Summon a succubus (2)

Azrael didn’t move. He stayed pinned against me, his chest rising and falling in heavy, jagged thuds against my breasts. The sweat made our skin stick together, creating a wet, suctioning sound every time I tried to shift. My legs were still locked around his waist, my muscles trembling from the strain, but I didn't want him to get off. I wanted to stay crushed under that terrifying weight forever.

The room was silent, except for the hum of the city ten stories below and the ringing in my ears. The air smelled like sex, copper, and that heavy, dark musk that only he carried.

"You think it's over, don't you, Claire?" he whispered. His voice was a low vibration that traveled through my skin and settled right back in my groin.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. Those golden eyes weren't glowing anymore; they were burning. He reached out and grabbed my hair again, not to hurt me, but to keep my eyes fixed on his. He wanted me to witness every second of my own undoing.

"I... I gave you what you wanted," I managed to say, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed glass.

"No," he growled, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You gave me an appetizer. You called a Prince, Claire. You don't pay a Prince with one messy tumble on a hardwood floor. You haven't even begun to pay the price."

He sat up, dragging me with him as if I weighed nothing. He leaned his back against the leg of my bed, pulling me onto his lap. I felt him growing hard again against my thigh—thick and insistent. My body reacted instantly, a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs. It was disgusting how much I wanted him, considering he was probably planning to drag my soul to hell.

"What do you want then?" I asked, my fingers tracing the scars on his chest. They felt like raised ridges of hot iron.

"I want your autonomy," he said, his hand sliding down to grip my hip, his fingers digging into the flesh. "I want you to realize that from the moment you finished that ritual, your body stopped belonging to you. Every itch, every throb, every scream... I own it all. And I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving it."

He didn't give me time to process that. He flipped me over, pushing my face down into the rug. The fibers were scratchy against my cheek, a harsh reminder of how real this was. He grabbed my hips and pulled them up, making me arch my back until I was on all fours.

"Stay," he commanded.

I heard him stand up. I heard his footsteps as he walked around me, circling me like a wolf. I felt exposed, my skin cooling in the night air while my core was still pulsing with heat. I wanted to look back, but the raw authority in his voice kept me pinned.

"You're a fast learner," he murmured, his shadow falling over me.

Suddenly, I felt his hand—massive and cold this time—slide between my thighs from behind. I let out a choked sob as he found my clit, his thumb rubbing it with a clinical, brutal precision. He wasn't being romantic. He was exploring his new property.

"You're soaking wet for a demon, Claire," he mocked, leaning down so his chest was pressed against my back. "Is this what you dreamed about while you were reading those dusty books? Being used like a toy by something that doesn't even have a soul?"

"Yes," I hissed, my eyes snapping shut as the pleasure started to build again, sharper and more demanding than before. "Yes, damn you."

He laughed, a dark, rich sound that made my toes curl. "Oh, you're already damned, sweetheart. But I'm going to make sure you enjoy the ride."

He didn't use any lube. He didn't need to. He guided himself to my entrance and pushed in, a slow, agonizing inch at a time. I felt every ridge, every vein, every bit of him stretching me to the limit. I clawed at the rug, my nails catching in the fabric as I tried to handle the sensation. It was too much. It was exactly what I’d asked for.

He started to move, his hands gripping my waist so hard I knew I’d have bruises in the shape of his fingers by morning. Each thrust was a heavy, wet slap of skin against skin. He wasn't just fucking me; he was staking a claim.

"Say my name," he ordered, his pace increasing until the room was a blur of shadows and heat.

"Azrael!" I screamed, the sound echoing off the empty walls of my apartment.

"Again."

"Azrael! Please, Azrael!"

He didn't stop until I was shaking, my muscles seizing as another orgasm ripped through me. I collapsed onto the floor, my face buried in my arms, gasping for air. I felt him spill inside me, a hot, heavy release that felt like liquid fire.

He stayed there for a moment, his breath hot on the back of my neck. Then, he leaned down and whispered into my ear, his voice colder than before.

"That was for the summoning. Now, we talk about the contract."

I shivered, but not from the cold. I looked back at him, and for the first time, I saw the true darkness behind those golden eyes. This wasn't just a one-night stand with a monster. This was the beginning of my disappearance.

I lay there, my face pressed against the rug, my lungs burning as I tried to claw back some oxygen. The weight of his body had lifted, but the air around me still felt like a physical pressure. I could hear him moving—the sound of skin sliding against skin as he wiped himself clean with my discarded slip. The disrespect of it stung more than the bruises forming on my hips.

"Sit up, Claire," Azrael commanded.

I pushed myself up, my muscles feeling like lead. I sat on my heels, my hair a tangled mess over my face. I didn't try to cover myself. There was no point. He had already seen every inch of me, had already taken everything he wanted. He was standing by the window now, his silhouette cutting a terrifyingly beautiful figure against the city lights.

"The contract isn't about your soul in the way your boring little books describe it," he said, not looking back at me. "I don't need a piece of paper or a drop of blood. I have your scent. I have your rhythm. That is the only signature that matters in the Pit."

I swallowed hard. "Then what do you want? You said there was a price."

He turned around, and the gold in his eyes was cold, like frozen coins. "You didn't just call a lover, Claire. You called a shadow. From now on, I am the hunger you can't satisfy. You will go about your life. You will go to your job, you will talk to your friends, you will eat and sleep. But every time a man touches your hand, you will feel my teeth on your neck. Every time you try to find pleasure without me, you will feel nothing but ash in your mouth."

The weight of it hit me. It wasn't death; it was a haunting.

"I am your only source of light now," he continued, walking back toward me with that slow, predatory gait. "And in exchange, I will use you. When I am bored, when I am hungry, when the dark gets too quiet... I will come. And you will be ready. That is the deal."

He reached out, his hand cupping the back of my head and pulling me toward him until my forehead was resting against his stomach. I could smell the sex and the smoke on him, and despite the horror of what he was saying, my body betrayed me again. My heart started to race. My core throbbed.

"One last time for tonight," he whispered, his fingers digging into my scalp. "To make sure the ink is dry on your skin."

He didn't wait for a response. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me down onto the bed, the mattress groaning under the sudden impact. He didn't use his hands this time. He used his teeth, his tongue, and the sheer, unyielding power of his body to strip away whatever was left of my pride.

It was faster this time. Harder. He moved with a desperation that felt almost human, a frantic need to consume everything I was before the sun came up. I met him move for move, my hands clawing at his back, my legs wrapped so tight around him that I thought I’d break a rib. I wanted the pain. I wanted the mark. I wanted to be so full of him that there was no room for anything else.

When the end came, it was a scream that I couldn't hold back. I felt him hit his limit, his body tensing into a cord of hard muscle as he poured himself into me one last time. For a few seconds, I swear I saw the shadows in the room dance, swirling around us like a physical manifestation of the bargain we’d just struck.

Then, there was only the silence.

I must have blinked, because when I opened my eyes, the bed was empty. The heat was gone. The smell of smoke had faded into the mundane scent of New York traffic and old dust. I was alone in my room, my body aching and covered in marks that would take weeks to fade.

I sat up, my hand going to my neck. The skin was tender, wounded. I walked to the mirror in the bathroom and turned on the light. There, right above my collarbone, was a dark, bruised ring. It looked like a bite, but also like a crown.

I leaned against the sink, my legs shaking. I had what I wanted. I wasn't bored anymore. I wasn't lonely. But as I looked at my reflection, I realized Azrael was right. My eyes looked different. The girl I used to be was gone, replaced by someone who belonged to the dark.

I smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of my lips. I didn't care about the price. I just wanted to know how soon he’d be back.