Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I hadn’t realizedhow hungry I was until the gremlins brought me lunch—or was that dinner? I’d lost track of time—and after freshening up a little to get the hellhound slobber off my face, I spent the next hours doing yoga and generally just chilling on whatever available soft surface in my rooms.

This day had been a lot. I’d gone crazy with boredom before, but after the events of the past twenty-something hours, I was grateful for the quiet and relaxation of my suite.

I’d just cracked open a book, vegging out on one of the couches, when a knock sounded from the door. Frowning, I snapped the book shut and eyed the door.

That was new. No one had ever really bothered to knock before, they just threw the door open and strode in, be it Azazel, the gremlins, or Azmodea.

The knock came again, and I realized I’d probably have to separate my bum from the couch to let in whoever had manners enough to wait for my acknowledgment of their presence.

With a sigh, I heaved myself up and trotted over to the door, pulled it open and blinked at the foreign demon on the other side.

“I’m here to take you to your rooms,” the unknown male said, his brown hair shifting as he bowed his head.

It took me a moment to fully grasp his words. “But...these are my rooms.”

“Not anymore,” the demon replied.

The sound of tiny feet padding on the stone floor, and then a veritable horde of gremlins flowed past him, past me—I had to jump to the side to not be overrun—and into the room. They swarmed around and proceeded to grab whatever they could get their hands on, throwing it into the bags and boxes they carried.

“Hey!” I cried. “That’s my stuff.”

“Lord Azazel has given the order to relocate you,” the demon said, drawing my attention to him again. “Your belongings will be packed up and moved as well. If you’ll follow me.” He stepped back and gestured into the hallway.

I hesitated, my mind jumping to the one item I sure wouldn’t want anyone else to touch and move. I was halfway to the bedroom when I remembered…I’d left it lying on the counter in Azazel’s bathroom.

Good Lord, I had to get it back. Somehow. Without asking him for it.

If only I could summon, dammit!

Face burning, I turned back to the demon, cleared my throat and said, “All right. Lead the way.”

My simmering suspicion of maybe being relocated to the fabled dungeons after all—Azazel’s recent behavior suggested otherwise, but who knew with that capricious demon—evaporated with every staircase we ascended on our way to my new lodging. With this much climbing, I sure didn’t need exercise anymore today. Although I might have to keep up some form of it, judging by the way I gasped for breath soon.

My demon guide threw me a glance. “Do you need a break?”

He was utterly ungasping, the fiend. His breath hadn’t even sped up a little.

“I’m fine,” I wheezed. The rattle in my lungs painted me a liar.

He raised a brow and stopped, leaning against the hallway wall at the top of the stairs we’d just cleared.

“No, no,” I panted, clinging to the handrail. “We can...keep going.”

“If you collapse,” he said and crossed his arms, “Lord Azazel will skewer me.”

“Like, literally?”

Expression sinister, the demon nodded. “I have strict orders not to touch you, so if you fall and I need to carry you, I’ll end up on a stick.”

I blinked, and an image of those damn, pinned wings flashed across my inner eye. “Okay,” I said weakly and slid down until my butt hit the top step of the stairs. Gesturing at myself, I said, “This is not collapsing, just for the record. I’m admiring the masonry.” I stroked the stone and nodded appreciatively. “Such great craftsmanship. Very fine work.”

Something like the hint of a smile flitted across the demon’s face. Like Hekesha, he was armed to the teeth, his clothes fit for battle.

“So, while we’re waiting for me to finish my assessment of the workmanship of these stairs,” I said, still catching my breath, “maybe you can help me answer some questions.”

His expression became guarded. “Within reason.”

“Okay, so, first off, what’s your name?”

“Caleb.”

“Nice to meet you, Caleb. I’m Zoe.” I waved. “Now, what’s with all these weapons? I noticed Hekesha was packing as well, but Azazel and Azmodea weren’t. Neither was Zaquiel. Is it because you’re a guard?”

He stiffened. “Lord Azazel and his peers are full-blood demons.”

Oh, crap. I’d blundered the titles, hadn’t I? It was probably an unimaginable affront to use Azazel’s name without his honorific, even when he wasn’t present…or at least it would be inappropriate for someone lower in status than him, which I would be as his pet.

Rubbing my nose, I amended, “My lord and master, of course. Wait—so you’re…”

“Half-blood.” A glimmer of defiance in his brown eyes.

And Hekesha likely was one as well. Interesting.

“Were you born on Earth?”

A slow nod.

“Did you grow up there?”

“Until my powers came in.”

“And then you came to live down here?”

His mouth twisted with a sardonic smile. “Came. Dragged.” He shrugged. “Semantics.”

“Oh.” I fidgeted with the seam of my tank top. “How...how does it work, with half-bloods? Don’t you have a choice?”

“Generally, no. Especially not when you accidentally set your home on fire, with your human mother in it.”

I covered my mouth with one hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“We should go.” He pushed off the wall and sauntered down the hallway.

Hurrying after him, I bit my lip. I probably shouldn’t pry further, given the delicacy of the topic, but I had to know. “Is Az—Lord Azazel your father?”

He threw a glance at me over his shoulder. “No.”

Silence hung between us for a few steps.

Caleb’s quiet words startled me. “I’d have fared better if he were.”

I swallowed. “I take it you and your father didn’t get along.” Something twisted in my chest. “I can relate to that.”

“Half-bloods,” he said after a moment, “aren’t valued as highly as full-blood offspring. We’re weaker than demons, so we’re used for menial labor instead of more important tasks. Some see a certain worth in us, since we’re not bound to Hell the same way demons are, and can stay on Earth indefinitely to work there on our sire’s behalf.” A pause heavy with old pain. “And some see us as little more than slaves to be whipped around.”

I cringed. Okay, as far as daddy issues went, mine were a blip on the radar compared to his. “How did you end up in Lord Azazel’s service?”

“My father is of lower rank and indebted to Lord Azazel himself. So Lord Azazel conscripted me, as is his right as lord of this demesne.” His eyes met mine for a second. “And I thank Lucifer every day for that conscription.”

Even with the threat of being skewered if he disobeyed a direct order. Oof, his father really had to be a monster.

“A—Lord Azazel mentioned half-bloods have some powers,” I ventured. “Do you?”

In answer, he lifted his hand, and a flame erupted from his palm. He let it dance over his arm then back to his hand, where he extinguished it with a snap of his fingers.

“That is so cool,” I whispered.

The ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Can you summon?”

He grimaced. “It goes wrong more often than it works.”

“Oh?”

“I end up getting a different object, or it appears not in my hand but…other places.”

I pressed my mouth into a tight line to keep from laughing. “That sounds…aggravating.”

“Very much so.” Amusement whispered behind his stony expression.

He stopped in front of a door, threw it open and waved me inside.

Alrighty, so these were to be my new quarters? Unsure what to expect, I entered—and stopped short at the understated luxury that greeted me. As spacious as any one of Azazel’s in his personal suite, the room spreading out in front of me featured plush purple carpet on the stone floor, finished walls painted a soothing shade of lilac, and an assortment of white couches and comfy chairs.

More than that, though, there was a window in the far wall. An honest-to-God—or would that be honest-to-Lucifer?—window. Gaping, I headed right for it, halting in front of the floor-to-ceiling pane of glass showing the spectacle of dusky sky churning with flashes of violet lightning outside. Of course, the obligatory bars covered the window, same as in Azazel’s bedroom and the huge panoramic window wall I’d seen in the hall before the inferni got on my tail.

“If you need anything,” Caleb said, pulling me out of my contemplation, “use this plaque here, or the mirror over there.”

I turned, my brows drawing together. “Mirror?”

He pointed at the wall to my left, and indeed, an ornate, black-framed mirror hung there.

“How does it work?” At his surprised expression, I added in a drawl, “My magic mirror skills are a bit rusty, sorry.”

“You draw a sigil on it, and it calls the recipient you intend to reach. If they’re close to a sibling of this mirror, they may accept the call and you’re connected.”

A sigil. I uttered a dry laugh. So anytime I wanted to make a call, I’d have to bleed. Splendid.

“Thanks,” I said to Caleb. “Just to refresh my memory, could you draw me the correct sigil?”

“Sure.” His gaze roamed the room, likely in search of something to write on. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and held out his hand.

“What are you—”

A banana appeared in his palm.

He swore and put the fruit on the nearest table.

“It’s…longish,” I said with a nod, trying hard to choke back my laughter.

Narrowing his eyes, he held up a finger. “One more try.”

“Okay.”

He closed his eyes again, his forehead wrinkling…and winced when something small hit him in the face. With another curse, he caught the pen before it fell to the ground.

“I am not even going to attempt to summon a piece of paper,” he said, his voice a warning growl.

“A wise decision,” I agreed sagely. “Just scrawl it on the wall next to the mirror.”

That done, he handed me the pen and inclined his head. “I’ll be off, then. It was nice meeting you, Zoe.”

“See you around.” I waved as he headed out the door, then turned to inspect the rest of the suite.

A hallway to the right of the main door to the suite led to more rooms, each one as large as my entire apartment in San Francisco. There was a library—a veritable library, with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books, and comfy reading furniture—and next to it another exercise room with more equipment, like a private mini gym.

I entered the room one door down and gaped at a bathroom that could rival Azazel’s in size and luxury, only the color scheme here seemed the opposite of his. Silver marble with black veins. And—this one featured a tub in addition to a shower. Sunk into the floor, it had steps leading down into its basin, already filled with steaming water.

Well, hello there.

I’d be sure to check this one out later, in thorough detail.

My gaze fell on the toilet—another Japanese model, minus the name I’d scrawled on the other one in my previous rooms. I smirked.

One more door led from the hallway, and it opened into a spacious bedroom with another panoramic—albeit barred—window in one wall. The lightning flashing through the pane illuminated the generous bed, decked out in pillows and silken sheets in shades of blue, scattered with silver embroidery.

The rest of the room held your typical sleeping quarters furniture—armoire, dresser, nightstands, as well as a full-length mirror.

There was another door beside the bed, unobtrusively set into the wall. Probably a closet. I opened it to make sure—and my jaw fell to the floor.

Azazel’s bedroom stretched out before me. I stalked into the room—which lay empty in semi-darkness, its owner still out on business, apparently—and checked the wall where the door connected this to my own room. I was certain that wall had been bare before, no sign of a door or anything leading to another room.

Now it looked like the connection had always been there.

Well, damn.

I’d been miffed that he’d parked me in those faraway quarters at the literal bottom of his house, his initial intention to ignore me clear in the location, and now this. He’d practically moved me into his suite.

Sure, there was a door separating us, and I was certain he’d never use that door unless I invited him to. Given everything I’d learned about him so far, he wouldn’t steamroll over my consent and take liberties without my permission. This was still my private space, and I could shut him out if I wanted to.

But that door was there. Right there. A tempting reminder of his now openly declared interest.

I narrowed my eyes and sucked my teeth. Yeah, this was likely more for me than for him. He was good at that, wasn’t he? Not manipulation, per se, but arranging pieces in a way that would lead to certain conclusions. A cleverly set-up playing field.

Every time I’d see that door, I’d think of him, knowing what lay just beyond it. And my bed stood against the very wall separating our rooms, with his bed in the same spot on the other side. I’d go to sleep with the knowledge that he’d lie stretched out on those silken black sheets only a few feet from me, and that stone wall between us would melt in my unruly mind.

Did he sleep naked?

Goddammit, it already started!

My fingers itched to glide over his mattress, my nose all too eager to be pressed once more into his pillow, soak up his scent. I’d seen him without clothes, and now my brain helpfully conjured up that exact image and planted it on the huge bed, between those rumpled sheets, all that glorious bronze skin over taut muscles, a sensual, inviting smile on his lips as he grasped his cock—

I whirled around and stalked back to that blasted connecting door, fuming. At him, at myself. At the low-pulsing desire persistently eroding all good sense.

Almost through the door, I paused, pursed my lips. My gaze flicked to the door to his bathroom.

He wasn’t the only one who could play.

I snatched my vibrator from where it still lay on the vanity countertop and marched back to his bed. My clothes hit the floor, and then I hit the sheets, making sure to rub my now naked self generously over his mattress. With a sigh, I set the vibrator between my thighs, my intimate flesh already wet and swollen.

Demons had a superior sense of smell, didn’t they?

I grinned and got down to business.

It didn’t usually take long for me to get off with my vibe. Depending on my state of arousal, sometimes as little as two minutes. I’d be back in my own suite in no time.

Lying there, in Azazel’s bed, utterly naked with my legs spread wide, did give me an extra thrill, heightened the excitement pulsing through me. The suite lay silent, just my quickened breathing and the hum of the vibrator.

The possibility of discovery amped up my adrenaline, even though it was unlikely I’d be taken unawares completely—the vibe was extra quiet and wouldn’t drown out the sound of someone making an entrance. The door to the next room was ajar, and I’d hear it if anyone came in, would see the lights flaring in the rest of the suite.

I could be out of this bed and behind the connecting door in seconds.

I’d be fine, and Azazel would have a nice olfactory surprise waiting for him.

Biting my lip, I closed my eyes for a moment and pressed the vibe down on my clit. Pleasure zinged through me. My toes curled, grasped the sheets, and my hips lifted off the mattress.

The image of Azazel in all his naked glory flashed through my mind. His hand squeezing his cock. That gleam of hunger in his eyes as he looked at me. In my imagination, he stroked the length of his dick, slowly, tantalizingly, while he prowled closer, closer…

I thought of those sensual lips of his on my skin, on my breasts, licking and sucking like he’d done during the meeting, only now no lace—however flimsy—separated the heat of his mouth from my nipples.

A quick glance to the door in the wall in front of me, leading to the next room, and the window to the balcony confirmed I was still alone.

I laid my free hand on my breast, squeezed and teased the tight, sensitive bud.

Desire curled in my core, the pressure mounting. I was close, so close.

“I would ask if you’re thinking of me…”

I froze at the familiar voice, the purred question coming from my left, followed by the snick of a door falling shut.

“...but you’re projecting quite beautifully already.”

Heart thundering, I turned my head.

Wreathed in shadows, Azazel leaned with one shoulder against the now closed door to my suite—the door I hadn’t monitored, so sure he’d come back either from the balcony to my right, or the door to the rest of his suite in the wall opposite the bed.

The vibrator buzzed between my thighs. My hand was still on my breast, fingers pinching my nipple.

His eyes flashed lightning in the semi-darkness.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“That can be arranged.” His voice was lust wrapped in sin, his power drenching the room.

My inner muscles clenched, the ache growing only stronger for the lack of something to clench around. I couldn’t wrench my gaze away from Azazel’s, couldn’t move, my hand clutching that damn vibe. Its incessant, persistent buzzing reinforced the throbbing around my clit.

If I shifted it just a little, pressed down right there...I’d come apart. The wave hovered, crested, a heartbeat away from breaking.

The vibrator disappeared.

One moment I held its weight, the hum of its motor massaging my flesh, the next my hand was empty. My fingers twitched around nothing.

Because I was still holding Azazel’s gaze, I saw in clear, excruciating detail how he lifted his hand—now grasping my vibe—up to his face and inhaled. The shadows surrounding him deepened while his eyes flared with silver fire.

I made a sound close to a whimper.

That spot between my thighs, primed and ready, wet and waiting, almost hurt because of the abrupt abandonment, the lack of pressure.

“Need a hand?” The timbre of his voice stroked me as much as a physical caress.

I trembled. Yearned.

“I’ve got two,” I whispered, clueless where that sass came from at this moment. “But thanks.”

And as if all my good sense had made a nosedive into reckless territory, I lowered my fingers until they pressed against my clit.

He was on me before I could draw my next breath.

Grasping my wrists, he shoved my arms above my head, his large frame looming over me as he straddled me. The mattress dipped with his weight. His power pulsed in the air, making my heart stutter.

And yet he didn’t touch me anywhere other than to hold my wrists in place.

The stark juxtaposition of him still fully clothed while I quivered naked underneath him did something delicious to my insides.

“When you’re in my bed,” he murmured, the dominant glint in his eyes pinning me as effectively as his hold on my wrists, “you will not come by your own touch.”

I swallowed, my mouth gone dry. I had to push him, didn’t I?

“If you want release,” he continued, his thumbs now rubbing over my pulse points, “you either leave this bed and get off in your own, alone...”

I squirmed, my skin too tight, too hot.

“...or you stay…” His gaze burned me. “...and ask me to take care of you.”

My breaths sawed in and out of me.

“What’s it going to be, Zoe?”

God help me.

That knife’s edge on which I balanced. It would cut me deep.

“Leave, or stay?”

My choice, my choice, my…

I inhaled on a tremble, licked my lips, and rasped, “Stay.”

A beat of silence, the tension between us prickling to the point of pain. Then he smiled, a genuine, brilliantly seductive smile that warmed his eyes and made my stomach flip.

“Good.” How this one word, said in a timbre that hummed over every sensitive, touch-hungry part of my body, could encompass so much pleasure was beyond me. And yet it plucked a chord inside me, made me melt a little more in his grasp.

I stared at him, expectantly, anticipating, every nerve ending tuned in to his presence. My clit still craved pressure, craved touch, wanted what he could give me. What he’d promised.

He remained unmoving, just held my gaze as surely as he held my wrists pinned over my head. Waiting, I realized.

I huffed out a breath. “You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

A sly smile was his answer, followed by the slightest brush of his energy over my breasts. I shivered, shifted, trying to chase that touch. In vain, of course, as it was as tangible as breath.

“Unfair,” I muttered. My chest heaved as I inhaled and gave him what he was waiting for. “Make me come.”

He raised a brow.

“Please,” I added with a smile that bordered on a fierce declaration of war.

Amusement danced in his eyes. “You make an art form out of spiteful surrender.”

“You seem to enjoy it.”

His lips twitched upward. “Fingers,” he asked, “mouth, or cock?”

My toes curled, and I pressed my thighs together against the flare of lust shooting straight down to my core. “All of it,” I whispered. “In that order.”

His soft laugh was at odds with the feral look on his face. “Greedy, much?”

“Don’t tell me you’re not up for it.” I should really stop poking at him. I would.

Soon. Ish.

“Hm.” One corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes flashing.

Wait, I knew that look. He was up to someth—

He’d flipped me over before I could so much as squeak. My over-sensitive nipples met the mattress, my throbbing mound brushed the sheets, and I bit back a moan as I turned my head, my hair half-obscuring my sight.

Still holding my wrists with one hand, he pressed me into the bed with the full length of his body at my back, stretching out on top of me. The fact I could still breathe spoke to him balancing part of his weight somewhere else. If he truly, fully lay on top of me, I’d be a breathless pancake on the bed, I was sure.

“Does this feel,” he murmured into my ear, “like I’m not up to it?”

And to make his point indisputably clear, he pushed his hips down, shoving the part of him that was most obviously up for it against my ass.

My breath hitched, and fresh desire pooled between my legs. Made me push back against the hardness of his cock, even though he was still in those damn pants.

“Why,” I panted, “are you still dressed?”

A heavy pause, as if he was contemplating the very same question.

“Patience,” he said at last, and the word rang with enough sensual menace that I whimpered.

“That’s a virtue,” I pointed out, as he stroked one hand down my side, skimming the curve of my breast and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’re a demon.”

“Astutely observed.”

“You have no business being virtuous,” I snapped.

He bit my neck. Pleasure shot like lightning down my spine. My back arched, my hips angling back. I pushed against him, desperate for more pressure, more touch…for him to finally penetrate me, whether by finger, tongue, or cock. I didn’t care. I just needed to feel him inside me. Some part of him.

“Please,” I groaned, way past caring that my begging had turned real.

He hummed against my neck in response, a sound so smugly satisfied, so full of masculine arrogance that it would have raised my hackles...had he not licked and suckled on the exact spot where he bit me, sending more torturous pleasure coursing through my veins.

His hand stroking down my side slid under me, wedged between the mattress and my abdomen...lower.

I trembled, my stomach muscles tightening.

His fingers grazed the top of my mound, ran through the trimmed hair...skimmed around my swollen clit.

A sound that was half gasp, half moan escaped me.

He hissed as he touched my labia, slick with my arousal. “So wet.”

My answer was another moan as I arched into his hand. Yes. Yes, please. More.

He pushed two fingers inside me, pumped deep while he pressed the heel of his hand against my clit. My breath caught, my pulse stumbling. The heat within me built, built, built.

He added a third finger, pushed hard against a spot inside. I stiffened, teetering on the edge.

His teeth on my neck again, sharp points of pain that zapped through me, mingled with the mounting pleasure—and I shattered.

A cry wrenched itself from my throat. I bucked and writhed, a firestorm of bliss coursing through me.

Before I even came down from the height of my climax, he’d pulled up my hips so I was on my knees—my upper body and face still sprawled on the mattress, but my ass in the air—and then his mouth was on me.

I gasp-squeaked and jolted at the heat of his tongue on my intimate, swollen flesh. A rumble sounded from him, the kind of fierce, hungry growl you’d hear before a lion feasted.

And feast he did.

He licked and sucked, his tongue flicking and teasing, stroking my folds and spearing into me. A sensual ambush of lips and tongue and teeth with the ferocity of a starved, wild creature.

Good God, I’d never been eaten out like this.

Going with the dining metaphor, all of my other oral encounters now seemed like listless poking at food compared to this...this...ravenous devouring. Azazel went all in, no holds barred, with a devotion to raw, unbridled, passionate oral worship that made every muscle in my body quiver and quake.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, my fingers grasping the sheet. “Ohgodohgodohg—”

Dark power rippled over me, charged the air with a lick of menace just as his teeth gripped my folds.

Who?The snarled question filled my head, reverberated inside my skull.

“Azazel,” I wheezed.

He sucked my flesh, pushed three fingers inside me. His thumb circled my clit.

Louder.

“Az—Azazel!” I groaned as another orgasm ripped me to shreds, even more intense than the first.

By the time I floated back into the room again, his name was a whispered prayer on my lips, a mantra echoing inside my head, a pulse underneath my skin.

White-hot lightning in his eyes as he rose over me, his gaze searing every raw, laid-bare layer of myself. He flipped me again, I thought sluggishly, my limbs tingling with the aftermath of orgasmic destruction, sweat coating my skin.

His muscles flexed in his arms and shoulders as he braced himself over me. I’d been so blissed out, I hadn’t even noticed how he’d stripped.

Now I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the expanse of rough-hewn masculine beauty hovering so close, so close… I reached out, stroked over his pecs—covered in trimmed dark hair—up to the bulging muscles in his shoulders, to his strong neck.

His energy was a velveteen kiss to my senses, caressing my mind as I caressed him.

I let my hand glide toward his jaw, over his chin, to that sensual, damnably skilled mouth of his. My thumb stroked over his lower lip, once, twice.

He grabbed my wrist, nipped at my fingers, and pressed my arm next to my head as he leaned down and kissed me. A perfect storm of power and coaxing seduction, possession and lure, he had me arching my back and pressing against him. I tasted myself on his lips, his tongue, and I shivered at the erotic effect of smelling my own arousal on his skin.

He nudged my legs wide with his knee, and I didn’t need the prompt of his free hand on my thigh to wrap my legs around his hips.

The hard length of his cock pressed against my slick mound, rubbed right over my clit, and I moaned into his mouth. Barely banked, the fire in my core reignited, sizzling through my veins in single-minded anticipation.

Yes?A purr in my mind.

Yessssss,I hissed back. Then—Wait. Should we use condoms or something?

We don’t carry disease.A pause. And I believe you still have that nifty device inside you that makes you temporarily infertile?

I blinked, gaped at him. How do you…?

Kept tabs on you.He winked.

Winked.

Son of a—

I felt his throaty chuckle in his kiss, and then my mind blanked, all thoughts wiped out as he finally, finally pushed inside me.

My eyes rounded, breath hitching at the intense pleasure-pain of his cock stretching me. Too much, too much, even with all that wetness as lubrication. My thighs tightened around his hips.

He paused, watching my expression intently. “Need a moment?”

I nodded, hauling in a breath. “Maybe that patience of yours,” I muttered, “is not so bad after all.”

One side of his mouth turned up. He leaned forward, trailing slow, tantalizing kisses down my jaw, my throat, all the way to the swell of my breasts. Licking a line of fire to my nipple, he circled the peaked bud, teased it with his teeth, then closed his mouth over it and sucked. I arched into his touch, and my inner muscles clenched around his cock before they relaxed...and the stretch of his girth lessened.

He rocked his hips forward, just a little, but enough to seat himself further inch by inch as I adjusted to his size. His mouth continued wreaking sensual havoc on my breasts while each movement of his dick inside me fired off sparks of renewed desire until I panted, angling my hips to meet his shallow thrusts.

Taking my cue, he made those thrusts deeper, more powerful. I gasped, clutched his shoulder as he nipped at my neck, his hand now on my breast, thumb flicking my nipple. Every stroke of his hips rubbed against my clit, drove my arousal higher, higher, higher. My legs trembled with the need to draw him deeper.

In a move too fast for me to even process, he pulled out and flipped me yet again, positioning me on my hands and knees. Spreading my legs wide, he gripped my hips with one hand, the other on my back, and pushed into me again.

I moaned, surrendering to the prickling sensation rushing outward from the renewed erotic invasion, the deeper angle. Hard, he rode me so hard my entire body shook, and I loved every damn second of it. Arching my spine, I threw back my head, my breath matching his quickening thrusts.

Lust and pressure and the promise of bliss coiled inside me. I just needed...needed…

Sharp stinging on my scalp as he gripped my hair, pulled me up until my back met his chest. His other hand slid around to my belly, dipped between my legs, his fingers clamping down on my clit while he continued to pump into me.

I detonated.

There’s no other word for it. I splintered at the seams from an explosion of pleasure.

Faster, harder, his thrusts grew wild and uncontrolled, his own need finally unleashed. My front met the mattress again as he pushed me down while he gripped my hips and rode me until I saw stars.

I barely noticed the moment he found his own pleasure, my mind too foggy with post-orgasmic ecstasy. I just all but collapsed as he savored his climax with slowing thrusts until it was only his hands holding my hips up. My muscles had effectively turned to cooked spaghetti, my bones liquefied.

A long, slow stroke of his hand over my spine, the caress of dark power on my senses. I wheezed with my face half planted into the mattress. My hair was tangled all around my head, and my arms and hands—I wasn’t quite sure what they were doing, where they even were. Did I still have arms? I couldn’t feel them.

Maybe they’d melted.

I considered that option. I couldn’t feel my legs either, for that matter.

Only Azazel’s hands on my hips, and the devastating aftermath of orgasmic destruction in my nether regions.

His fingers tightened their grip as he pulled out, and I groaned at the delicious sting of movement against my battered inner muscles, my sensitized flesh...and at the sudden emptiness, the cooling lick of air on my skin.

With more care than I’d anticipated, he guided my hips down, made sure my liquified—melted?—limbs flowed into a comfortable position. The mattress shifted as he likely moved off the bed. I couldn’t see. My face was still mostly plastered to the sheet, and my hair hid what little vision I’d have had.

Floating. I was floating.

The mattress dipped again. A touch between my legs, something warm and wet and soft, like a washcloth. Still, I hissed at the sensation, too much for my raw skin.

“Shh.” His hand on my hip. “I’m just cleaning you.”

“Oh,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “No one’s ever done that for me.”

“That’s because no one’s ever fucked you limp before.”

I uttered a dry laugh. “Touché.”

The touch of the washcloth vanished, as did his hand from my hip, and he moved off the bed again.

I floated some more.

Until he gently turned me on my back, pushed the tangled strands of hair off my face, and pressed something in my hand. I turned my head and squinted.

“It’s a glass of water,” he said with a hint of amusement.

“I know—I was just—so that’s where my hand is.”

The look he gave me bordered on concerned. He watched me squint some more at my miraculously solidified hand before he sighed, slid an arm under my back and dragged me into his lap. Folding his hand around mine still grasping the glass, he raised it to my lips.

“Drink.”

I obeyed. I hadn’t realized how parched my mouth was until I gulped the water down. Once done, I let him take the glass and set it on the nightstand.

I was still sitting sideways on his lap, his one arm slung around my back. And he was still gloriously naked. His heat sank into my skin wherever our bodies touched, and...something long and hard pressed against my hip. Very hard.

I slowly raised my gaze to his. “You came, though, didn’t you?”

He played with my hair, a sly smile flirting with his mouth. “Yeah.”

“That—” I wiggled just enough to underscore my point. “—doesn’t feel like it.”

“I’m a demon.”

I bit back a whimper and scooted off his lap. Or, I would have, had my muscles actually worked. As it was, all I accomplished was to twitch a little.

That sly smile of his turned positively mischievous.

God have mercy. I swallowed, my mouth too dry again. “I can’t—”

“Oh, I think you can,” he purred, and poured me onto the mattress once more.