Page 46 of Interior Design for Demons
He grins. “Now you’re just plain old lusting. No depth of emotion at all.”
I lift my eyes and hold his gaze until his smile softens and melts into a wondering tenderness. There’s something in my heart that’s new and fragile, and I can only say it with my eyes. I can’t allow myself to focus on it, or think the words boldly. Now that I’ve let Rath go, now that I’ve faced what’s been growing in my heart this whole time—the emotion is unfurling a lot faster than I was prepared for.
“Sit,” I order him. “Relax.”
He drapes himself beside me with an air of casual grace, but there’s a rigidity to his limbs, a tension in his muscles that betrays his desire.
I settle myself astride his hips, writhing along the delicious hardness of him. My palms smooth his chest, shoulders, and stomach, learning the planes and edges and grooves of him, finding the places that make him twitch and moan softly. His skin stipples with goosebumps as I move my heated, slick center along his length, as I kiss him openmouthed, my tongue probing, delicately tracing his teeth, my breath flowing into him.
Another roll of my hips, a quick adjustment of my position, and I’m taking him in, sliding him along the space inside me that was made for him.
Apollyon’s eyes roll back, and the blue horns emerge from his hair, sweeping upward. “Lucifer’s balls,” he says, so reverently that I giggle.
His hands glide across my thighs. “How do you feel so good? I can barely—I can’t—oh fuck—” and he flips us both over without slipping out. I’m on my back now and he’s in control, and I love it. He sinks in deeper, kissing me with feral passion, bone and breath and blazing fire. Azure wings whip from his spine. The tip of one nearly snags the curtain before he folds them against his back.
“You are sohot,” I pant against his mouth. “And you’re—infuriating—and wonderful—and wicked—why do I like you so much?”
“Grace,” is all he replies, in a caressing tone that sends fresh ripples of pleasure through my belly. Sometimes I can climax quickly, and sometimes it takes forever—but tonight, with as long as I’ve been craving him, I can tell reaching the peak isn’t going to be an issue. With every surge of his impossibly perfect body against mine, every whisper of scarlet hair over my shoulder, every press of hot, smooth lips to my mouth, I’m getting closer. But it’s when he stops kissing me and just fucks me, staring at me with those blue eyes and the sweeping horns and god, thewings—that’s when my panting breaths start to shrill, and he grinds harder, deeper, and I—ah—Ibreak—everything is blazing blue fire and iced lemonade and sugar, sugar sizzling crystallized along my nerves, liquefying my muscles, dazzling my blood, whiting out all conscious thought in my mind.
I’ve never had an orgasm like this. Apollyon wasn’t kidding when he said it would be better with a demon inside me. The ecstasy keeps cresting, bursting, undulating, and while I’m still shuddering and quaking, Apollyon releases a shattered cry, one that can’t be heard by anyone but me thanks to the ongoing thunder of the party music. I collect that beautiful helpless cry of his, tuck it away as one of my favorite sounds. It’s so human. But the way the pleasure rolls through both of us, over and over, wave after wave for the next few minutes, is sonothuman.
Five-minute orgasms.
The first thing I’ve truly, honestly loved about Hell.
Something happens during those five minutes when we’re fused together, limbs shining and shuddering, hands clasping each other’s bodies, eyes locked in dazed glittering wonder while bliss cascades through us. I can feel tendrils of my soul stretching out, weaving themselves inextricably into the essence of him, and in return there’s a cautious, cool darkness slithering from him into me, winding blue tendrils through my soul, glowing softly with every pulse of my heart. It’s all metaphorical and imaginary of course—or is it? This is Hell, after all.
I don’t understand what it means and I don’t want to think about it. I only know that when the quivering pleasure ebbs away, Apollyon is limp on top of me, and I am exquisitely comfortable under him, as if he were the best kind of weighted blanket.
His skin doesn’t feel quite human—it’s basically poreless, harder and smoother somehow in a way that’s not just muscle. He’s an imitation of a person. A demonic spirit, an infernal dragon who prefers to stay in human aspect. I trace his bicep with my fingertips, and it flexes and bunches as he raises himself on both arms, palms braced against the couch. His red hair is a curtain around our faces, another shield from what lies outside, beyond the drapes of the alcove.
“Anyone could walk in here,” I whisper.
“Unlikely. I put a glyph above the entrance.”
“A glyph?”
“A demonic symbol. This one basically means ‘do not disturb,’ and it has my signature flair, which means few would dare to interrupt.” He moves down a little, kissing my neck, my breast. “I have never had such pleasure, with anyone.”
“But you’ve slept with humans before.”
“Yes.” He smiles at me, his eyes soft.
“So what just happened—doesn’t happen with every human and demon who sleep together?”
“No. Demons experience heightened pleasure when they’re with humans, but the length and intensity ofthatecstasy—well. It’s the stuff of legends.”
“Oh,” I breathe, my heart fluttering. “Why do you think it’s different—with us?”
“I think we opened to each other in a way we probably shouldn’t have. In a way that is very, very dangerous, for both of us.” He pushes himself upright, and I sit up as well, drawing my legs up to my chest.
“So then—we should go back to pretending we don’t care,” I mutter. “And we shouldn’t do this again.”
“Definitely not.” But he gives me such a look out of the corner of his sparkling blue eye, such a delighted, lecherous smirk, that I can’t help laughing.
Apollyon bolts off the couch, snatching his robes from the floor. “I want you to dance with me. Please.”
“Bad idea. First of all, you tore up my clothes.”
