Page 45 of Interior Design for Demons
“I’ve been trapped in this living nightmare,” I say, while his nails dent my skin just a tiny bit, the only sign of his impatience. “I haven’t seen the sun or grass in days, or smelled the rain, or run earth through my fingers. I want something beautiful and wholesome and fresh and real, not pretty on the outside and dead inside. Not a monster with a manufactured body and no soul.”
It’s a cruel test, but when pain floods his eyes, I know he has passed it. He doesn’t take offense at the rejection and grow haughty and angry, or enact vengeance for the slight.
His hands fall away from me, and he steps back. “I am not wholesome or fresh or pure. I am as artificial as they come—forever wearing a mask to convince my fellow demons that I thrive, that I love my work, that I’m not corrupted, consumed by self-loathing. Of course, the one person I really want is far too good for me. You are right to say no.”
He laughs a little, jerks his robes to straighten them, and lifts one hand to sweep aside the drapes on his way out.
I throw myself in front of him, seize him by those robes with both fists, and drag his mouth down to mine. Kissing him is like coming home, because I know his mouth now, how his lips are the perfect blend of soft and strong, sinuous and tender. And the taste of him—icy citrus and sugar. If I could drink him in, I would.
“I’m going to need you to stay,” I whisper, when he lets me breathe. “And I’m going to need you to be only mine, for as long as this lasts—whatever it is. I know you have duties to perform, seductions and flirting and kissing to do with your human targets, but I don’t want you to enjoy it, and I don’t want you inside anyone else but me.”
“I swear on the Infernal Sovereign’s throne.” His voice is liquid silk; I’d believe him if he said he could create an entire new Earth.
My fingers find the edges of his golden mask and peel it away. Rath is still a mystery to me—conflicted and possessive, a violent and prideful enigma. But Apollyon has shown me his true self more than once, and while I have many questions, I know everything that matters.
“I yield to you,” I murmur in his ear, under the waterfall of his scarlet hair.
He makes a sound—a harsh groan of longing—and he lowers his mouth to my neck, kissing along my collarbone, my shoulder, his hands sweeping up my sides to my breasts. He tears away the strips of costume I wear, shredding them with his claws. I’m not sure what the hell I’ll wear when this is over, and—and practical thoughts are melting, evanescing under the heat and savagery of the kisses he presses along my cleavage, over the tops of my breasts. He takes the tip of one in his mouth and laves it with his tongue while chills race over my skin.
“Apollyon,” I gasp. “Are there cameras in here?”
“No, dove. These alcoves are off limits to humans.”
“But the angel brought me here…”
“The angel didn’t know the rules.” Apollyon is on his knees now, cupping my bare waist with his hands, looking up at me. “And while we’re on the topic, don’t mention Karaziel to anyone. Angel trysts are technically frowned upon, and I walk on thin ice as it is.”
“A rule-breaker.” I slide my fingers through his hair, looking down at him with my most pleased smile. “I like it. And I won’t say a word.”
“You’re doing it again. Looking at me like Imatter.”
“Don’t other humans look at you admiringly?”
“They do, and that’s how I know you’re different. There’s more in your eyes, like you see past myface—” He presses his forehead to my stomach, and my flesh quivers at the silky glide of his hair against my skin. “You saw my true form and still you care.”
He kisses me, right below my navel, unbuckles a few straps, and tugs down the assembly of leather and fur winding around my hips and between my legs. His breath drifts across that unbearably, exquisitely sensitive place, and his cool tongue follows.
“You don’t have to—do that,” I pant between the bursts of sensation.
He chuckles against my folds, and I whimper at the vibration. The slick tingling glide, the tiny tantalizing kisses, the nipping and wicked teasing—I can’t stand it for more than a few minutes. My legs quiver. “Apollyon, I’m going to fall over.”
He rises swiftly, sweeping me up in his arms and settling me on the couch. I manage a full, deep inhale instead of the desperate panting breaths I was taking.
“It’s not fair to give me all the fun,” I tell him.
“Demons don’t care about fairness.” He winks.
“Aren’t they also supposed to be selfish?”
“Lust demons have an innate need to satisfy their partners. We can’t achieve our own climax without it.”
“So you can’t—pleasure yourself?”
“No. Other demons can, but not lust demons.”
“Weird, and kind of annoying.”
“Tell me about it.” He shrugs off his robes, and even though I’ve seen him naked before, I can’t help whimpering at the stunning perfection of him.
