Chapter 33 – Lana
A shtaroth’s hands on my arms are the only thing keeping me steady as we materialize in his rooms. I groan but mercifully don’t vomit this time, sparing the plush red carpet in the sitting room.
“I must talk with Sariel,” he says, sounding distracted already, like his mind is mostly on whatever plan he’s thinking up and not on the task of slowly herding me towards a sofa. The teasing smirk is gone and he helps me sit before vanishing without another word.
I rest my elbows on my thighs and lower my head into my palms. The nausea is horrible, but I feel something else as well and tally the days in my head. While Maalik somehow manages to keep me supplied with my birth control shot, I still get my periods and they’re still an ordeal. Though the bathroom had soap as well as bottles of shampoo and conditioner in visible places, I somehow doubt my demon stocked up on tampons and maxi pads.
I whine into my palms, thinking of the conversation I’ll need to have with him once he comes back. Maybe I should talk to Sariel instead, the Fallen who actually has contact with the modern topside world. The thought gives me a spike of anxiety, though. Some primal part of me knows Ashtaroth wouldn’t appreciate me making such an intimate request of his son.
I stand up and drag my sorry carcass to the bathroom. I get there just in time to strip my pants and sit on the toilet – I’m glad that particular consequence of my monthly visitor didn’t occur in the caves. I do not want to discuss period poops with the sex god, no sir. I knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t let me leave, but I also didn’t want to see his handsome face twist into a look of disgust.
I know feeling self-conscious over whatever your captor may think is far from a feminist mindset, but I always was this way; my moods were so dependent on those of the person I was sleeping with. That’s why, once I left university, I rarely slept with the same person twice. My attachments are often toxic, so I only let myself form them with people I’m not attracted to: Mike, who considers a vagina only slightly more attractive than dog feces on the sidewalk, Kevin, whom I instantly started mothering, the lack of parental love in his life tugging on my heartstrings.
But Ash… he’s everything I shouldn’t want but am always weak for. His face and body are an icy perfection, such a contrast to the fire underneath that skin, all that passion. The imperious, confident way he carries himself, like he’s the master of all that he surveys and nothing will throw him off balance, he’ll always be strong and reliable. The real danger is how he is during sex though, giving me everything I need to feel the most pleasure I can. Even when he used my mouth with seemingly no consideration, it was what I needed. How can I feel guilty for pleasuring an archdemon, when I’m just a vessel, when I’m not lowering myself to my knees in front of him and taking him as de ep as I can to make it good for him, using every trick I ever learned to wring out as many sounds of pleasure as I can?
I cut out the train of thought, because it’s making me wetter than I already am under the circumstances, and because it’s barreling towards a certain end station – that man, male, demon, Celestial, whatever he is, he’s the perfect package for me to fall obsessively in love with.
I finish up on the toilet and strip my clothes, then look around. I know the big cabinet holds towels, but I haven’t opened the smaller one under the sink yet. Once I do, I snort – of course there are things for me there. Boxes of tampons in all sizes, pads, more toilet paper, razors, tubs of lotion, and little bottles of perfumed oil. It’s like he used the search words, ‘how to take care of your mortal female captive’.
I take out what I need, including one of the razors; I’ve been here for a couple of days now and grooming hasn’t really been a priority. I run a hot bath, add plenty of bubbles, and tie my hair up so it doesn’t get tangled.
Groaning, I lie down, feeling tense muscles loosen, the warmth soothing my aching lower back and belly. I close my eyes and try not to think – I’m feeling too cowardly to pick at my feelings and ponder my actions.
Once the water loses some of its heat, I shave, but before I can start on washing my hair, I hear footsteps approaching. I shoot up and reach for the towel I set out when the door opens and Ashtaroth walks in with no hesitation. He stops when he sees me standing there, naked and wet from the bath, and I see him take a deep breath as his eyes rove over me. Not removing his gaze from me, he unbuttons his shirt, deft fingers flying over the buttons with practiced ease. I stand frozen under his burning gaze, my nipples peaking under his watchful eyes, goosebumps tickling as they emerge. He unbuttons his leather pants, not taking them off, instead leaning to remove his boots.
When his intentions finally become clear to my numb brain, I jolt and sputter, “I’m on my period,” then squeal when he steps into the bath, paying no attention to my protest. He crowds me against the tiled wall and I lose my balance. His arms are instantly on my waist and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around him and grab his shoulders on instinct.
“Mmm,” he rumbles, lowering his head to his preferred spot at the crook of my shoulder. “I need you now,” he breathes into it, hands now holding me up by my ass, squeezing the cheeks and spreading them. The carnal and possessive action makes me moan and when I lower my gaze, I see I left a smear of blood on his sculpted stomach. I flush as he transfers my weight onto one arm and uses the other to push down his pants. He groans as the head of his released cock, now pressed between our bodies, rests against that smear of deep red.
Kinky bastard , I think, but I’m a hypocrite because the sight makes my pussy clench. I’m as bad as he is, marking him with blood. He lifts me higher and I wrap my arms around his neck. His gaze is still on our sexes as he uses my body to wet his cock in a mixture of my blood and arousal. His face twists, but it’s not with disgust, it’s pure lust, and it’s so beautiful that my head drops back and I moan loudly.
He positions me over his dick, lowering me slowly, hands clenched hard enough on my body that I know there will be bruises in the shapes of fingertips on me, despite my Nephalem healing. Once he’s fully sheathed, I breathe out a sob and rest my forehead against his, lost in a haze. After giving me a second, he moves his hips slowly, looking up at me with brows drawn, gauging my reaction. His amber eyes are crackling with embers of fire and he’s so close our noses are pressed together, our breaths mingling.
Whatever he sees on my face gives him leave to move and he presses me down against his pelvis, rocking his body into mine. Every swivel of his hips drags my clit against his skin, the glide slickened by water, blood, and arousal. I bite my lip and whine, his eyes zeroing in on the action with a predator’s gaze. The urge to close the last inches between our lips is overpowering my sanity, so I tilt my head back against the tiles instead.
Ashtaroth starts using my body like an instrument for his pleasure, now roughly lifting and pulling me down onto his cock, his hips pounding up in concert. But he’s unusually quiet, his normally filthy mouth only releasing grunts of pleasure and exertion. I worry at the change, stupidly, and look at him again. My mouth opens at what I see, his eyes not looking down at where we’re joined, but fixed on my face, taking in every minor change in my expression, every twitch of my lips, every time I shut my eyes when it feels just right. He’s so inhumanly beautiful, and he’s looking at me like he’s worshipping me with his body and making sure he does so with the consummate skill he does everything else.
I can’t, I can’t, I never felt anything like this before, like my soul is being fucked along with my body; what I feel inside is as powerful as the feelings of my clit dragging over slick skin – his skin – of his thick cock pushing so deep inside me that lightning streaks of pleasure spear through my body from my core. I start sobbing with every breath punched out of me, my nails clawing at every part of him they can reach.
His mouth opens in a snarl and my willpower snaps, along with the tether that was winding up my pleasure. I press my mouth against his and cry out at the pleasure exploding from my core. He growls, takes my mouth in the same possessive manner that he took everything else from me, and kisses me through my orgasm, now fucking me with something close to violence.
“Fuck,” he breathes as his mouth releases mine. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed with what seems like anguish. He then snaps his head back, tendons straining on his neck, and shouts, “Lana!” before lowering his mouth back to my shoulder, biting down, and shuddering against me. My pussy clenches hard against his pulsing cock and it feels so good that I don’t know if I’m still in the throes of my first orgasm or if this is a new one.
His mouth returns to mine again, like that first kiss shattered some barrier where both of us held back from the intimacy, and now he can’t get enough. He’s still moving his cock inside me, gently, slowly, making me moan into his mouth. This feels different , every cell in my body is whispering to me. Gone is his sardonic humor, the lazy indulgent way he handles my body. This feels like something I don’t want to name.
Whatever it is stops as he moves back and sighs, gently lifting me off his body. He takes a step back and looks me over in a perfunctory way before disappearing again. I slide down into the water, now hot again – his parting gift. I expect to feel insecure over his abrupt departure, but I don’t. I don’t, because the caring he shouldn’t be able to feel is always obvious, going beyond the bare necessities required to keep me useful, for him to feed.
I’m also preoccupied with the fact that I care too, more than I should. Over the last few days he went from a gorgeous face and devastating body, to a person with interesting thoughts, incredible experiences, a unique sense of humor… and perhaps even wants and feelings that go beyond the selfish.
Seeing an archdemon as a person, being attracted to his personality – that’s going to be more dangerous for me than whatever he could do to my body.