Page 10 of Interior Design for Demons
“Of course! Food is one of our greatest pleasures. When we’re in spirit form, we don’t have to eat, but those of us who prefer corporeal form do need food to sustain our bodies.”
“And do you—do you have to use the bathroom too?”
He laughs, musical and merry, and I find myself giggling. “Yes, we have restrooms here, for our use and for the humans we occasionally entertain. Forget your notions of Hell as a roiling mass of fire and black rock and screams. Parts of it are like that, but over the millennia we have become a more genteel place. More of a corporate Underworld, really. Sometimes it’s stifling. But there are perks, too—such as the gorgeous kitchens and dining areas. I’ll take you to your room, and you can order something.”
“Room service in Hell.” My giggles are turning hysterical. I’m overwrought, overtired, shaky with hunger, and completely awed by the beauty of the savage being in front of me. Shadows cluster at the edges of my vision, crawling inward with dismaying speed. “I think I’m going to faint, like the girls in books,” I whisper. “Oh god. I’ve never fainted before.”
Apollyon moves closer in a rush of whispering silk and flowing hair, his scent sweet as gardenias and cool as iced lemonade. His long fingers slip across the back of my neck, and his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. A delicious tingling travels over my lips and across my tongue, trickling along my spine, straight to the sweet spot between my thighs.
I’m no longer fainting. I’m waking up, hungry and savage, my fingers sliding through Apollyon’s hair, grazing his sharp cheekbones.
He picks me up bodily, his hands cupping my rear, and though my eyes are closed I’m dimly conscious of air rushing past us, as if we’re moving very fast through a wind tunnel. My eyelids flash open briefly—we’re speeding along hallways, passing everything in a blur. This ability must be unique to Apollyon, because if Rath could have used it I’m sure he would have, to hurry us along to orientation.
Apollyon throws open a pair of double doors with a wave of his hand. Then he breaks the kiss and sets me down. “Your room, Miss Labelle.”
My room is stunning—if you like the overwrought style of a French palace from the 1600s or so. I can barely make sense of all the drapery and tassels and clashing brocade patterns. The place is crammed with heavy, thick, dark furniture, and the walls bear portraits of dour-looking humans from bygone days.
Apollyon is watching me carefully. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s just that—well—”
“These rooms were appointed in the most lavish of human decor styles.”
“There’s too much.” I shake my head at the cacophony of textures and details. “Good grief. I’m not sure anyone could fall asleep in here.”
“Perhaps the bathroom is more to your liking?” He flings open another door. The bathroom is a stark contrast to the bedroom, featuring black marble everywhere—floors, walls, and ceiling. The marble is so pure and polished I can see my reflection in it. There’s a large double shower, and a massive bath already filled with steaming water. The bath smells of gardenia, suspiciously similar to Apollyon’s own personal scent. Though I showered this morning, I suddenly feel very grimy. Nothing would please me more than to sink into that bath.
“Could I bathe, while the food is being prepared?” I ask.
“Of course.” He whips off his coat, baring his entire torso to me—sleek muscles carved from gleaming white marble. “I’ll join you.”
Oh god.“I—I think I prefer privacy.”
He smiles, sharp teeth showing. “You’re blushing like a virgin, darling. But you’re not a virgin, are you? Let me see—Sam Dodds in tenth grade, yes? He barely got it in before—well. Teenage boys are disappointing in that respect. And then there was Jason Fletcher, freshman year in college—he did the job fairly well. And you cared for him, but he fell in love with someone else a couple months after you started dating. Tragic.”
“Stop.” My voice is a shamed whisper, and my cheeks are flaming.
“We know everything about you,” he says softly. “Everything. You’re an open book. A horny little open book who wants to be spread wide and treated to the pleasure she deserves. I guarantee if I touch you—here—” his fingertips trail along my collarbone— “you’ll feel ithere.” His other hand cups the inseam of my pants, and I gasp. “There’s no shame in it, darling. You’re in Hell. There’s no one to judge you for anything you may want to do.”
He’s sliding down the zipper of my pants. And I’m letting him do it. I’m letting him ease them off my hips, letting him pop the buttons of my blouse one at a time with a sharp talon that slid from his index finger.
When all the buttons are gone, Apollyon folds back my blouse, pushing it down off my shoulders. It slides to the floor, and I’m left in my underwear.
Strange power seeps through my limbs. Whatever insecurities I occasionally have about myself—they don’t matter now. This demon wants me. I mean, he reallywantsme—the stretched material around the crotch of his pants makes that quite obvious.
“I like to take my time,” he says. “So we’ll bathe, you and I—and then we’ll eat, and then—dessert.”
“I’d like to use the bathroom first,” I tell him. “I doubt you want to watch that.”
His eyebrow arches, and he smirks, but he only says, “Suit yourself. I’ll order the food. What do you want to eat?”
“What are the options?”
He laughs again, just as musically as before. “Anything you like.”
“Shrimp carbonara then, and a glass of wine.”
He bows low in assent. I half want to watch him order the food, to see what kind of Hellish intercom or phone system they have down here—but I decide that peeing in private is more important. I slip into the bathroom, relieved to have a door between me and Apollyon.
