How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  CHAPTER THREE

  Goings and Comings

  Caspian was afraid that he was going to embarrass himself. He hadn’t had a woman in years, and he couldn’t remember the last time any was so aggressive. He wanted to come, but he also wanted this to last forever, the delicious sensation of her mouth bobbing up and down on his rod. He had visions of spraying her face with his seed and watching that hot little tongue lap it up, or maybe to finish on those glorious tits . . .

  His cock surged, but he held on to his control. Barely.

  While tempted to just lie back and enjoy her ministrations, he refused to be outdone. He kept saying it over and over: He was a showman. So he grinned and pressed his face into her slit, his tongue sliding the length of it. Those sweet lips parted. His tongue forked and split, curling both around her clit and thrusting deep into her slick passage.

  She cried out, pausing in her task to mash herself down hard on his face. Caspian reacted with pleasure, thrusting harder and then replacing his tongue with his fingers. Then he licked her from slit to arse.

  Grace paused in her writhing, as if startled, but she didn’t tell him to stop; nor did she stop what she was doing to him. In fact, she took him fully into her mouth, deep-throating his cock. It broke his control, and he was suddenly surging inside her mouth. But he wanted her to come as well, wanted her screaming his name—

  He slipped his tongue back inside her, half of his oral member working her clit and the other driving past the rosebud ring of muscles several inches above. She was sweet and hot, her cries spurring him onward, and she was sitting upright now, her thighs braced on either side of his face, grinding against his mouth, begging him for more, for release.

  Caspian slipped another finger inside her, and then she was screaming as her orgasm hit and pleading for him to stop, but her hips were still thrusting her forward against him. She dug her fingers into his hair to tug his head away from her clit, but he was latched on like a familiar seeking a teat. He would not let go. Caspian could sense there was another peak building inside her and he wanted to shove her off it with extreme prejudice.

  Her screams hit an impossibly high pitch and he kept them there, playing her like a finely tuned instrument, and only when it sounded as if she were dying did he allow her bliss to ebb. There was evidence of her pleasure all over his face, and he licked his lips as he allowed her to crawl off him. She collapsed boneless and sated, curled against him, spasms still shaking her body. After a few moments, he spoke, though the sound was muffled. “You know, it’s a good thing I don’t need to breathe. Death by pussy is not one of my goals, even if it is a pussy as glorious as yours.”

  Grace crawled around to lay her head in the crook of his arm. “I thought most men wanted to die fucking.”

  “I can’t die,” he pointed out. No, he couldn’t die, but he could wish he was dead. He shuddered, thinking back to that ill-fated affair with Lilith.

  “Well, in that case.” She moved like she was going to straddle him again. Caspian laughed and moved his hands to her hips to help out, licking his lips with a forked and primed tongue. He felt her slit spasm and clench against his thigh just from watching him, and she bit her bottom lip.

  “Okay, you win. For now.” She settled back down, clearly ready for a nap.

  “You haven’t fulfilled your end of the contract yet. This wasn’t the big show, you know. Just foreplay.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Grace sounded intrigued, interested even, but it was clear she was spent.

  “Yeah. But, it’s a good down payment.”

  She burrowed closer, her eyes closing. “I should think so.”

  “So, we can begin plotting your revenge,” he pointed out.

  She yawned. “Later, I think. Sleep now. This has waited four years; I suppose it can wait one more night.”

  Caspian smirked. He’d enjoy taking advantage of this whole revenge plot. Just like he’d told her earlier, men hated to see their women, exes or not, with someone else. And if Grace wasn’t completely over her relationship with her evil ex, she would be by the time he was done with her. Everyone knew the fastest way to get over one man was to get under another—or a Crown Prince of Hell like himself.

  By morning he was having second thoughts. Grace had been sleeping for some time, but he, Caspian, great Crown Prince of Hell, next in line for the great Throne of the Damned, was having chest pain. A heart attack. That’s the only thing it could be. He’d stayed all night and fucked the woman every which way from Sunday and she’d still been ready for more. If he could die, he might be worried.

  Okay, so he was worried. This pain in his chest, he didn’t like it. There was a nagging in the back of his head that told him this wasn’t a physical malady; it was because he actually liked this woman. Wasn’t that just a rancid bitch?

  Sure, Caspian had always been a lover of women. He loved how they looked, how they smelled, how they tasted; he loved the little sounds they made when he was riding them like horses at the track. He even liked to listen to them talk, liked the sound of their voices. And it was all women, really. Thick ones, thin ones, large breasts, small breasts, she of the childbearing hips and backyard, and those less gifted. Short hair, long hair, blue eyes, brown eyes . . . Earth was a smorgasbord to him. So much so, that he had never really paid attention enough to his lovers to know if he liked them as people. But, he liked Grace.

  Caspian cringed as the pain in his chest doubled. It was sharp like a pinch from a clamp on his nipple, twisting because he liked her.

  Damn! Again, he had to stop thinking about her. Especially as a person. Too bad he’d let her talk him into a contract, because he would leave her high and dry if he could get away with it. For his own protection, of course. He’d never broken a deal before. For a demon, he was reliable. While some of his cronies thought it was terrible, having a reputation as being dependable, he’d found it good for business. It meant more summonings, which meant more corruption ultimately spread around. Sure, most of it was bitch work, but it kept him in the Big Boss’s good graces—which was important to everyone who didn’t fancy roasting on a spit.

  Grace rolled over and laid her head on his chest. From her light snore, he could tell that she was still asleep.

  Sleep. That was something Caspian loved about being topside. Only when he was corporeal did he get to sleep and eat corn dogs. And chocolate. Oh, by the Adversary, did he ever love chocolate. And Warcraft. The game was a personal triumph for the Big Boss, originally designed for demon R and R. He played every chance he got. If he’d been a mortal man, Caspian knew he would have started out handsome but ended up a sloppy fatso living in his mom’s basement and subsisting on corn dogs and Milky Way bars, jacking off to cybersex on one screen while gaming on another. With that thought, he looked at Grace. Once again, he was very interested in her naked breasts, in the curve of her bottom lip and—

  An eye cracked open. “You’ll just have to wait. My snatch is not a Bag of Holding. Nothing else will fit today. I am not a demon; therefore, I have no regenerative powers. I’ve had a baby, so I don’t think it’s going to just snap back into place. Sorry.”

  She didn’t sound the least bit sorry, but Caspian found he couldn’t be miffed with her when she curled into him like that. But, again with the nipple-twisting pain. Was she a virus only a demon could catch? That had to be it.

  Wait, what did she mean by “baby”? There was no baby smell to the house, no maternal scent to her.

  “Is that why you want to get Michael Grigorovich?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why do you care?”

  “I don’t,” he said. But he felt a cold chill up his spine and wasn’t sure of the reason. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. “I just need to know what I’m dealing with. To be effective.”

  Grace opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbow. “He stole my child from me. I know that the parental bond probably doesn’t mean much to a demon, but I want my son. He doesn’t even know what I look like. Michael took
him from me as soon as he was born. It’s been four years. I just lost my last court appeal—and all without ever getting a physical hearing.”

  Caspian felt another tightening in his chest. “How did he get away with that?”

  “Money. Power. Connections. All things that he’s gotten from trafficking with demons.”

  “Who am I up against? You should have told me this at the summoning. This information was not figured into the contract.” Caspian felt a faint glimmer of hope that he’d be able to get out of the deal by exploiting a loophole. Then, no more torture.

  “I knew you would try to find a way out of this.”

  The look on her face would have broken his heart if he’d had one. Not to mention that damnable pain in his chest doubled down again with the cold chill on his back. He thought for a moment the sensation might be guilt, but how could that happen? Guilt wasn’t possible for a demon. “Damn it, who is it? Which demon did he make his deal with?”

  “Ethelred.”

  “Oh.” Caspian laughed. “For a minute there I thought this was going to be a challenge. If it had been Lilith or maybe, say, someone closer in line for the throne, that might have been a problem.”

  “That’s why I summoned you specifically. I want my son back.”

  “I can do that,” Caspian said.

  “I want to be safe from Michael.”

  “I can do that, too.”

  He would have provided her safety regardless. The thought of someone hurting Grace did not sit well with him. Not that he cared to examine the thought at any length. Neither did he care to examine the hellfire that raged within him when he thought of Grace afraid. Or what this Michael person had done to her. Caspian was a demon. He shouldn’t be having feelings, of hellfire or otherwise.

  A damnable voice in the back of his head reminded him that he’d once been human. Yeah, a long time ago and even, yes, in a land far away, he’d been mortal. Once. But he was too far gone for that now. This was his fate, his destiny. His mother had not been of virgin flesh when she’d made her deal, so Caspian was always meant for this. Unlike those who were fully human, he’d been denied free will. Caspian had always known demonhood lay at the end of any path he chose in life. He’d been born of demon flesh, so what other option was there?

  He realized suddenly the enormity of what he’d done with Grace. They could possibly have a child. Before he’d touched her, this sort of thing hadn’t mattered: Demon spawn didn’t much concern him, other than the Big Boss’s reaction. Not until now had he cared about the rest. Not until this woman. She made him feel all sorts of things he didn’t want to face.

  It was all by virtue of her body, he supposed. Which was a laugh. It was like he was a virgin who’d fallen in love with the first girl that would fuck him. Now he was wrapped around her little finger, the Poindexter slavering after the cheerleader for a peek up her skirt. This was no longer a simple business transaction. Because he liked her. He might have spawn with her, and worse, he was worried about that fact. Sure, he’d tagged other pieces more than once, but he never planned it, never thought of tomorrow, and never worried about consequences. This was unacceptable!

  He suddenly doubled over in pain, though a low growl was the only sign he gave of his distress. “Consider your part paid in full,” he ground out. “I will fulfill my end.” He had to get away from her. The very breath in her body made him ache somehow, and he’d had enough.

  He dematerialized.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Revenge Is Best Served Cold

  She found it odd in the extreme that Caspian had stayed the night and then abruptly vanished after asking about her son. She’d expected him to leave immediately after they concluded her part of the contract: the payment in flesh. And, oh, dear saints in Heaven, how she’d paid. She ached everywhere. But it was that good kind of pain that let her know she’d definitely been in the company of a sex god. She hadn’t enjoyed a time like that in . . . well, ever.

  A nice, hot bath was just what she needed. With bubbles and a glass of wine. Yes, Grace felt languorous and leisurely, considering that a demon had just vacated her house—and her body, for that matter. Plans of vengeance could wait.

  She paused, wondering if part of her brain would kick in and scream like a banshee on the rag, asking her what in the name of Hell she’d just done, even though the little voice in her head would know what she’d done because it was there. Or not. Where had that little voice gotten off to? Was it on vacation? Did it have an answering machine? Could Grace leave it a message?

  On second thought, Grace really didn’t want to leave a message. It was kind of nice not listening to her conscience shrieking into her ear all the time. Maybe it would stay gone forever.

  Part of her knew that these were extremely dangerous thoughts. These were the type of reflections that littered that amazingly glittery path to damnation, like so many primrose petals. But, seeing as her conscience was away from its desk, the concern wasn’t as great as it might have been. She’d worry about it later.

  Grace sank deeply into some hot water and wished that for once she could have a bath that would do more than cover her rump or her breasts. She wanted a tub that fit both. If she sank down far enough to cover her chest, her legs were in the air. If she sat up, the rest of her was cold. It sort of ruined the effect of soaking in a hot bath. This was more like dipping. When she got her money and her son back from Michael, after she admitted to him that she was behind the demon tormenting him and only she could stop it, she was going to buy a house in the nicest suburb of Kansas City. Somewhere with a homeowners’ association, gated entry, and no damn demons, witches, supernatural creatures, or mobsters. It was going to have a bathroom the size of a living room. It was going to have a tub big enough for eight people, and two hot-water heaters. And the showerhead would be to die for. Then she wouldn’t need a man. Or a demon. She and her son would have a nice, normal, safe life.

  She wondered what Caspian was going to do to Michael, then snorted. Michael. Michael Grigorovich. He’d sworn on a stack of Bibles that he was descended from the great Rasputin. Grace would believe that when Madame Tussaud sculpted his likeness out of her earwax. She knew now he was just another thug from Brighton, a thug who had her son, Nikoli.

  He’d stolen the child as soon as Nikoli was born, kicking her out of their penthouse and refusing to see her. Grace didn’t know why he wanted the boy, but it wasn’t to raise him or to be a father. He’d actually acted angry when he found out she was pregnant. He’d only begun seeing her, she’d learned, because he was into the occult and had heard that she was a witch raised in the old tradition.

  For her part, Grace had been blind to him and his slimy ways. Stupid. She’d liked his power back then, liked his money. Best of all, she’d liked his promise to take care of her as long as she took care of him. Ha! As if. She’d finally found out what he was really like. How had she not known earlier? Maybe because she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to believe it even now.

  She’d never dunked her fists into anything as wrong as demon-summoning before; Michael had done that all on his own. But she would fight fire with fire, and her fire was bigger. It was a bonfire. Caspian was very powerful, like the will of a mother trying to regain her child. Michael could summon the Devil himself and Grace would get Nikoli back. She would do whatever it took, as last night clearly showed.

  She wondered briefly if she was going to see Caspian again. He’d said that he would keep up his end of the bargain, which wouldn’t necessarily require a second visit, but wasn’t it just like a demon to come back and demand a second payment? If she was honest with herself, the idea caused her a little thrill of pleasure. Grace wanted to see him again, to be close to him. She’d never been touched the way Caspian touched her. Not even when she’d been fooled into believing that she was in love with Michael.

  Wait. This was a dangerous path she trod. No matter how great the sex, Caspian was still a demon—a Crown Prince of Hell, no less. If she pla
nned to be one of those foolish girls who confused sex and love, this was the wrong time. There was nothing but misery down this path. Nothing at all.

  A loud banging on the door jarred her unceremoniously from her languid dip, but Grace would be double damned if she was going to get out of the delicious hot water to answer. She didn’t have that many friends, and none who would stop by without calling. Michael had seen to that, actually. He’d secluded her from her friends, her hobbies, her life. She was well rid of him. All that mattered now was her son, and when she got Nikoli back from his asshat father, she was going to make sure that neither of them ever had to deal with Michael again.

  She debated slipping under the water to escape listening to the incessant pounding. That was when she had another epiphany: Only cops and thugs banged on doors like that.

  “Open the door, Grace.” It was Sasha, Michael’s right-hand man. She hadn’t seen him since the last rescheduled court date regarding Nikoli. “Grace, I’ll be letting Petru break this door down if you don’t open it.”

  Petru. Where Sasha went, that Cro-Mag followed. Petru could have worked in the circus as a dancing bear, he was so large and hairy. All he did was growl. She didn’t know how Sasha understood him.

  She hurried to the door. The robe draped around her slick, wet body was provocatively clingy, but she didn’t care. They’d seen much more of her already. They’d been in the room when Nikoli was born. In fact, Sasha had delivered him.

  Grace stopped short of the door. “What do you want?” she called through it.

  “Open up.”

  “No.” She had no doubt that Petru would break it down, but she defied Sasha anyway. Even knowing none of her neighbors would call the police, and even if they did, Michael owned all the police. People who fucked with the Russian mob had a nasty habit of turning up dead.

  “Grace, Michael knows what you did.”

  “I don’t care. He can rot in Hell.”