Page 74 of Interior Design for Demons
“Well, now.” Apollyon exhales. “Who knew that proud studious prick had a shred of mercy in him?”
“I’m not sure it was mercy,” I say. “I think he was saving those videos as ammunition against you.”
“Yet he seems disinclined to use them.”
“He and I have come to an agreement. A peaceful resolution, I think. We’re going to try to be friends. There’s a human woman he’s fascinated with, and I think she’s helping him let go of me.”
“Indeed? Poor girl.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Is it bad that I don’t really care? I’m just glad he’s distracted from pining after me.”
“He’s a fickle dolt.” Apollyon’s fingers dance with a tendril of my hair. “Would you like to see my rooms, dove? I’ll tell you exactly what I want—beautiful naked bodies writhing across the walls, a lamp in the shape of my—”
“Let me stop you right there. Your ideas are tasteless and terrible, so I’m going to suggest you let me have free rein in your suite, okay? Let me decide what you want, what you need.”
Apollyon’s dark red lashes dip low with suspicion. “You think you know me so well?”
“We’ll see. Now run along.” I push his chest gently with both hands.
“Is this how you talk to all your clients?”
“Of course it is. Did you think you were special?” I toss the words out bravely, but my heart is thundering, my skin is hot, and I crave his mouth, his shape, his body against mine.
He smirks, sidling closer again. The room has emptied of everyone else but us.
“Precious, your aura is dripping with lust,” he murmurs.
“That’s none of your business,” I breathe, backing away. “The round has started. If we do anything, if we break the rules, you’ll be punished.”
“Maybe I don’t care.” He prowls toward me, and I pull chairs into the aisle to block his progress. He knocks them aside easily. “Maybe the pleasure of being with you is worth the pain that would follow.”
“Apollyon, stop.” If he touches me, I’m not going to be able to resist. I force steel into my voice. “Stop.”
He hesitates. Why does he look so damn gorgeous and refreshing? I want to lick his collarbones, and the center of his chest, and I want to hook my thumbs into the low-slung waist of his pants, right where his hips form those delicious slanting grooves on either side of his stomach. I want to press my palm right below his navel and feel the heat of his skin, see the corresponding twitch of his arousal under the white pants he’s wearing. I want him to gather me in, sweep me into the swirl of his fragrance and his white flashing smile and his blue eyes.
“No.” I bite the word out. “Not until after this round. You keep your distance until then.”
“So you do have a talent for torture,” he says softly. “How am I supposed to keep my distance when your soft sweet flesh is inches from my fingers, and your delicate secret places are pulsing, soaked, shivering for me? How shall I endure when you gaze at me with so much sweet longing?”
“Oh god,” I whisper. “You’re so ridiculous. Nobody talks like that in real life.”
“I’m unreal life, darling. A fantasy brought into existence.”
“Whose fantasy, I wonder?” I tilt my head, eyeing the lines of his body. “Did Lucifer himself dream you up?”
“Demons cannot design or imagine new things.”
“But Lucifer's different, right? The first one.” I claw up some remnants of the Sunday school classes one of my foster families made me attend. “He was close to God, at the beginning. Maybe he has some creative power. Otherwise someone else must have made you—or copied you from an existing being. Maybe from an angel.”
Apollyon’s eyebrows arch sky-high. “You think I’m a copy of anangel?”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot that angels are despised here.”
“By some, yes.” He winks, and I remember Karaziel, the angel from the party. Apollyon has history with them—sexual history. Obviously he doesn’t discriminate against angels. And from what Rath said when he brought me to Hell, other demons occasionally have trysts with angels, too. I suppose such trysts are in the interest of Hell’s cause, since they contribute to the corruption of Heaven and its servants.
An idea flares suddenly in my mind. Rath told me that angels couldn’t get into Hell unless a demon allowed them in. Which means that some demons can access the portals leading into and out of Hell. If Apollyon could find a way to get Karaziel into Hell and safely out of it again, why couldn’t he do the same for me? And why hasn’t he offered? Maybe he’s had the power all along, like freaking Dorothy with the ruby slippers. But he hasn’t helped me escape, either because he selfishly wants me as a cure for his condition, or because he’s scared of what his superiors would do to him.
He’s selfish, and fearful. And I understand why, but it still hurts.
