“Don’t suppose you can demanifest a condom,” he said, his normally crisp accent turned slow and lazy.
Not asleep. Calladia knelt next to him, eyeing the condom still attached to his softening cock. “You might want to remove it first,” she said. “Just in case.”
He lifted his arm and squinted at her. “Is my penis in danger?”
Maybe of being excessively fondled. Calladia shook her head. “Not at present.”
He grunted, then tugged off the condom and knotted it. Calladia yanked out another hair from her scalp and tied the knots to reverse the summoning. She sent the condom to a dumpster they’d passed near the trailhead.
Astaroth started to sit up, then groaned and collapsed onto the sleeping bag. “Witch, you’ve killed me.”
She lay down next to him, pulling a blanket over them. Later, she’d put on pajamas, but right now skin to skin was nice. She hooked an arm over him and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. “So,” she said. “How did the sex rank?”
“What?”
“You’re a legendary fuckboy, right?” she teased. “I’m curious how I stack up against Lucrezia Borgia.” She was joking, but part of her did wonder. He’d been with so many people; this probably hadn’t meant anything to him besides an opportunity to get off.
The idea made her feel ill.
Astaroth sank his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back to look her in the eye. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn. “Calladia, there’s no comparison.”
“Oh. Right.” Lucrezia had been notorious for her hedonism, while Calladia had only had a handful of partners. Of course there was no comparison. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Never mind.”
“Wait.” Astaroth shifted onto his side, pillowing his head on his bicep as he faced her. “I don’t think you took that the right way.”
She shrugged, even though she was feeling smaller with every moment. Sam had thought her performance was mediocre, too. You just need to practice, he’d told her, guiding her head to his crotch. You’ll get better eventually. “I’m a big girl,” she said. “My ego’s not that fragile.”
Her ego was that fragile, but she’d be damned before she admitted it.
Astaroth pursed his lips and blew a raspberry, startling her. “Calladia, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
She blinked. “What? There’s no way.”
He looked earnest though. “It’s true.”
“But we only did one position.”
“And what a position it was.” His sigh sounded blissful. “Having you ride me was practically a religious experience.”
She flicked his shoulder. “Shut up.”
“I mean it.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That wasn’t just a bit of casual fun. Not for me anyway.”
There had been a minuscule pause before the last sentence, and although he was smiling, there was something wary about his expression.
Was he also worried she’d seen this as nothing but a quick, meaningless fuck?
It should have been a quick, meaningless fuck. There was no world in which the two of them started a relationship. He had his immortality and position on the demon council to worry about. After he recovered his memories, there would be no reason for him to stay, and Calladia had her own future to focus on.
Her chest felt tight at the thought of leaving him.
Oh, no.
Calladia was officially emotionally compromised.
She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t casual for me either.” Saying it made her feel vulnerable, so she focused on the dip of his collarbone so she didn’t have to see whatever was in his eyes. Calladia didn’t do emotional openness, hadn’t tried since she’d been burned for it. And now she was trying it with a demon?
Astaroth’s fingers brushed her chin, tipping it up. His expression was as soft as she’d ever seen it. “Well,” he said, “we’ve certainly complicated things for ourselves, haven’t we?”
Calladia inexplicably teared up. She wiped her eyes, chuckling uneasily. “Please ignore me.”
Astaroth’s hand moved under the blanket to settle on her hip. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
One brow crept up. “Have you sprung a leak, then?”
“I never cry.” Another tear slipped out. “Damn it.”
“Are you crying because you only had three orgasms? I’ll happily give you more.”
Ridiculous demon. She rolled her eyes. “Never let it be said you lack ambition.”
His fingers flexed on her hip. “Calladia,” he said in a cajoling tone. “Why are you crying?”
She wasn’t entirely sure. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . I don’t do this, you know?”
“Sex?”
“No. I mean, yes, I haven’t done that in a while either.” She gestured between them. “I don’t do this.”
His forehead furrowed, and she could see him trying to work through her confusing words. “I need a bit more than that to go on,” he said.
“Ugh.” She blew out a breath, puffing stray hairs out of her face. “The whole emotional shit.” She squirmed, uncomfortable even saying it. “Not that it’s . . . yeah. No.”
She was making less sense than ever, but Astaroth seemed to catch on, because his brow cleared. “Ah. You don’t like feeling vulnerable.”
“I’m not vulnerable,” she replied instantly.
“I don’t like being vulnerable either,” he said, ignoring her rebuttal. “It’s dashed uncomfortable.”
Humor was easier to manage than emotional honesty, so Calladia tried to make light of the situation. “There you go, sounding like a Jane Austen character again. Next I’ll find out you have a country estate and a fondness for waltzing.”
“When was the last time you were vulnerable?” Astaroth asked.
He cut to the core of the issue as deftly as if he’d sliced through her bullshit with a sword. Calladia thought about making a run for it, but it was cold and wet outside, and she’d have to face him eventually. “If I don’t answer, what are the odds you’ll let it go?”
“Zero.”
She smiled despite herself. “A gentleman wouldn’t pry.”
His long lashes swept his cheekbones as he smiled at her. “Good thing I’m a villain, then.”
Despite herself, Calladia found herself wanting to share the story, as foolish and weak as it made her seem. “I had a boyfriend in college,” she blurted out. “Though maybe it’s weird to call him that, since he was fifteen years older than me.”
“Taylor Swift would call that a problematic age gap,” Astaroth said.
“Yeah, well, I would, too. Now, anyway.” She took a deep breath, letting herself pick at the scab that barely covered this hurt, even years later. “He was my professor, actually, at Crabtree College a few hours from Glimmer Falls. He taught a general education class I took freshman year.”
“Freshman year?” Astaroth asked, brows rising. “You would have been very young.”
“Eighteen, yeah. Though he didn’t ask me out until the next fall, when I was nineteen.” She remembered the shock of it—his earnest declaration that he’d been thinking about her all summer, that she was so mature for her age, that he admired her sharp mind and strident opinions.