Page 31 of Whispers From The Dark

When they find a rhythm and move together, it’s cataclysmic. When Az pushes in, Sam pulls out just a fraction. When Sam thrusts into me, Az backs out. Neither fully leaving me, but both of them massaging me, making me shake and quiver. Sam’s dick rubs against my sensitive inner wall, putting pressure against the perfect spot, and I tip my head back, moaning through my slowly building pleasure. It feels like I’m about to come and the sensation doesn’t leave. It’s overwhelming and empowering.

It’s torture.

I close my eyes, and I’m assaulted by a vision of myself. I see through Asmodeus’s eyes for a moment. He shows me what I look like as my ass jiggles as he pushes into me. He leans back, pulling out enough so I can see just how stretched I am around the two of them. The pornographic eroticism of it makes me bite my lip.

I’ve never done anything like this before, and I don’t know what has granted me the nerve. Sex has never been about me. It’s been about my partners. It’s been about what they want. And being shared between two people is something I’ve never once considered. But the minute the opportunity presented itself, I realized it’s exactly what I wanted. Asmodeus reaches up, grasping my ass with both hands. His claws dig into my flesh, his unblemished marble skin contrasting with my own. His gaze darts between my ass and his cock pushing in and out of me. Startlingly fast, he threads his fingers in my hair, pulling my head back. Watching it happen as he does it is strange and dizzying, but his commanding grip as he picks up the pace of his thrusts is almost too much to bear.

I open my eyes, and tears limn my eyes. It’s too good. Too much.

I’m on the cusp, teetering over the edge, wanting to come and start the cycle over again. All my worries have been wrung from my body along with the aching pleasure. Az is being fed well, sustaining himself by fucking my brains out.

“Don’t worry about me. You’ll sour the taste. Think of your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” A thrust, deep. “Not mine.” Another. “Not his.” A final deep punch of his body into mine, and then he stills. “Think of your desires. Think about how you’re taking exactly what you want. Think about your greedy cunt and how ready it was to stretch for me.”

His words send me hurtling over the edge. I’m coming and I can’t stop. Not when the two of them thrust wildly into me. The rhythm is brutal and unyielding and so fucking good. I can’t stop even as Sam groans, body going tense and still as he fills my tender pussy. Finally, as Az pulls out of me, the ache of his cock leaving me allows the pleasure to crest and break like a wave.

Every nerve ending is on fire, but it’s lessening with each passing second.

“Deep breaths, love.”

I’m shaking all over, and Az’s hands are cool as they tenderly stroke my back. Sam is trying to catch his breath beneath me, sweat slicking his skin. His eyes are closed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he falls asleep. Slowly, Az pulls the plug out of my ass. I push up a bit, not wanting to collapse onto Sam’s sweaty chest. That feels too intimate, especially when it isn’t him I want to be held by.

Before I finish the thought, I’m in Az’s arms. His statuesque body is still cool to the touch, and I trace my fingertip across his chest, following a vein of grey as it disappears on his skin. He looks as if he’s made of stone, but he feels like flesh and blood. He feels familiar and human, though he is decidedly not. I don’t look at his face, not yet. My limbs still feel like jelly, and I don’t think I’m physically capable of sorting through the feelings that our sexual romp has inspired, let alone what it means to see his demonic form.

He strides toward the refrigerator to, puzzlingly, grab a bowl of cut fruit. It appears on my stomach, and he lifts my hand to hold it in place. He grabs something off the counter, and it smells sweet. A few moments later, I’m deposited on the largest, comfiest bed I’ve ever seen.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, nestling the bowl of fruit beside me. It’s such a confusing sight. This work of art, a sculpture of a god with twisting horns and a deadly grin, doing something as mundane as stirring hot chocolate.

“Drink,” he commands, and since I’m feeling a bit nauseous, I obey. I push up on my elbow, and my hand shakes as I hold the mug. It’s delicious, and my whole body shivers at the sudden warmth. Az pulls the blanket over my shoulders, massaging through the fabric.

He climbs behind me, keeping the blanket between us. I suppose his cool flesh would only make things worse, but I wish we were skin to skin. Everything feels strange now. Almost hollow. He’s not close enough, and I’m starting to get that awful empty feeling again.

“Humans are full of such strange chemicals. When things feel good, you fill up with adrenaline and dopamine, and when it all rushes out, well…” Az explains, and I vaguely remember Courtney talking about the sensation. But she’s into the super kinky stuff, like bondage and nipple clamps and collars, so I didn’t realize it could apply to me. Az huffs a laugh, breath tousling my hair. “And you don’t think what we just did was kinky? Bold of you, angel.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. I guess.”

“You did so well, taking us both, body eager to slake your lust.”

I’m already feeling better after a few sips of hot chocolate. His praise helps, but I don’t think I want to admit that out loud. I carefully set my mug on the side table. Everything in here is an expensive, frigid white, and I don’t want to risk staining anything. I reach down to snag a chunk of fruit from the bowl.

“Watermelon during winter? That’s rare,” I say, wanting to fill the silence.

“It is your favorite, is it not?”

I’m glad he can’t see my blush. As much as I’ve pushed back against him inhabiting my mind, it certainly has its perks. But I can’t allow myself to confuse his infinite knowledge of my preferences with affection.

“They are not mutually exclusive. One begets the other.”

I turn, shoving a piece of watermelon into his face. His teeth are fine points, sharp enough to slice into my skin, but he opens his mouth wider, sticking a far too long tongue out to snatch the fruit from my grasp.

“Careful, love,” he admonishes, grinning at me as he swallows it down. He adjusts, pulling me closer, and I stare up at his face. The smoke-dark eyes, the twisting horns, and the sharpened teeth. I notice for the first time that the tips of his ears are pointed. His wings are folded neatly behind him. There’s not a single imperfection across his body. I shiver, and it’s no longer from the cold.

“Am I that grotesque?” he asks, and there’s a touch of insecurity that a hell-bound Prince of Lust shouldn’t be capable of.

“There was this show, Gargoyles, that I liked to watch as a kid. Demona was a fucking babe. Would smash. Honestly, probably my first clue that I’m queer,” I laugh. He stares at me blankly, clearly not following my reference. I dismiss my smile, all serious business so he understands me. “No. You are far from grotesque.”

I reach up to trace his jaw, and his tongue darts out to lick my fingertip, warm despite the rest of him being cool. His skin is impossibly smooth, and his strong jaw could cut glass. Up I move, following the spiral of one of his horns. They’re smoother than the rest of him, more dense. He hisses a breath but doesn’t move, allowing me to explore him.

“You’re a work of art,” I whisper.