Daunuan
I smelled her before I saw her—this immediate, irresistible scent of cinnamon and sex that hit me like a witch’s curse. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, drew her aroma inside of me and savored her.
Jezebel was nearby.
A memory flashed: my face buried between Jezebel’s strong thighs, my lips on hers, my hands squeezing her ass as my tongue worked her clit. I remembered how her hands fisted in my hair, how her hips bucked as I sucked her, how I teased her to the point of ecstasy….
The woman under me moaned her pleasure, loud enough to pull me from my reverie.
Whoops. Focus, Daun.
I crooked my fingers again, just so, and she gasped. She tightened around me, and I could have nudged her over the edge right there—she was so close. Instead, I slipped my fingers out of her, smiled at her breathy protest.
I’m nothing if not an evil bastard.
Besides, if I finished her too soon, there was the slight possibility that I wouldn’t leave her craving me, making her almost delirious from the thought of me finally fucking her. I could have happily taken her right now, pounded her until she screamed my name and I burst inside of her. But that wouldn’t be tonight. No, tonight it was all about her pleasure. Her desire.
After all, clients always come first.
Look at her, sprawled on the bed beneath me, here in this tiny room in a tiny apartment. See her chestnut hair on the pillow, her tresses dark against the white cotton. Drink in the soft curves of her flesh. Feel how all she wants is for me to bring her to rapture.
My lips pulled into a hungry smile. But damn, I do so love my job.
She cooed as she watched me suck her juices from my fingers. Her flavor filled me—tangy, delicious.
Just not my Jezebel.
Licking the last of her from my fingers, I said, “Think I can make you explode in my mouth?”
Her eyes lit, the promise of passion making them sparkle. “Ooh. God, yes…”
My smile slipped before I froze it into place. Fuck me; why did they always have to mention Him? It’s such a blessed buzz-kill….
“You make me feel so good,” she babbled, “make me come so hard. No one’s ever made me feel like you do.”
Aw. Flattery. That perked me up again. “You think you feel good now, doll? Wait until you feel my tongue on you.”
She shivered from anticipation, murmured her oohs and ahhhs.
It should have made my balls throb to see her spread out naked before me. Her entire body was an offering, so very flushed with need, her lust all but dancing over her limbs. And nestled within her fragile human shell, her soul silently beckoned me, taunted me. Between how her body was responding to my attention and how the evil within her soul was responding to my presence, it should have been impossible for me to think of any other woman at the moment.
But instead of imagining how I was about to make her squirm and squeal, how she would be sticky sweet in my mouth—how her soul would taste on my tongue—I kept picturing Jezebel. Smelling her.
Wanting her.
Even after almost twenty years, I still wanted her like a submissive wants to be dominated.
Soon, I told myself. First the client. Then go find Jezebel.
My smile stretched into a wicked grin, and I dove down.
Jezebel
Normally, I don’t have to worry about my clients dying on me before I finish the job. After four thousand years, my timing’s down pat. Sex, like dancing, is about the timing. And passion, of course. Without passion, it’s all just going through the motions. (Okay, granted, enjoyable motions. I’m certainly not complaining.)
This client was different. Too huge to settle for massive, he was a wall of flesh, with mere suggestions of musculature beneath all the fat. Me, I have no objection to obesity. People are a turn-on, no matter how they’re shaped—big, small, short, tall, flabby, trim, hang-nailed, well hung, you name it. Their bodies are unique art forms, and I appreciate them all for what they are: human and inherently beautiful. But my current client was a heart attack waiting to happen. And if he died before I killed him, I’d never hear the end of it.
I’d also be tortured, but that’s just a given. When you live forever, never hearing the end of your failures really sucks angel feathers.
“I don’t know about this,” my client said as I closed the door behind us. “Maybe it’s not a good idea.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Smiling, I reached out to touch his shoulder, and with that contact I pushed a smidge of my power through him. Just a hint of lust—enough to turn the “maybe not” into “do me now.” No, it’s not cheating; it’s part of the job.
But even if it were cheating, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I’m not exactly a saint. Neither was my client—after all, there was a reason why he was next on my Bag Him/Tag Him list. Good people are strictly off limits in my line of work. But people like him, who spent their lives lying about others, with no other purpose than to cause pain? They’re cruel. Heartless. Evil. In other words, perfect.
My client let out an adorable gasp as his body shuddered with desire. Bless me, I love the noises that humans make. Their sounds, their smells, the way they taste…ah, bliss!
Pitching my voice to warmth-inducing levels, I said, “We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”
“Fun,” he breathed. “Okay. Fun.”
Beneath my hand, his shirt was damp. He’d sweated through most of the material, so now dark patches plastered the light blue button-up to his body. I was making him nervous. No, more than nervous: I saw the unease in his eyes, understood his building dread that maybe I was leading him on. That maybe I’d laugh at him. Over his sweat and his liberal use of Old Spice, he reeked of fear.
Yum.
Inhaling his personal terror, I brightened the wattage of my smile. “If you want, you can undress me.” Putting a purr into my voice, I added, “I don’t remember if I’m wearing a bra. Care to find out?”
“I…I…” Perspiration beaded on his forehead. “I don’t know….”
“Not a trick question.” I winked and stepped forward, which made him take a shuffling step backward. The office was cramped—between the desk, the bookshelves, and the filing cabinet, there was barely room for the two of us. Not a problem. I’ve seduced men (and women) in smaller spaces than this closet-sized room. I liked being creative, and part of my job was to be flexible. And double-jointed.
His ass hit the desk, and he let out a startled squeak.
Slow it down, Jezebel. Don’t scare him to death.
“I—”
“Shhh.” I brushed my fingers over his shoulder, up to his chins, lingered behind his ear. “No need to be so nervous. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
“I’m not nervous,” he lied. “It’s just—what if a customer comes in?”
“It’s past closing time. Store’s locked tight.”
“I don’t know if I remembered to lock the front door….”
“I’m sure you did.” I found a sensitive spot on the nape of his neck and stroked him there. He shuddered, leaning into my touch.
Yes. That’s right, sweetie. Go with the feeling. It’s okay to let yourself enjoy it.
Almost as if he were shocked by my thoughts, his eyes popped open and he pulled away. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“So?”
“They’ll be banging on the door, begging for just two minutes to get a card.”
Banging and begging? Sounds like my kind of place. And there’s a lot I can do in two minutes.
Tracing the folds of his skin, I said, “So they want to…take advantage of you?”
“They do.” Something ugly passed over his face, and he pulled his lip into a sneer.
Obviously, my client was not a people person. Dancing my fingers along his collar, I asked, “What do they do?”
“I’m already keeping the store open later than the Hallmark across the street. But can people bother getting here during business hours?” He snorted. “Hell, no!”
“Poor guy.”
“And they’re rude! Make me work late, and they yell at me when they can’t find what they want, as if I told them to wait until close of business before shopping for a freaking holiday card!”
He was getting all worked up, and not in the way that I preferred.
I leaned against him, making sure my double-Ds pressed into his chest. My client was a boob man, so I’d accommodated the fantasy when I’d dressed for the occasion: specifically, I’d magicked up a luscious body with supersized tits. (Human women needed bras or silicone to have their breasts defy gravity. I, however, didn’t have to worry about things like natural laws. Or lower back pain.) A low-cut, tight black shirt called even more attention to my Dolly Partons. A black patent belt cinched around my tiny waist, emphasizing my hourglass figure. And my ability not to breathe. Vampira, eat your heart out.
“And then they never leave,” my client said. He was babbling now, even as my hands explored his chest. “It’s always like this on Valentine’s Day. Always, always.”
“Sweetie…”
“And all the chocolate! And hearts! And those stupid kissing bears! I hate this holiday, hate it!”
“It’ll be over soon,” I promised.
“Valentine’s Day.” He closed his eyes again and shuddered—and not from how I was rubbing my chest against his. “It’s just a candy-coated hell.”
“So angry,” I murmured, feeling my body respond to his fury. Wrath wasn’t nearly as much fun as lust, but human ire was still enough to make my nipples ache with need, enough to heat my blood. I grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked his face to mine. He squawked his surprise, but then I sealed my lips against his and kissed him hard, and his protest turned into a moan as I tasted the rage on his tongue.
Mmm.
I felt him melt and go with the kiss for a moment, then he stiffened against me. He pulled away from my mouth, but not my embrace. Pressed against his body, I felt his heartbeat dancing in either anticipation or panic.
He whispered, “Why’re you doing this?”
“It’s called kissing,” I said, kissing his sweaty cheek. Salty. Sinful. Scrumptious. “It’s part of the sex.”
“But why me? Girl like you could get any guy she wants.”
“Told you before, when I saw you behind the counter.” I nibbled on his earlobe, grinned as I felt him squirm against me. In his ear I whispered, “I like ’em husky.” I put extra breath into the last word, let him know with my voice just how much I liked him. He was slated for Hell; he was my current client. What’s not to like?
“But I’m…”
“Big. Powerful,” I said, reaching down to touch his crotch. “Huge.”
He let out a squeak.
“Mmm. Enormous,” I crooned, stroking him.
He started to pant, and his sweat glands kicked into overtime. Eyes glazed, he said something close to “ahhg.”
My fingers slowly worked their magic—strictly from experience, no infernal power needed—and his shaft swelled in response. My, my. Big Boy here was clearly a big boy where it mattered most. Excellent. I increased the pressure, but kept the movement slow, languorous. Cock tease, thy name is Jezebel.
“Ahhg…”
I mused aloud, “I wonder if my mouth is big enough to take you all the way inside…”
“Ahhg.”
“I agree. Let’s find out.” I yanked the snap of his jeans, pulled down his zipper.
And that’s when a man’s voice called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”
Crap.
Daunuan
One of the rules of Seduction is you always leave your clients begging for more. Unless you’re killing them, that is. (Then you just leave them begging.)
Leaning down over the bed, I kissed my current paramour on her breast, a small press of my lips to the heavy underswell of her flesh. She murmured something nonsensical and then sighed, a smile lingering on her mouth as she rolled over.
Smiling in return, I watched her settle deeper into sleep. She was a beautiful thing—soft where it mattered, and smooth, and altogether sexy. Mortals wouldn’t see the greed marring her soul, staining her nicotine-yellow and condemning her to the Abyss. She was an entrepreneur of sorts: a white-collar criminal who had a knack for creating fake identities and collecting their salaries. Her file said that she’d amassed enough embezzled money over the years to either retire in style or buy herself a private island.
Shame she wouldn’t be doing either. She’d be too busy dying with my name on her lips and her scream in my ears. I could hear it now: the terror in her voice, the lust in her eyes giving way to fear….
Mmm. Shivers.
But that would be in two more weeks, according to the schedule. Until then, it was all about pleasuring her to insensibility. Fine by me. The way I look at it, a lifetime of sin deserves some reward.
Besides, if I had to fuck her to death now, I’d have to drag her soul Below as soon as I was done. And Hell knew, the last thing I wanted to do was wait on line to get admittance into the Abyss. Because after that, I’d have to escort my client to the Heartlands of Lust, where I’d watch her be judged for her mortal crimes. And then I’d have to wait on an even longer line to file the soul claim. Infernal red tape truly sucked bishop balls. I wasn’t in the mood to wait for weeks before my paperwork was processed.
I smiled as I traced the planes of my sleeping client’s face. What I was in the mood for was about two blocks away, based on the strength of our psychic Seducer connection. All creatures of Lust shared the bond. Unless we were distracted—say, entertaining a client—we could sense another of our ilk roughly within a thousand paces. Useful trait when we were looking for a quick fix between assignments.
And in my case, even when I was otherwise occupied, I still sensed Jezebel. It’s been that way for me since…well, since the beginning. (No, not that Beginning.)
I gently brushed a lock of hair away from my client’s brow. Her profile was a vision to behold; her steady breathing was hypnotic to watch as her breasts bobbed up with her inhale, then slowly back down as she exhaled. She was attractive, certainly; desirable, without a doubt.
But she just wasn’t the one I wanted.
Well then, time to go find my favorite succubus. Maybe I could catch her before she finished her client and had to mosey on Downstairs. If I timed it right, she could do her job and we could have some fun before she had to get her affairs in order.
As I rose from the bed, one of the framed posters on the wall caught my eye. My current client was either a movie buff or a Matt Damon worshiper, based on all the ads and stills littering the walls. Ocean’s Eleven, Good Will Hunting, The Talented Mr. Ripley…numerous others. But Dogma stood out in particular. Maybe it was the pseudo wings the actor sported, or maybe it was just the tagline. “Get ‘touched’ by an angel,” indeed. Hah. As if angels knew how to give good touch. They were so fucking frigid they made nuns look like streetwalkers.
Matt Damon, huh? Well…why the Hell not? Jezzie loved to play dress up. So did I, although I much preferred to play doctor.
I let my power wash over me, transform me from a skinny artistic type—my client’s preferred male—to something that would have gone well on her wall: shorter side of tall, short sandy hair, hazel eyes that hinted at blue. Cleft chin. Trim body, with the muscles well defined. Black-on-black clothing, from trench coat to boots. Cute dimple. Killer smile.
Boom: Bourne Identity, infernal style.
Before I left, I magicked up a piece of paper and wrote my client a love note, telling her I’d see her in two weeks. A little something for her to hold onto over the next fourteen days, and a promise of things to come. I didn’t sign it. She knew who it was from; besides, only stupid demons actually sign their names on anything. (All it takes is one time for a wannabe mage to come across your name. Next thing you know, you find yourself in the middle of a protected circle, and some asshole in a dress is demanding that you make him immortal, or some shit like that. Which would be amusing as Hell, except (a) sometimes the mortals actually have a limited magical ability, which is annoying, and (b) magicians tend to repeat on me.)
Folding the note, I released it with a flick of my fingers. The paper landed on my client’s pillow, the corner close to her rosebud mouth. She kept sleeping, dreaming the dreams of the sexually sated.
See you, doll.
Thinking of Jezebel, I headed to the door.
Jezebel
Even as my hands started working on Big Boy’s big boy, I turned my head and listened. Yep, sure enough, there was a person walking around in the main store. Looked like my client was right: he hadn’t locked up. Terrific.
“AHHG!” This in a strangled whisper. How humans can shout when they whisper is their own sort of mortal magic.
Turning back to my client, I arched a brow as I took in his purpling face, the sheen of perspiration flowing on his forehead and cheeks. “Oh, relax. Well, no, don’t relax,” I said, giving him a squeeze where it counted. “Don’t worry.”
“Ahhg?”
I stroked his cock slowly, a counterpoint to his building terror. “It doesn’t really matter, now, does it? A little exhibitionism never hurt anyone.”
“AHHG!!!”
From outside the office door: “Hello? Is someone in the back room? Can you ring me up, please?”
Big Boy groaned and screwed his eyes shut.
I heard the erratic thump of his heart, smelled the sour odor of his sweat mixed with the heady scent of his terror. Yum. Even with the annoying person outside, I would have blissfully given my client a blow job before getting to the bump and grind, but it was clear that his sheer panic was affecting his ability to enjoy our encounter. Proof of that was softening in my hand.
The infernal Seducer’s creed: The client comes first. Always.
“No worries, sweetie,” I said, patting his dick. “I’ll go out there and tell the mean old customer that we’re closed. Would you like me to do that?”
“Aggh,” he wheezed.
“Okeydokey.” I kissed him on the lips, just a quick peck to let him know that we weren’t done yet. “When I return, I’ll make you feel so good that you’ll scream my name, and you won’t give a shit who hears.”
He smiled weakly, then dropped his head as he clutched the edge of his desk for support.
“Back soon.” With that, I left the office.
The customer—a guy in an off-the-rack suit and ill-fitting wool coat—was all but dancing with impatience as he gripped a card in one hand and a small red box with the other. He spotted me as soon as I sauntered into the main room of the store. “About time,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Thought no one was going to help me.”
“Store’s closed, sweetie,” I said, walking up to him. I smiled to let him know that if it were up to me, I’d happily fuck him for his inconvenience. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
His face crumpled. It was the cutest thing to watch. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“So I hear.”
“You can’t kick me out.”
“Not my rules.”
“But she’ll kill me if I don’t give her a card!”
Ooh. “Really? Would she stab you, do you think? Or would she be more subtle about it, maybe poison you over a few weeks?” Murder in a fit of passion would be one for Lust. But a slow, calculated death would probably go to Wrath. Maybe I could get a twofer…
His eyes swam in misery. “Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please.”
Something in my chest tugged, and I blew out a sigh. “Fine. Just this once, though.”
“Thank you! Oh God, thank you so much!”
Heh. “I’m not Him, sweetie. Come on, let’s take care of you. I’ve got business to attend to.”
He was already at the counter, turning his card just so. Okay, so I had to let him pay for the items. I had no idea how the cash machine worked, and I also didn’t care. As I took the card and the small box with the big piece of chocolate, my fingers brushed his. I pushed my power into him, and he gasped, closed his eyes.
I watched the bliss work its way onto his face. Hey, no one should be so frantic on a day meant for love and lust. Smiling at his reaction—and hello, his erection—I tucked his items into a paper bag from beneath the counter.
“You’re all set, sweetie.”
His eyes popped open. “What? Oh…thanks,” he said, blinking. He looked confused, and somewhat caught in the afterglow. A dazed smile on his face, he took the bag and floated to the door.
I brushed my hands together and nodded. Now, back to—
“You’re open! Oh, thank God!”
This from the skinny woman who just marched through the door…along with two other people.
“Hey,” I said, scowling. “We’re closed.”
“I saw you just ring up that guy,” the woman said, “I’ll just be a second…”
“Miss? Is this on sale?”
“Excuse me, do you have any of those huge Hershey’s kisses?”
“Miss? Did you hear me?”
“Oh, look,” the first woman said, “this mug is perfect, but there’s no box. Is there a discount for a display item?”
“Hey! Are you deaf? I want to know if this is on sale!”
I closed my eyes as I debated whether I could get biblical and do a little pre-holiday smiting. Or maybe just hit them all with my magic, make them all drop to the floor in a puddle of ecstasy.
But slaughtering humans without the proper paperwork meant I’d be up to my chin in Wrongful Termination forms. Ditto for unleashing too much infernal power on mortals who weren’t scheduled clients; one or two people could be explained as collateral damage, but more than that meant forms out the wazoo. Bad enough I’d missed most of the 1990s and the turn of the current millennium, thanks to a little demonic misunderstanding. I didn’t want to spend the next ten or so years in another administrative nightmare.
In the time that it had taken me to come to the conclusion that I couldn’t just bedazzle everyone (let alone kill them), five more people had scampered into the store, visions of candy hearts dancing in their eyes.
Fuck this.
“You all have two minutes,” I growled. “Then I lock the door and shut the lights, whether or not you’re still inside. Ready? Scurry!”
They scurried.
Daunuan
I slipped into the greeting-card store just as Jezebel finished threatening the customers with imprisonment. Me, I would have threatened dismemberment. Then again, she always did have a better understanding of how humans thought and felt outside of the bedroom than I did.
Pit and Paradise, look at her standing there behind the counter, frustration blotching her cheeks, rage simmering in her eyes. Her lips, painted a wet fuck-me red, were pressed together in an angry line, and her arms were crossed beneath her ample—my, my, very ample—bosom. I couldn’t see her foot from here, but knowing my little succubus, it was tapping erratically. (Jezzie was about as patient as a cat in heat. And about as loud, with the right encouragement.)
Whatever form she wore across the ages, whether swimsuit-model gorgeous or next-door quiet beauty, she was always immediately recognizable to me. Perk of our Sin’s psychic bond. She’d know me for who I was as well; if she were a second-level Seducer, like me, she would have sensed me before now.
Hmm, maybe not: she was rather distracted at the moment, too busy huffing at the customers and intimidating them in her adorable way. I could have announced myself to her, but for now I preferred to watch her. To bask in her.
Oh, Jezzie. Look at you.
The very sight of her was enough to make me hard. But more than just seeing her, I sensed her—this seductive presence, a maddening scent of cinnamon and sex…a sound, low and lush, that I heard in my mind and felt in my groin: her voice, her breath, the memory of her laughter.
Her. Jezebel.
Grrrrowl.
It took all of my control not to leap over the counter and slam her against the wall and thrust into her right there. My hands clenched as I watched her carelessly brush a tendril of black hair away from her eyes. I wanted my cock inside of her, surrounded by her, filling her. Now.
But creatures of Hell have rules—ten of them, to be precise—and one was to keep mortals unaware of our true natures if we weren’t taking them to the Abyss for judgment. And my true nature was to fuck everything in sight.
In other words, now was not the time to think with the wrong head. So…control. Deep breath, Daun. (This was a mortal trick, and it usually worked. The infernal don’t need to breathe, but the act of breathing was somewhat relaxing. Rather like meditation, or eating a yoga instructor.)
Besides, I’d gone for almost twenty years without her, all because she’d screwed up an assignment back around 1990. I could wait a few more minutes.
Exhaling slowly, I grinned, allowing my fangs to slip through my false human teeth for just a moment. Soon I’d be inside of her. Soon she’d be writhing on top of me, her claws sinking into me, digging into me with my every thrust.
Soon.
As Jezebel glowered at the various customers scuttling around the store, I quietly scanned them. A few of the humans looked like candidates for future collections, but none of them were clearly marked as Jezzie’s current client. Given how she was trying to kick everyone out, that meant her squeeze toy was somewhere else. Another customer, perhaps, tucked out of sight behind the counter?
No. She wouldn’t have taken someone here in the store if they were just passing through—so that meant the person was a store employee. Jezebel liked to pounce on a person’s home turf. Made them more comfortable, she said. Just thinking about that made me roll my eyes. Like I gave two shits about where I screwed someone’s brains out.
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. Women. Whether mortal or infernal, they always focused too much on the atmosphere. On setting the mood. The only mood music I needed was my client’s heavy breathing.
Stuffing my hands into my coat pockets, I strolled around the store, throwing looks at people’s chests to see if they sported name tags (and just admiring the view if they didn’t). Heeeeere, person, person, person. Where are you hiding? Did Jezzie get you too worked up to come work?
As I walked up and down the aisles, I took in all of the sickeningly sweet terms of endearment emblazoned on the thousands of cards and toys and candy. Leave it to humans to turn messages of the heart into a commercial opportunity. Rather insidious. I had to admire that.
“One minute,” Jezebel snarled to the store at large.
At least three people groaned. One woman whimpered as she pawed through a stack of cards. A man, clutching a stuffed cat in one hand and two embracing bears in the other, looked like he was either going to vomit or maybe have a bowel movement right there in his pants.
All of this, over which gaudy display of token affection was just right. Humans bemuse the Hell out of me.
“All right, people,” Jezebel said, her voice deadly soft. “If you leave before I say it’s time, whatever you’ve got is free of charge. If you can carry it out of here, it’s yours. Free. Sixty seconds, starting now.”
No one moved.
“Fifty-nine,” she singsonged. “Fifty-eight.”
The customers bellowed their glee, and then in a human stampede they proceeded to clear the shelves.
Heh.
As I laughed silently at the display of mortal greed, I noticed a sign by the back of the store. “Employees Only.” Sounded promising. Ignoring human rules and physics, I ghosted through the back door and followed my nose down a narrow hallway to a tiny office.
And what I saw there, lying in a heap on the floor, made me grin.
“My, my,” I said aloud. “Jezzie always was bad at writing her name on her toys. And she’s worse about putting them away when she’s done playing.”
The obese man’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, but only a strangled breath emerged. His face was a rather alarming shade of purple. He reeked of sweat and fear, and something else—a more pungent odor, much more toxic. Impossible to ignore.
“And her timing is pretty lousy today,” I said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
He whispered something and tried to get up from the floor, but his body didn’t seem to work properly. Poor man. Someone should put him out of his misery.
Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
I hunkered down on my haunches and flashed my fangs through my grin. “Tell me, Trigger,” I said to the terrified man, “what does ‘gift horse’ mean to you?”
Jezebel
“Five seconds!”
Everyone let out a squawk, like chickens about to meet the business end of a hatchet. As one, they stared at the goods in their hands (and dangling from their arms, and tucked under their armpits, and stuffed into their bags), obviously wrestling with the notion of getting something for nothing. Time froze as they considered the implications. Stealing, after all, is a sin—and deep down, they knew what I was letting them do was wrong.
Then they all bolted out the front door.
After the sounds of the mad rush faded, I took in the damage to the store. And I let out an appreciative whistle. Not bad for two minutes of work. Entire shelves had been cleared of their inventory, and at least two racks were broken. Discarded envelopes and second-rate cards carpeted the floor, their messages of forced cheer and love and happiness trampled into the ground. Amid the candy and knickknacks left behind on the higher shelves, a lone teddy bear sat awkwardly, perched between a sampler box of chocolate clusters and a hideously ugly silk-flower arrangement; the bear’s oversized paw seemed to motion to the trail of litter on the ground and that led out the door, as if it were pointing out the avarice that now stained the customers’ souls.
Well, maybe that was overstating it a little. I had invited them to take whatever they could, so that canceled out any technical wrongdoing on their part. They weren’t thieves, no. But they had all acted out of greed, which nicely planted the seeds for future sins—ones they might commit without any such invitation. Ones that would eventually lead to a very hot seat for a very long time.
Hey, one could always hope. I might not be a creature of Covet, but at least I’m a team player.
I made a beeline to the front door, my mind whirling as I stomped over the debris on the floor. That little delay only cost me about five minutes, start to finish. Not too bad. Big Boy was probably soft as a kitten by now, but that wasn’t anything I couldn’t fix. Maybe I’d start him with a blow job, let him get hard and huge in my mouth. There’s nothing like feeling a man’s pride swell from the way you worked your tongue and teeth. Yes, I decided—a little cock sucking, a little teabagging, and then I’d take him for the ride of his life.
Smiling, I slid the master lock into place. There we go. No more unexpected interruptions—
The telltale stink of rotten eggs, just for a moment—enough to make my nostrils flare and to signal that one of my infernal brethren had arrived. Brimstone gave way to a heady musk, heavy with the promise of sweat and sex. And then a man’s strong arms wrapped around my waist.
Hey now…
Breath on my neck, the hint of a smile as lips pressed against the curve of my throat. “Well, well.” The voice was deep, and exceptionally male, and went right between my legs. “Alone at last.”
Even as he spoke, I felt his presence slide into my mind, all satin sheets and scented oil. Been thinking of you, babes.
My heartbeat quickened, and not just from the way his hands were brushing against my breasts. Daun?
In the flesh.
I felt a smile bloom on my face, and my shoulders relaxed even as a different part of me tensed in delicious anticipation. Any incubus worth his horns could make a succubus climax (repeatedly). But Daunuan could make me come with just a look. Over the millennium, I’ve worked with—in the “working girl” sense—thousands of other Seducers. No one, not demons or gods or any entity in between, made me feel like Daun did. He was a very talented, very attentive creature of Lust. He had a wicked sense of humor, which isn’t as commonplace in Hell as you might think. And he was the best lay in all of the Heartlands.
He was also a demon, which meant he was here for a reason. The nefarious aren’t known for their social skills.
This is a surprise. I rested my head against his chest, allowed myself a moment to enjoy how his fingers traced my curves. What’re you doing here?
You.
I chuckled softly. “Cocky bastard.”
“Always.”
He was playing with my nipples now, rolling the buds slowly, maddeningly, until they nearly burst through my shirt. “How’d you find me?”
“Finished with a client. Felt you nearby.” One of his hands moved down the curve of my belly, down more, dangling now by the juncture of my thighs. He brushed against my crotch, a whisper kiss of the pads of his fingers against the gauzy black material of my skirt. Just that hint of a caress, and already a liquid heat stirred in my core; just that unspoken promise, and that was enough to make my body hum with desire. He said, “Wanted to feel you in person.”
I sucked in a breath as his strokes grew bolder, teasing me now with lingering touches. “I’m flattered,” I said, my voice thick, heavy with lust. I moved beneath him, rolling my hips, angling to coax his fingers to go deeper. Longer. Harder.
“I’m encouraged.” I couldn’t see Daun’s face, but I heard the grin in his voice. He nudged me just so, and like that, the simmer between my legs transformed into a raging boil.
Oh unholy Hell, what he does to me…
I felt Daun inhale deeply, his body pressed close to mine, and a shock worked its way up my spine as he rumbled his pleasure. “Jezebel,” he whispered, rolling my name on his tongue, turning it into something erotic. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Eat.
Unbidden, my mind flashed on the image of my client, his flesh overflowing his clothes, his huge shaft softening in my hand.
Oh, fuck me with a fork. My client. My trans-fat-gorging, ticking-time-bomb client.
“Babes? You just stiffened. That’s my job.”
“And my job’s the problem.” I snorted, completely exasperated, and more than a little frustrated. “I’m working.”
“I noticed.” His hand nuzzled between my thighs, his fingers probing, dancing. My sex pulsed to the rhythm of his fingers. “Every part of you is in fine—”
His magic licked my vulva, and I squealed.
“—fine—”
Another lick, slower this time, serpentine, and my squeal melted into a moan.
“—working order.”
My breath was coming in hitches. I could have stopped breathing, of course; demons don’t need oxygen, not unless we’re setting something (or someone) on fire. But cutting off my breathing would have also cut off some of the fantabulously wonderful sensations shooting through my body.
Life is a series of compromises. I kept breathing.
His magic nuzzled deeper, and suddenly my clit was throbbing from his invisible touch. I let out a very undemonic mewl as I sagged against him. He was cheating, the bastard—clients always come first. What he was doing was absolutely breaking the rules.
Sweet Sin, how I’ve missed him.
“Daunuan,” I panted. “Naughty demon. I’m on the clock.”
“Take a break.”
Bless me, how I wanted to. How I wanted him.
My hands reached back and around, cupped the swells of his ass. “Would love to,” I said, rubbing against him. The bulge of his erection pressed into the small of my back. “But my client’s waiting.”
Kisses now, sizzling on my neck, his lips blazing a trail to my ear.
“Checked on him,” Daun said, punctuating his words with his tongue. “He’ll keep.”
Oh, the temptation. If it were any other incubus, I would have sent him away with a slap and a tickle. But this was Daun, and my body was addicted to his like a miser was to money. No matter what forms we wore, we always fit together like a plug in a socket. However else things changed across the millennia, that was a constant. As was our incessant sex drive.
But no matter how much I wanted Daun inside of me, my client was waiting. And being a succubus is all about providing excellent customer service. (Not to mention lip service.)
I sighed. A demon, about to do the right thing. What was the world coming to?
Turning around to face Daun, I did a double take. “Why do you look like Matt Damon?”
His lips—his beautiful full lips—quirked into a bemused smile. “This from Elvira?”
“Hey, it’s what my client wanted.”
“And the customer is always right.” Daun had moved his hands when I’d turned, and now one of his arms was wrapped around me. His other hand was planted over my crotch.
“So I’ve been told,” I said, my voice husky.
Now his fingers were working on me, teasing me, turning me into a puddle of ooze and eroding the little control I had. I felt my knees weaken, and I wondered if I had time for a quickie…
No, no, no. Bad succubus. You can screw Daun any time.
Well, any time we happened to find the time together. How long had it been since we’d last had a heat-filled moment to spare for each other? Ten years? Twenty?
“But the clothing doesn’t make the woman,” he said as he fingered me. “You could’ve appeared in a hair shirt and ashes, and your client still would have begged you to fuck him.”
“You’re a sweetie,” I said, or tried to say, but the words came out more like “Youhhhhhhhh.” Not my fault. Daun got my sweet spot. Daun always got my sweet spot.
Panting, I spoke through our psychic Seducer link: My client’s skittish. I’ve got to get back to him before he bolts. Or expires. Which would be totally unacceptable.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Daun said, as insistent as his fingers.
Normally, his tone would have given me pause; Daun was acting much too confident, even for him. But then a knowing smile unfurled on his face, and he stroked me again…
Eeeeee!!!…and who really gave a shit about one measly client, anyway?
“Besides,” Daun said with a chuckle, “it’s Valentine’s Day. And I have a gift for you.”
Ooh. “A prezzie?”
“For Jezzie.”
“A rhyme! How inventive!” I squeezed his ass, then stretched my hands enough to skim my nails against his balls.
He let out a sound of pure animal intention, a growl that echoed in my breasts and my belly and my clit, and as that delicious sound skimmed over my body I decided that just this once, I’d put my own selfish needs before my client. Really, Big Boy was a stone-cold liar in life. So what that I’d lied to him when I said I’d be right back? What comes around goes around.
And I’d make him come around. Eventually.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m yours.”
Daun’s smile bloomed into an evil grin, all poison and poppies. “Don’t I know it.”
“Why, Daunuan. You sound as possessive as a Coveter.”
“One of my many vices,” he said, his voice the satisfied rumble of a tiger’s purr. “I’ve waited such a long time for this.”
I shivered with anticipation. “Daun?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve missed you.”
He paused, then his hand moved away.
For a moment, I thought I had insulted him—demons don’t have feelings, not in the way that humans do, and to admit that I’d missed him was akin to an anathema, like the L-word. Then again, demons lie, so maybe he thought I was just teasing him.
I shouldn’t have cared about what he thought. But bless me for an angel, I did. I cared about him. And that was the biggest anathema of all.
All of this, in a heartbeat. Then the moment passed as he wrapped his arms around me in a tender embrace, and I felt something loosen in my chest.
“Babes,” he said, “I’ve missed you, too. I’ve been thinking about you. And now I’m going to show you just how much I’ve been thinking about you.”
I smiled. Daunuan was such a horny little devil.
Some things never change.
THEN:
THE GREAT FLOOD