Page 46 of Whispers From The Dark

Joy and sorrow and confusion flash across his face. His mouth falls open, and I can only see him. There’s no Sam, no bar, no noise. There’s no one jostling me as they sit beside me. It’s just the two of us. He’s nude in this form, and for some reason, with all the quiet surrounding us, I feel stripped down as well.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Hello, angel.”

My lower lip quivers, and I step toward him. But the bar is still there, even if I can’t see it. I wish I could run to him, throw myself into his arms. Tell him I’m sorry for assuming the worst. For thinking he pushed my mom simply to rid us of the woman he’d hated from the start. But it had been so much more than that.

He’d saved me from the other demon who wanted me. He saved me from my mother. He saved me from any guilt that would haunt me when it came to her.

He’s taken better care of me than anyone I’ve ever met.

“Did Lucifer…” he asks, trailing off, and I nod.

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I should have⁠—”

But then he’s pulling me against that smooth, broad chest, and I suppose we aren’t at the bar anymore because his mouth is on mine and his hands are cupping the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.

“I had no choice,” he says against my lips. “I saw Satanus’ influence and if you pushed her, if you…I couldn’t⁠—”

I silence him with a kiss. He grunts, parting my lips with his tongue as he lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me.

When my ass hits a desk, I realize we’re in his office, and I don’t care how we escaped the crowded club. There’s a frenzy of motion as we clumsily work to tear off my shirt. I smack him in the face by mistake, and he nips at my skin. When I feel the hint of a fang, I gasp, and he drags that sharpened incisor up my wrist.

He dips, pulling my bra down with his teeth and sucking on my nipples for not nearly long enough before moving lower. He pulls off my festive, sparkly shorts and growls in frustration when he finds me wearing fleece-lined tights beneath them.

They tear like paper as he tugs them down my body.

“God truly forsakes me,” he murmurs, but then I’m fully bared to him. He spreads my legs wide and lowers himself slowly.

Painstakingly.

Teasingly.

Demonically.

He grins before inhaling. “Your pleasure is divine,” he says, and then his tongue is spreading me, laving me, and I groan. My elbows hit the back of the desk as I collapse, and my head tilts back.

He’s being too gentle, and I reach for him because I want so much more. Barely stopping myself, I think to ask before I touch his horns. I don’t want to hurt him or offend him.

“I read your book, love. That part is the one thing they got right. Now, grab them, and show me what you need.”

And I do. His horns are cool to the touch and rough like sandpaper. I show him what I need as I pull him closer, and he does exactly that. Before I know it, I’m tipping over the edge and crying out his name.

“Asmodeus,” I gasp, letting go of his spiraling peaks as his tongue makes my legs shake. “Please,” I say, pushing my thighs together because it’s too much, and it’s too good, and I came here for him, not his tongue or his pleasure, and I need him closer.

“But am I not all those things? A tongue that belongs to you, the pleasure I bring you? Am I not simply yours?”

“You are, Az. You are.”

And then he gently slides into me, bending over me as his lips move gently across my skin. And when his mouth meets mine once more, I close my eyes.

“Am I not yours, as well?” I ask.

“As you’ve always been, Petra.”

EPILOGUE

ASMODEUS