That left King alone . . . with the demon. He sat up on the bed and his gaze flicked back and forth between her and the lamp sitting on the bedside table. He was ready to pick it up and hurl it at her should she make an aggressive move in his direction.
The girl didn’t move. She sat on her chair and her full lips curled up in amusement.
“You look very tense. Would you like me to give you a massage?” she asked.
“No thanks.” King’s gaze flicked back and forth between her and the lamp. “I’m not going to let you do to me whatever you did to McMillan.”
“That’s not how it works,” Ceptophthorié said. “You have to do me.”
King’s brow furrowed.
“Like McMillan,” Ceptophthorié said. “He shoved his big prick inside me and filled my gorgeous pussy with his cum. Then I made him into my little toy. Those are the rules—the man must instigate sexual intercourse of his own free choice.”
“Then I won’t,” King said.
“No?” Ceptophthorié arched a pencil-thin eyebrow.
“No,” King said, his voice flecked with ice. “I have a wife and daughter I love very much. I’m not interested in a common whore.”
Ceptophthorié smiled at his insult.
“I could make you,” she said. “I could use my magic to pin you to the bed, climb on top, swallow up that gorgeous prick with my luscious pussy and ride you until you melted inside me. Or I could entangle you in a web of seduction so potent the merest pluck of a thread would bring you to me on your knees like a faithful little dog.”
For a moment King felt that oppressive force of her presence wrapped around him like a velvet glove. He feared her words were no idle boasts.
“Do it,” he challenged.
Ceptophthorié smiled. “Where would be the sport in that? There’s no fun in taking a man as if he were a common beast. It’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?” King asked. The more he kept her talking the more time it gave the others to find him.
“I want to play a game,” she said. “Would you like to play a game with me?” she asked with a coquettish expression of wide-eyed innocence.
“What if I say no?” King asked. “What’s to stop me walking out of that door right now?”
Ceptophthorié pushed her lower lip out in a disappointed pout.
“That would upset me. I don’t like it when my games are spoiled. And when I’m upset I take it out on the loved ones of the person who upset me. McMillan is not my only toy. Would you like your wife and daughter brutally gang-raped?”
The furious intensity of King’s glare was broken as he stared into the demon’s burning red eyes and realized she wasn’t bluffing. It felt like ice-cold water poured down his spine.
“Now for the rules of the game.” Ceptophthorié switched back to coquettish playfulness. “It’s a challenge—your resolve versus my erotic temptations. At sunrise I must depart this plane. If you can resist my seductions until then you win and get to keep your soul. I’ll even make it easier. I won’t use my demonic abilities to entrance or otherwise compel you into having sexual intercourse with me. I won’t even touch you . . .”
The corner of her full lips turned up in a suggestive smile.
“. . . unless you ask me to. How does that sound?”
“It sounds very easy. I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Really?” Ceptophthorié said with a teasing smile. “It seems your body has other ideas.” She glanced at the obvious erection tenting the front of his underwear. “He seems eager to greet me, to feel the warmth of my flesh wrapped around him.”
King reddened and shielded the embarrassing protrusion with his hands. It was an automatic response, that was all.
“If I decide to play, what guarantee is there that you’ll stick to the rules?” King asked. “If your . . . demonic—”
It still felt wrong to use the word even though he’d accepted the impossibility of what she was.
“—abilities are as powerful as you claim, what’s to stop you using them once it gets close to sunrise and I’m about to win?”
“My word,” Ceptophthorié said.
King snorted. “You’re a demon.”
Ceptophthorié was about to feign an expression of hurt, but laughed instead. “True,” she admitted. “I won’t cheat though. The game has no challenge if I allow myself to break the rules whenever the game doesn’t go my way.”
She fixed her gaze on King, temporarily casting aside her flirtatious mask.
“I want to see you fall. I want you to feel the wind flutter through your hair as you plummet into my abyss and know it was you who jumped. That is true pleasure.”
She closed her eyes, brought her hands up and lewdly squeezed the swollen mounds of her breasts.
“It won’t happen,” King said. “You made a mistake. You showed me McMillan. Do you think I’d be stupid enough to fuck you after I saw what it did to McMillan?”
Ceptophthorié threw back her head and laughed.
“I always show the men the consequences of their own damnation. It makes the game so much more interesting.”
The succubus made no move towards King. He watched her warily. At least it started that way. His gaze dipped downwards and was pulled in by the lush, swollen hemispheres of her breasts. It orbited her fleshy curves, trapped like a ship caught in a black hole, sucked down, tugged into the shadowy cleft of cleavage while he became aware of the steady beat of blood through his temples. Down his gaze fell, sliding down a flat belly to the beginnings of her short skirt. She uncrossed her legs and he glimpsed the gates to her sex—plump, dewy, welcoming. His vision narrowed until it seemed like the shadowy pink cleft between her legs grew to encompass his entire world. It was like he stood on the edge of the hotel roof, staring at something far below, staring then teetering, teetering then falling. He was falling down into a fleshy canyon and the soft pink folds of her sex were opening to accept him, opening to engulf him.