Page 86 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Oh, holy fuuuck!” I scream.

I’m already so overwhelmed, so sensitized to everything, all it takes is one more strike for everything inside me to unravel again. Light sparks behind my eyes. Entire constellations seem to ignite beneath my skin. Energy races through me until the feeling spills out of me in one helpless sound. My orgasm triggers his. Throbbing and raging, Valefar releases himself inside me again.

We come down from the high, but I know he’s not finished with me. And I’m not finished with him. Like he said, death and resurrection. Scorched earth. Rising from the ashes.

Chest heaving, I cling to him, resting my forehead against his shoulder as the quiet of the woods slowly returns. Above us, the pine branches rustle in the wind. Valefar holds me close, his tail wrapped securely around my waist, his breath warm against my hair. The shared soul in my chest settles into a hum of absolute contentment.

I look up, catching a tiny glint in his eyes. “I love you,” I whisper.

“I am yours, my Evening Star,” he replies in a soft vow. “For all of my mortal days.”

I nudge him with my elbow, loving how cheesy he gets. For now—before I can’t walk—I manage to stumble to my feet and beckon him. “I want to show you something.”

He smiles and stands, more like staggers, which I take much pride in, and takes my hand. “Wherever you summon, I will go.”

We don’t bother to cover up. The clouds hide the moon, shielding us in the utter night. His cock is still hard, beating like a massive rod along his lower thigh. Fluids keep seeping from both my holes.

It’s about a quarter of a mile into the woods, but I show him my special place.

30

Valefar

Vesper leads me to her special place: a small, hidden spring, fed by a babbling creek that runs cold through the granite rocks.

She introduces me to the art of “skinny dipping” in the cool, clear water. And I find it quite agreeable. The chill of the stream is a sharp, immediate shock against my newly acquired mortal crust, but I pull Vesper against my chest, her body heat radiating like a solar flare against me. Under the pale moon, we couple in the water. We don’t fuck. This time, we make love. Slowly. Deeply. Intimately. Her skin gleams like starlight beneath the current, and I tell her she reminds me of a silver siren.

Because we now possess mortal vessels, we require physical nourishment. I had anticipated this requirement. We slip into the kitchen to retrieve my saccharine surprise for our own private Halloween treat: warm chocolate fondue with fresh berries, pound cake, and marshmallows.

We return outside.

But after a few bites, I do not consume it traditionally. I secure her wrists to the smooth bark of a pine tree, coating her breasts and her pussy with the decadent, warm chocolate. I systematically lick every drop of the treat from her skin, my tongue moving with a maddening, agonizing precision. Through our shared soul, her rising pleasure echoes in my own chest, delivering four distinct, trembling orgasms before I cut her loose and she practically falls right onto my dick.

As she curses me for the high, claiming how I’m beating her pussy to hell, I laugh and fuck her through two more climaxes.

I must throw her over my shoulder, commending myself for her inability to stand. We shower, but the hot spray only reignites the heat. I take her against the tiled wall. Then on every surface imaginable in our house. Our home. I find my mortal stamina to be remarkably resilient. I fuck her all through the night, our heartbeats synchronized through the half-soul.

We finally cease our efforts just before dawn. Her pussy is burning red, highly sensitive and thoroughly claimed.

Even though she is close to passing out from sheer exhaustion, I assume the duty of her care. I massage soothing oils into her skin: fragrant lavender for her outer thighs, ass, and breasts, and cool, pure coconut oil for her intimate parts. I continue to stroke her until her breathing settles, and she falls asleep under my touch.

* * *

CHRISTMASTIME

The transition to mortality is marked by a series of highly fascinating, highly inconvenient discoveries.

For example, the sudden compressed freezing water directly to the sensitive back of my mortal neck produces an extraordinary sensory shock.

I whirl around, my shoulders tensing in my now sodden coat as the icy slush melts down my back. Across the snowy lawn, Vesper is practically doubled over, hiding her face in her woolen mittens to muffle her highly disrespectful laughter.

I cross toward her, but any irksome irritation vanishes beneath the adorable state of her snorting giggles. “It is a sensory masterpiece,” I inform her, dusting the freezing remnants of the snowball from my collar. “The cold is so sharp, so immediate. It is entirely brilliant.”

“You’re an idiot,” she smiles, her voice warm in the winter air, following with, “I love you.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Say it anyway,” she urges.