LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Please.”

      “So polite, she is. So easy for her to beg.” I winked at her, let my grin stretch wider than my human-seeming mouth should have allowed. Between her thighs, my fingers glided over the silk of her dress, barely touching, only hinting at what I could do, how I could make her feel. “You don’t want me touching you, Feathers?”

      “No, my lord.”

      “You didn’t seem to mind before, when you were shoving your tit in my mouth.”

      She swallowed thickly, turned her head away. Her flaxen hair spilled over her shoulder, winking in the light of the bar, begging me to run my hands through it. Her voice a whisper, she said, “I didn’t know it was you, my lord.”

      The poor thing sounded like she was going to cry. One could only hope. My fingers pressed harder, stroked her, stroked until she let out a shuddering gasp. Oh, sweetness, the sounds you’d make if I fucked you…

      “Please, my lord. Stop.”

      I stopped, but kept my hand between her legs, waiting. “So I was good enough for you before, but not now?”

      “You will never be good enough for me, my lord.” The angel lifted her chin, then turned to look me in the eye. Her baby blues sparkled with enough pride to make the Arrogant whistle in appreciation. “You can’t be good. It’s not in your nature.”

      “You sweet-talker, you. Bet you say that to all the demons. Or maybe you’re just being nice to me.” I grinned, flashing my fangs. “I think you like me.”

      “I don’t like you, my lord.”

      “You like everyone, sweetness. That’s in your nature. And I think you like me more than you care to admit. I think you want me. What do you say? Want me to pop your celestial cherry?”

      “No.” She added a belated, “My lord.”

      I laughed softly, enjoying the picture of her holy indignity. “Get off your high horse, Feathers. You work for Hell now. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to spread your legs and bring in a client. You haven’t yet, have you?”

      She swallowed, said nothing.

      “You’re still virginal. Pure,” I said, stretching the word, turning it into something wicked. “Take it from me, the lower-downs aren’t too keen on poor performers. The consequences are pretty steep.”

      “I am well aware of my situation, my lord.”

      “You should take me up on my offer. A little pain, a lot of pleasure. Once I break in that tight body of yours, the mortals won’t be able to restrain themselves. They’ll be begging you to fuck them and take them to the Pit.” Oh, to bed an angel, to seduce one who used to bask in the light of Heaven…

      Shivers.

      I nibbled on the shell of her ear, and she shuddered against me—I felt her nipples harden, smelled the desire burst through her body in a peppermint splash. “I’d go slow with you, sweetness. I’d make your first time unforgettable.” I nudged my hand away from her slit, trailed it over the curve of her waist, the top of her breast, up farther until I cupped her chin. Looking her in the eye, I said, “Let me make a succubus out of you.”

      Something in her gaze shifted, softened. But I’d never know what she was going to say, because at that moment, a voice boomed in my mind:

      DAUN, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.

      Shit.

      Before I could voice a proper response, the mental connection broke.

      So much for my goal of a three-week buzz before going Downstairs. When one of Hell’s elite wanted you, you didn’t stall, not if you wanted to avoid a dip into the Lake of Fire.

      On my lap, the angel squirmed. “My lord? Are you all right?”

      Look at that: she cared, despite all her protests. Or maybe that really was her celestial essence shining through. “Got to go, Feathers. Pan wants a word with me. Think about my offer.”

      She sniffed again. I decided it was sexy—sort of her version of foreplay. “There’s nothing to think about, my lord. I will never make love to you.”

      “Love? I’m talking about good old-fashioned fornication. Making the beast with two backs. Having sex. Fucking.”

      She shuddered delicately. Poor thing’s sensibilities were offended. Heh.

      “Come here, you.” I pulled her to me and kissed her roughly, bruising her lips with mine. She squealed into my mouth, and my blood boiled from the sound of her fear laced with desire. My tongue pried its way between her lips, ran over her teeth, prodded. The angel gasped and tried to break the kiss, but I fused my mouth to hers.

      Don’t fight me, sweetness.

      Either we had our own connection or she just decided to surrender, because her protests died and she went limp in my arms and opened her mouth to mine. Her taste flooded my mouth: gold, mingled with peppermint. Very nice. I pushed, drenched the cherub with my power…and then transferred my client’s soul into her. As the angel absorbed the spiritual bond, she let out a long, delicious moan.

      Boom boom.

      When I couldn’t feel the murderess’s soul on my tongue any longer, I ended the kiss, pulled away. The cherub’s eyes were closed, a look of bliss stamped onto her face.

      Fuck me, she was so damn beautiful.

      “There you go, Feathers. Your very first soul claim. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

      She opened her eyes, which were glazed from the joy of tasting her first human soul. “My lord? Why did you—”

      “I’m dead.”

      The angel stiffened, turned to look at the red-and-black form of the dead woman’s spirit, which now hovered to her right.

      “Enjoy the company, Feathers.”

      “Oh…damn me.”

      I loved it when she cursed. With a parting wink, I let my power wash over me and take me to Hell.

      Chapter 3

      Panic

      The first thing to hit me when I stepped out of the nothingness between realities and into Pan’s antechamber was the smell of trapped sweat and deep earth. Any incubus worth his horns could distinguish the kinds of sweat—the citrus tang of fear, the pumpkin spice of sex. Me, I could assign a body part to the sweat, and what position (or instrument) was used to set the mood.

      Hmmm. Cat-o’-nine-tails…across the back of the thighs. Pan must be in a BDSM phase.

      Beneath the heavy odors of flesh and loam, a pungent scent beckoned—a heady bouquet, like truffles, that awoke every nerve in my body. It was the raw smell of unbridled desire. Animal passion. Grrrrrowl.

      I breathed in and held it, let the musky aroma tickle my nostrils and dangle by the back of my throat until it faded like a dying scream, leaving my mouth parched and my lips tingling with blood. The smell sent “fuck now” signals to my brain, and my body practically vibrated with need. Hellooo, erection. I didn’t bother trying to adjust myself; meeting Pan with a raging hard-on was par for the course. Arousal was to the god of carnality and sensuality what belching was after a particularly fine meal: a sign of appreciation and respect. And unless you wanted to insult the King of Lust, you showed your respect. (In my case, thirteen inches of respect.)

      After the smell and the mad urge to copulate with the nearest creature washed over me, I took in the utter darkness—obsidian so complete that the concept of light seemed like a bad dream. In the maw of Pan’s stronghold, there was no color but a suffocating black. And with it, a patient silence. Cave darkness, cave quietude; the stillness of impending madness. A perfect waiting room for the creature who inspires panic.

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