“That’s it,” he crooned in her ear. “Let go.”
The pleasure swelled, then shivered into her extremities. Her fingers tingled, her toes cramped, and her vision briefly went dark.
When the orgasm ebbed, Calladia slumped back against Astaroth. He banded both arms around her torso and thrust up once, twice, then held, his strong body shaking as he let out a strangled groan.
He held her tightly, chest heaving. Then he toppled slowly to the side, taking her with him. “Lucifer save me,” he gasped. “I’m a dead demon.”
Calladia giggled. Her head was spinning, and she felt drunk or high or both. Astaroth’s dick slipped out of her, but she made no effort to move. His body curved around her, two equal-sized spoons in a very happy drawer.
She closed her eyes and drifted, head blissfully empty. She felt cleansed, despite the sweat sticking them together. It was as if their passion had burned away everything nonessential. The world and its worries still waited, but right now, there was nothing in the universe but the two of them.
“Calladia Cunnington,” Astaroth whispered as she drifted off, “you’re my miracle.”
THIRTY-ONE
Waking up with Calladia in his arms was Astaroth’s new favorite thing. Of course, every moment with her brought a new favorite thing. The soft skin behind her ear, the groan she made when she was convinced she couldn’t possibly orgasm again (only to discover she could), the discovery that she was ticklish, but though her ribs would elicit giggles, attacking her feet was risking death. She was a puzzle box, constantly revealing new secrets, and he hoarded them like a greedy dragon.
She was soft and relaxed, her face pressed against his pectoral and an arm and leg slung possessively over him. A wet patch on his skin under her lax mouth suggested she’d been drooling. He’d never found drool so delightful.
Maybe humans were on to something with this nightly sleeping thing. They weren’t wasting time; they were optimizing cuddles.
The sun was peering through the gaps in the curtains though, and the day was going to be a busy one. He reluctantly called her name.
She lifted her head, bleary-eyed and adorably tousled. “Wha—?”
He wiped his thumb over her lower lip, collecting a trace of saliva. “Time to wake up, warrior queen.”
His queen pouted, then dove back down, ramming her nose into his chest. “No,” she told his armpit.
Astaroth jostled her. “Come on,” he coaxed. “There are arses to be kicked and demons to defeat. You wouldn’t want to miss a fight, would you?”
She was stubbornly silent. Right when he was about to consider extreme measures—feet tickling would certainly get her up, though Lucifer knew if his testicles would survive the endeavor—she let out a gusty sigh. “Fine.”
He watched as she got out of bed and stretched, her body a long, elegant line. Her bikini tan lines were still fading from the summer, and it amused him that her bottom and breasts were paler than the rest of her. Giving in to temptation, he leaned over and lightly spanked her.
She yawned. “I’m up, I’m up. You don’t have to whip me like a pony.”
Now that was an intriguing idea. He wondered if there were any sex toy shops in Glimmer Falls. “Would you be interested in whipping sometime? Giving or receiving?” She would be a menace with a flogger, but he also liked the idea of tying her up and spanking her until her bum was rosy and she was begging him to shag her.
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s revisit that after coffee.”
She slouched off to the loo like W. B. Yeats’s beast in search of Bethlehem. What a grump. Astaroth grinned as he got up and did his own stretching. Then he pulled out his phone and called Tansy for a delivery.
When Calladia emerged from her shower to see coffee and a breakfast sandwich waiting for her, she looked like she might cry. “You angel.”
He nearly choked. “Not quite.”
“You terrible, wonderful demon,” she corrected, rushing for the caffeine.
After eating, Astaroth hit the bath area for his morning preparations. He’d stocked up on a few changes of clothes the previous day, and once he was clean, he laid options on the bed.
“Trouble deciding?” Calladia asked, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. She’d dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt that said Fear My Fists in a cursive script dotted with flowers.
“I need to send the right message.”
“Pretty sure ‘fully clothed’ is enough of a message.”
Astaroth shook his head. “This is my triumphant return from banishment, and I’m facing the high council, so I need to look powerful. But I’m also campaigning for hybrid rights, so I’ve got to look accessible to the public.”
Calladia looked down at her shirt. “Should I have put more thought into this?”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Jeans are more protective than leggings during a fight, and the shirt is an overt threat. Plus, the yellow is the exact shade of your house, which will tell Moloch you’re out for vengeance.”
“Wow.” Calladia looked startled. “I didn’t do it intentionally or anything.”
“You have good instincts.” Astaroth decided on black jeans and motorcycle boots and paired them with a long-sleeved red satin shirt that moved like liquid over his muscles. He accessorized with spiky silver rings—a more fashionable version of brass knuckles. He wished he had his cane sword to finish the look, but alas, he’d need to make do.
He turned to Calladia with his arms out. “What do you think?”
Her eyes trailed over him in what could only be termed a leer. “I think I’d like to get you back in bed.”
His cock stirred. “An interesting proposition. Do we have time?”
Calladia checked her watch. “Themmie, Oz, and Mariel headed out an hour ago to start putting up signs, and Lilith and Sandranella have been stirring demons up for a protest march since yesterday. They ought to be gathering now, and we have forty minutes before you’re supposed to make your appearance and lead the march to the high council chambers.”
“I can work with that.” Astaroth reached for the fly of his jeans.
A portal opened in the middle of the room, and Themmie tumbled through, wings smoking. “Ambush!” she screeched.
Calladia grabbed her water bottle and dumped it over the pixie, extinguishing the embers that had settled on Themmie’s wings. “Are you all right?” Calladia asked.
Themmie shook her wings out, then inspected them over her shoulder. “Yep, superficial damage. They’ll heal right up.” Her cheek was smudged with soot, and embers had burned holes in her Pixie Pride T-shirt.
“What do you mean, an ambush?” Astaroth asked.
Ozroth stuck his head through the portal. “It means get over here,” he shouted. “Moloch and his followers ambushed the protestors.”
Fuck. If the protestors didn’t get a chance to gain public attention or confront the high council, there was only one option. Fight Moloch and his allies. Finish this battle, once and for all.