Page 20 of Whispers From The Dark

Instantly, I try to take control of my hands once more, to finish what he’s started, but I can’t fight his hold on me.

“Please, don’t stop,” I pant, and his deep chuckle lands in my chest, slamming against my lungs like a moth’s clumsy flight toward a flame.

“There is a cost for this pleasure,” he says.

“I’ll pay it,” I respond, wondering if some slutty sex beast has somehow also possessed me. But I can’t think about it. It’s bold of me to say I’ll pay when I have very little to offer.

And yet, I’m desperate.

If boldness helps me come when I feel like I need to, more than I ever have before, then so be it.

“You’ll let me take control for three hours a day, no arguing, no questions asked.”

“Can’t you just do that, anyway?”

“Sure, but my integrity as a businessman dictates⁠—”

“Fine. I don’t care. Just… please,” I whimper.

“As you wish, love.”

He takes over my lower body now too, though I can still feel everything. Sliding down the wall of the shower, he spreads my legs and bends at the knee, and my thighs begin to burn.

“Wall sits,” I gasp incredulously.

“I need more access,” he says simply, obviously. “And I don’t want to put your pretty ass on this dirty bathtub ledge.”

I don’t have a chance to be offended because I’m rendered speechless when he plunges two fingers into my pussy. Angling my wrist just so, my thumb rubs across my clit as he slowly massages me from the inside.

Slow and steady, he brings me to the brink. Thighs burning from holding myself up, I want release in so many ways, and the build-up is far too slow for my liking.

“Patience, Petra. I plan to wring this out of you, slow and steady. Give it time to simmer. Would you prefer fast food when you could have a slow-cooked meal, rich with flavor?”

I want to argue with him, but I can’t. I’m speechless as my climax builds. Giving my pussy steady and thorough attention, he draws me to the brink. When he pulls his fingers out of me to rub my wetness across my clit, I whine.

“Az, please. Faster.”

He makes a soft, contemplative sound, gently teasing me with a slow drag of my fingertip.

“Fine,” he says, almost sounding annoyed.

But then he puts his middle finger and ring finger on either side of my clit, same as I do when I’m on my own, pressing deep as he draws small circles on that sensitive area.

And I implode.

But he doesn’t stop. He continues making me rub my clit with a fervent determination that I can’t wrap my mind around. My legs shake and my upper body pitches forward as I cry out, trying to smother the sound. My orgasm crests again, even though I didn’t know that was possible, and when he pushes three fingers into my pussy, I break. Letting out a low, keening sound that isn’t quite human.

“Oh my god,” I pant. I’m weak and spent, but Az doesn’t let me fall. My legs don’t give out. Instead, I move with a grace that I don’t own, and end up on my knees.

“Pray to him,” Asmodeus snaps. “Tell your god how I brought you to your knees in surrender. Tell him that his fallen seraphim has done more for you than he ever has.”

8

ASMODEUS

There’s a reason we observe dreams to design each method of torture in hell—they offer more insight into the mind than almost anything else.

Petra is a remarkable being.