Hotter Than Hell - Jackie Kessler Hell on Earth

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to death. “What, they get off on the murder?”

      “Thrill of the bloodshed.” His eyes gleamed, and a smile unfurled on his softening face. “The gospel of butchery. The ecstasy of violence.”

      “Uh-huh.” I’d heard the Wrath party line before. “That’s lovely. But she’s still mine.”

      “No, whoremonger.” He bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “The flesh puppets, they were to kill you.”

      Jaw clenched, I asked, “Kill me?” Humans, attacking a demon? Outside of some wildly popular television shows, that was unheard of. There had to have been a mistake.

      “They were to bathe in your blood,” he said with a sigh of pleasure. “Then I was to slit their throats, claim them both for Wrath.”

      Blinking, I repeated, “For Wrath?”

      “Want I should speak in smaller words, rake?”

      I didn’t know which was more insulting: that the humans had wanted to kill me, or that a Berserker was insinuating that I was stupid. A snarl on my lips, I crushed the ice in one of my hands and wiped it over the remains of his forehead. His squeal of pain was almost worth the mess of melted flesh on my fingers.

      After his screeching faded, I asked, “Why me?”

      Arms wrapped over his head, I almost didn’t hear his muffled reply. “Would be telling.”

      I still couldn’t grasp that the mortals had wanted to slice and dice me. Me. That wasn’t in the Demon Playbook. Not that we had a playbook, but still…“She was my target,” I insisted.

      “Murder is murder. The more, the better.” Panting, he peered out from his barricade of arms. “Kill two humans, kill one Seducer. All the same to Wrath. But destroying you, that would have given me pleasure.” He chuckled wetly. “You understand pleasure, no?”

      I sat heavily on my haunches. Well, this just sucked angel feathers. Where did humans get off, thinking they could actually take down a demon? Next thing you knew, they’d be shooting me with silver bullets and flinging holy water on me. Idiots.

      No, my client couldn’t have known I was a demon. To her and her husband—before he’d been possessed—I’d been just another flesh puppet, one whom they could play with and prey on. No more.

      The man’s breathing took on a burbling sound. I asked, “You dying on me, chuckles?”

      “You Seducers…all the same,” the demon whispered. “Clap-carrying…sluts…suck the fight…out of a body.”

      Could I help it if I was a lover, not a fighter?

      “Paperwork…keep you bound…for eons.”

      “Ah, go to Hell.” I dropped the rest of the melting ice on him.

      “Open your eyes, doll.”

      My client’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. The confusion I saw staring back at me was like a shot of whiskey burning the back of my throat. Mmm. Straddling her hips, I rubbed against her, just once, just enough to send her body signals that her brain was still too fuzzy to interpret. Beneath us, the ruined bed protested but still held. I was planning on breaking it within ten minutes. Anticipation…

      She blinked, tried to open her mouth. Then she tried to move her body. No dice; she was frozen on her back, her arms by her sides, her virginal white silk dress covering her from knockers to knees. Confusion sparked into fear. I inhaled deeply, took in the scent of her growing terror.

      Boom boom.

      “You’re wondering why you can’t move.” I smiled, picturing all the things I was about to do to her. “You’re wondering what happened. I’ll recap.”

      I stretched over her, ran my hand from her cheek down to her chin, her neck, her breast, her belly. “You were going down on me when your loving husband came tearing into the room.” I reached behind me until my hand found her crotch. Sliding between her legs, I ran two fingers over the whisper softness of her satin panties, felt the lips of her vulva quiver. “He was going to kill me, with help from you.”

      She stiffened beneath me.

      Grinning, I said, “That’s him on the floor. Had the audacity to die and not remove himself after. I’m afraid he’s going to stink up the place in another day or so.”

      Her eyes slipped closed, and tears leaked through her lids. How touching. I pushed her underwear to the side and stroked my fingers over her clitoral hood, then pressed gently. Stroke, press.

      “No worries, doll,” I said. “You won’t miss him for long.”

      Stroke. I heard her breath catch in her throat, and I grinned as I pressed, lingering. Now her inner muscles tensed with my touch, seemed to reach for my fingers as I moved them away. Passion in the depths of despair. Sin at its sweetest. The smell of her fear was now spiced with desire. Demonic aromatherapy.

      “I have a question for you. It’ll go easier on you if you tell me the truth. And believe me, I can smell the truth on you.” I rubbed her sex harder. “You do believe me, don’t you? Go ahead, doll. Speak.”

      “Yes,” she said thickly.

      “Good. Now then, tell me why you and Loving Husband didn’t try to kill me on our first Date.”

      Shuddering from my touch, she said, “You were a surprise. We always pick our takes together. But you, you came on to me. He was out of town, and you picked me up…” Her voice turned into a moan as I reached inside her, nudging her toward bliss.

      “So your man was away, and you decided to play?”

      “You kissed me,” she breathed, “and nothing else mattered…”

      Have to love the demon gigolo mojo. Gigolojo at its best.

      “Actually, doll, you kissed me.” I slid my fingers out of her, then moved my hand up and down her inner thigh, tickling her flesh with her own wetness. She reeked of passion and panic. Mmm. Soon, soon, soon. “That’s how it works. You kiss me willingly, and then boom. Magic. But the fun starts when you call my name.”

      She opened her eyes, looked at me as those fat tears kept winding down her cheeks. “Please,” she said. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, not you…”

      “Uh, uh, uh. That’s a lie. Shame. Here you were doing so well until now.” I pressed the nails of my fingers harder against her plump thigh. “You and hubby, you were going to kill me good and dead, then do whatever it is serial killers do to celebrate. Champagne, maybe? A bloodbath? Tell me true.”

      “Sex,” she whispered. “We have sex. We’re already sticky with your blood, and we kiss, tasting you on us…”

      “Why, doll, that’s positively perverted. How impressive!” With my other hand, I cupped her full breast, feeling the hardness of her nipple poking through the silk of her dress. “How many have you killed? I’m just curious.”

      “Seven…”

      “A powerful number. So they say.” Now I had her other breast in hand, rolling the mound in my fingers, teasing her until the nipple was fully erect, begging me to have a taste.

      “Please…Why can’t I move?”

      I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That would be because I commanded you not to move. Boom. Magic.”

      She bit her lip—a nervous tic that reminded me of someone else. “You a magician?”

      A quick suck on her earlobe, then a sharp nip. “I eat magicians for breakfast.”

      She squeaked: a tiny, terrified sound. I nearly exploded in my pants.

      “I’m an incubus,” I said, stretching the last s. “And do you know what an incubus does to fragile human dolls like you?”

      Stinking

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