth next to hers, his hands burning her flesh through her threadbare garment. “What about this?”

  She was in a damned corset again, and all she could think about was his hands getting her out of it, freeing her breasts for his mouth, his tongue and talented fingers. But while she couldn’t breathe, it wasn’t from the growing heat between her thighs. It was from the rocking of the blasted carriage. Each bump pushed her cleavage against her throat.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  The door opened, and Caspian stood there wearing a mask that covered only his eyes. It lent exquisite focus to the perfect lines of his jaw, the sensual curve to his mouth. “Your jewels, my lady . . . or mine!”

  Sweet hell, Grace was done for. The Highwayman Fantasy had been in the spank bank forever. When she watched old episodes of Star Trek, she’d wished for the holo-deck to be real so she could be held up and accosted by a handsome highwayman who was really a disinherited duke trying to right some horrible wrong, the gentleman Jack whose touch ignited ignoble fires and . . .

  Grace could easily see riding Caspian in this carriage, the uneven road helping her bounce up and down on his cock like a pogo stick, but she could only come to the conclusion that he was trying to kill her. Her Kegel muscles couldn’t clench any more, and one of them was about to snap and cause an aneurysm in her brain.

  He grinned wickedly, and she found that her breath was even harder to catch. “So you like this one, do you?”

  Anything to make this torture stop.

  He climbed inside the carriage and knelt before her, shoving her skirts up around her waist. Her pantalets came down, and he pushed his palm against her mound to send frissons of hyperawareness through her entire body.

  “I like it but—”

  “There is no ‘but.’ Just sensation. Just let me pleasure you, Grace,” Caspian whispered, removing his tricorn hat and dipping his head down between her thighs.

  The first touch of his tongue sent shudders of delight through her. Grace got a handful of his hair and pushed him closer, harder, wanting more. She’d known she would. He made a sound in the back of his throat that was almost like a growl, and she felt his tongue do what only it could, gliding into her hot channel while also laving her clit. The imagery this evoked was nothing short of disturbing, but she’d never been able to hold it in her head long enough to let it bother her; the sensation was too delicious to give a damn what exactly was going on.

  Grace spread her legs wider and found that she kind of liked being forced by the corset to control her breathing. It would prolong the pleasure. The great thing about demon sport was that they didn’t have to breathe, so she hoped Caspian knew he was in for a long haul.

  He tongued her honeyed lips, tasting her ever more deeply, echoing her cries as if her pleasure was his as well. Fingers replaced that tongue as he moved up her body to kiss her mouth again.

  Grace could taste the evidence of her pleasure on his lips, and it caused something new to curl inside her. She carefully ran her tongue across Caspian’s upper lip, then tangled it with his as he allowed her to take control. In that moment, she knew what she wanted.

  “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” Caspian growled. “The world, Grace. I’ll give you anything.”

  She was tempted to ask for his soul. He’d said she could have anything.

  But that was unlikely. Instead, Grace chose something else. She was tired of being whisked away to scenic unknowns, bound to walls for this demon’s pleasure. She wanted him to await her pleasure. “I want the power, Caspian,” she said softly, as she broke their kiss. “I want to be in control. I want you at my mercy.”

  “I am, witch. Completely.”

  He silenced her with his mouth and also worked his magick. Her need grew to get closer to him, to make slick contact of heated skin on skin. Except, he’d left her corset on. It held up her breasts and still managed to keep her from breathing.

  With deft fingers, he undid the top laces. He moved to pull away, but she dug her nails into his shoulders to keep him from teasing her more. She knew what she needed.

  She raised her eyes to his and whispered, “You can’t deny me this. How am I in control? Please, Caspian.”

  He watched her for a moment, and then he nodded. The head of his cock slipped between her legs, slipped across her slick folds, through, atop. Slowly. She bucked her hips to force his entry, crying out with need, but he was immutable.

  “You’re beautiful, Grace.” He brushed the pad of a fingertip across her lips, which were swollen from his kisses. “You’re flushed with desire for me and it makes me ache. Your hair is spread as if you were posed, but I know you were not. Your mouth is ripe like summer peaches. You are all I want. I ache for you,” he added, this last coming as if it were a revelation even to himself.

  “Then why don’t you take me?” Grace knew she sounded desperate, that she was reinforcing their tendency to spend all their time rutting like beasts, but it didn’t matter. Not when he was looking at her like that. “I’m yours.”

  His eyes burned with dark flame. That hellfire didn’t frighten her in the least, however; now it spurred her desire. Grace pushed herself up on her elbows and arched her hips, rocked back and sheathed his cock. After a moment, she pulled herself free. She repeated the process, quickly, deftly, dangerously.

  The leather seat where Caspian braced himself began to smoke, little halos rising around his fingers, and he cried out as if in pure bliss. I’m yours. Both of them felt it. Her casual vow burned between them. Her words were inside him like he was inside her, filling her to bursting with his demon cock.

  Grace met his sudden intensity thrust for thrust, and he moved his forearm behind her for support—a move she was coming to love. It helped her arch her body just so, and he always hit a spot that sent waves of pleasure so powerful it was almost pain that spiraled through her. And he never let go until she came.

  She felt herself on the edge of a precipice and realized she was about to do just that. And as usual, this was no “that was nice” type of experience. In fact, this was a “screaming, crying, stars shooting across the sky, I’ve touched the universe and know the meaning of life and this is it” clitoral orgasm that she’d never achieved.

  Grace heard shrieking and realized it was her own voice. She was clinging to Caspian as her body rocked against his, and when she opened her eyes found him watching her with unbreakable intent. He didn’t stop fucking her, though. His movements were slow and in time with the shudders powering through her like aftershocks from an earthquake. And she was still coming. Grace didn’t know how it was possible, but languorous pleasure wrapped tendrils around every one of her limbs and her enjoyment only seemed to be increasing.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, fighting to keep her eyes open.

  “Sharing my pleasure with you. You’re feeling what I feel.” His gaze was dark and deep now, those irises endless pools that had no color, no place in or out of time. He poured his awareness into her: what it was like to want her, what it was like to be inside her, how she looked to him when she declared his ownership of her.

  Grace’s eyes closed once more and she tossed back her head, biting down on her bottom lip as she rode the new sensation with even wilder abandon. It was more than he could take. He spilled the essence of himself, his demon seed rushing forth. The stars exploded inside her.

  Her eyes opened, and Grace stared at her lover. She felt her eyes blazing, and something equally fiery erupted from her back. It bent the doors off the carriage.

  Seeing the fire in her eyes and her new-formed lavender wings, Caspian seemed to be at a loss. “Well, hell.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Disturbance in the Force

  Seraphim knew something wasn’t right. She felt it in her bones.

  Well, she felt something wasn’t right in addition to the fact that she looked like a twenty-two-year-old showgirl from Vegas but in reality was a withered
old crone who liked hot tea and stories. Though, her stories were a bit different from those of most old ladies. And it wasn’t like she was normally a stick in the mud. She refused to get her hair cut short and curled, sit around in a knit pantsuit, and play Yahtzee. If she was acting her age, she would keep her hair long if in a tidy bun, and she would wear Dolce & Gabbana while watching Supernatural and Being Human. She’d really enjoyed Hexed and was heartbroken when it got canceled. It had been very tempting—very tempting, indeed—to work a little gris-gris to get it back into production. She’d consoled herself with True Blood. That Eric Northman tied her knickers in two kinds of knots. That face! Sometime when she was next dream-walking she would—

  A voluptuous redhead bounded through the door like a Newfoundland puppy and interrupted the lascivious journey of her thoughts. She’d have to get back to her Viking dreamboat later.

  “I take it you accomplished Operation Get Grace a—” Seraphim couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Not when it pertained to her granddaughter. She could set a plan in motion, knew what was going on, but she just couldn’t articulate it. There were some things that were simply beyond the realm of acceptable, even if she’d seen similar things going on in her crystal ball. It was just as well that Jill cut her off.

  “No, I did something better.”

  “You got her a man?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Lovely. Now she won’t be pining for that demon.”

  Jill raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. A second later, she looked away.

  “Balls,” Seraphim swore.

  “It was so cute. Really,” Jill assured her.

  “That’s the problem. It’s cute. He’s a demon. She’s a . . .” Seraphim trailed off and gazed into her cauldron. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Uh . . .” Jill was unsure of what she was being asked. Being a demon, she saw nothing in the cauldron but boiling water and odd bits floating in the foam.

  “By the Sulfuric Rod!” Seraphim said.

  “You rang?” Hades was suddenly sprawled on her four-poster bed eating grapes. A strategically placed fig leaf was his only attire.

  Seraphim shook her head. “This is no time for fuckery, Hades. Get over here and look at your granddaughter.”

  The Devil chuckled. “Seraphim, my love, I’m looking at you and envisioning scenarios that have nothing to do with her—except that they might give her an uncle.”

  “You and your quest for a son! You didn’t get one off Persephone, and you’re not planting any more seed in this field. You’re a lousy father. But get over here and survey the predicament of the spawn that we did make.”

  Hades saw Jill and made a big show of sniffing the air around her. “You smell like one of mine, and yet I don’t know you.”

  Seraphim spoke up. “That’s Jill. You gave her to me, remember? I made her.”

  Hades gave the redhead a second glance, then shrugged. “You do good work.”

  “I know that! Now grab your Sulfuric—”

  Hades was at her side in an instant, for he could tell she was really done messing around. He peered over her shoulder and saw his granddaughter in flagrante delicto with the Crown Prince Caspian. It didn’t bother him like he supposed it should. Grandfathers probably weren’t supposed to approve of such actions.

  He said, “Look, I was the first one with my jock in a knot, but I took care of the whole imp problem. We knew Grace would have to summon a demon, you saw it written in her fate. I had a discussion with a certain angel who didn’t want to see our girl baking an infernal bun in the old Eve-oven either. She’s walking a fine line between worlds, but when is love wrong? And she looks happy. Really happy, actually. What are you so upset about?”

  “The wings, Hades. Look at her wings. My mostly human granddaughter has sprouted wings like a goddamn fairy,” Seraphim snapped.

  “Or a Crown Princess of Hell,” Hades offered.

  Jill sighed. “I can’t see.”

  Hades puffed his chest out like a cockatiel. “They’re very pretty, of course. They would be. She’s my granddaughter.” He seemed very pleased with himself, as if he wanted to share his accomplishment with everyone. As if he’d done anything but give her grandmother the old in-and-out.

  “Here.” He gave Jill the gift of magick sight so she could see.

  “Ooh, lovely,” the redhead cooed.

  Seraphim slapped his hand. “Stop that. You can’t just go around gifting any demon you please with whatever you—”

  “Why not? I’m the Devil!”

  “Stop interrupting me,” she snapped. “You just can’t.”

  “Again: why not, Seraphim?”

  She sighed; a great, put-upon sound. “Because I said so. That’s why,” she answered, just to be done with it.

  He smirked. The smirk blossomed into an honest grin, which was rather frightening on his particular countenance. And then Seraphim realized that she was caught.

  “Never make a deal with the Devil,” she grumbled.

  Jill was at a loss, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was going on. “I don’t understand.”

  “I made a bet with this arsebag a long time ago that I would never say that. It was in reference to our daughter, but I didn’t specify who I’d never say it to. He bet me I would, and . . .”

  “So, what do you have to do?”

  Hades answered. “She has to marry me.”

  “The Devil can get married?”

  “Why not? She’ll be my consort.”

  “Which I don’t want. I’m the Baba Yaga. I have my own job. I’m busy here.” Seraphim turned back to her cauldron.

  “With what?” Hades asked. “Meddling in our granddaughter’s life? She thinks you’re dead, old woman. Let it go.”

  “And leave her all alone in the world? Have you lost your mind?”

  “She’s not alone. She has Caspian. He’ll take care of her. You’ll see.”

  Seraphim sneered. The Devil he certainly was—full of trickery and empty promises. He was predicting this as if he had some control over the outcome. “Just the other day you were shitting blue kittens because Caspian demanded sex in payment from Grace. Now you’re farting sunshine?” Suddenly suspicious, she turned her attention back to him. “What did you do?”

  “Caspian has grown a heart, my love. He’ll be fine. Grace will be fine. They will be fine together, and we can get on about our business.”

  “What about Michael?” Seraphim asked.

  “I’ve got that covered,” Jill spoke up. “I won’t disappoint you.” A whip appeared, and she cracked it with vicious precision. Hades flinched, but it would only be visible to someone watching a slow-motion instant replay.

  “Okay, but there’s still the problem of the jetliner wings hanging off of my granddaughter’s back. Not to mention that they’re lavender. How did that happen?”

  Hades shrugged.

  “Oh, and you say this demon grew a heart? Well, what’s he going to do with it—eat it? The thing’s not going to last long. He’ll have to become a human. And when, when is Grace going to come to her senses about Michael’s curse making her think she has a son? How will—”

  “Look, I told you. It’s already taken care of. You’re such a doubting Dolly. Caspian will earn his humanity. He chose demonhood, but his heart will choose humanity.”

  “Like I already said, what’s he going to do with it?”

  “Trade it, of course.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Woman, you’ve seen The Godfather, right? Don’t ask me about my work,” he replied, a smug look on his face.

  Hades bent her back over the cauldron before she could say anything else and kissed her desperately. Or at least it seemed desperate to Jill. He was the Devil, though. Maybe he was just desperate to shut her up.

  “Woman, will you just trust me? It’s handled.”

  “Never trust a man who—”

  Seraphim’s mouth was once again occupied
. The Devil quite literally had her tongue.

  Petru was lost. He hadn’t seen Sasha in two days, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Sasha had claimed he was going to see the woman of his heart, that she was in trouble and needed Sasha to save her, but he’d promised to be back that night. He hadn’t come back. Grigorovich hadn’t seemed to notice and had asked nothing about the other man’s whereabouts.

  At first it had been okay. Petru had used the microwave, even though Sasha didn’t like him to use it by himself, but he’d been so hungry. He’d warmed up some chicken stew that the nice neighbor woman brought over from next door. She was a nice girl. It was true, she was a witch like Nadja Grigorovich, but she didn’t do bad things. She didn’t hurt people. And any woman who could cook like his mother had to be touched with something divine.

  Her husband had died in service to the Vasilyevs, taking bullets for Ivan, who allowed her to keep the apartment because of that. Otherwise, she’d now be working off debts on her back with clients of Michael Grigorovich’s choice, rather than the ones she currently served to keep food on the table. Petru wasn’t smart, but he knew how the world worked. He also knew that Sasha gave her things from time to time, and in return she brought them pies and cookies, roasts and casseroles.

  He’d thought for a while that Sasha would make her his girlfriend, but the girl didn’t exactly seem up for it. Petru would have been glad to have such a wonderful lady. She was pretty and a fantastic cook. Her apartment was always warm and smelled a bit like home. But while Petru did whatever he was told around her, he feigned disinterest because he didn’t want her to feel forced into anything she didn’t want. She seemed to have been truly in love with her husband.

  Petru knew he wasn’t handsome or smart. He didn’t have much to offer a woman—nothing besides the security of having a man who wasn’t afraid to work. But he would have been good to her. He kept the values and traditions of his family. He demanded respect and fidelity. Women were respected, cared for. They didn’t go out and work, they worked in the home. Unless they had no other options.