A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch

Calladia couldn’t believe the demon had pretended to be attacked by a kraken, of all things. Not a fire salamander, not the tiny hot spring fish that liked nibbling toes. A kraken.

He was grinning now, looking wicked and not at all repentant. His hair was plastered to his skull, and water droplets gleamed on his alabaster skin. It was so far from the icy Astaroth she’d first met that it was hard to believe this was the same person.

The fear rose again: What if, once he regained his memories, he changed?

Her chest still ached with residual hurt after speaking with her mother, but the water was hot, the demon was hotter, and Calladia wasn’t the type to fall victim to long bouts of introspection. She would seize what she could from the day and deal with any repercussions later.

Right now, Astaroth was here, he was smiling, and he was hers.

She leaped on top of him and shoved his head underwater.

The demon broke the surface a few moments later, gasping and sputtering. “Bloody hell!”

“I thought hell didn’t exist,” she teased. “Unless you really are Satan’s spawn?”

The hell question had been a point of confusion when Oz had first shown up, but he’d quickly clarified that demons were a separate species who lived on a plane adjacent to Earth, not evil diabolical creatures of the underworld.

Astaroth swiped water from his brow. “Mortal cursing is catchy,” he said. “And Lilith would resent that comparison.”

“Too evil?” Calladia guessed.

He shook his head. “Too cliché. Satan’s been done to death, don’t you think?”

His dry humor was too much. She splashed him again.

“Careful,” he said. “When attacked, I retaliate.” He glided toward her through the hot water, and Calladia slipped away, circling around the edge of the pool. She couldn’t move quickly in the chest-deep water, but neither could he. An even battleground.

The rock basin of the pool was smooth underfoot. Calladia pushed off, half swimming toward the edge of the pool closest to the rockfall. When she turned to see if Astaroth had followed, he was nowhere to be seen.

A hand curled around her ankle and yanked. Calladia’s shriek was swallowed by the water as it closed over her head. She kicked at Astaroth, then shot to the surface. “Cheater!” she said, spitting out a mouthful of water. Her braid had wrapped around her throat, so she pulled the tie out and started unwinding the sections.

Astaroth had popped up laughing next to her. The skin next to his eyes crinkled adorably, and he looked more carefree than she’d ever seen him. “You had it coming.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” She brought her loose hair over her shoulder, finger-combing it, and grimaced when she encountered a snag.

“Here,” Astaroth said, moving behind her. “Let me.”

The breath caught in Calladia’s throat. He fanned her hair out, running his fingers through the strands gently. She held still, very aware that they were mostly nude. With a slight shift, he could wrap his arms around her. His hands could wander past her hair, disappearing below the surface to explore other territory.

Astaroth massaged her scalp, and Calladia moaned. His motions stuttered before resuming.

“Your hair is beautiful,” he said.

“It’s plain blond.”

“Nothing plain about it.” He draped the length of it over her left shoulder, and his right hand settled on her waist. “It’s like liquid sunlight.”

No one had ever said anything like that before. Objectively, Calladia knew she was pretty, but she’d built up such a don’t-mess-with-me attitude that the rare approaches she’d received were mostly from creeps who didn’t know any better. And this was Astaroth complimenting her—the single most attractive man she’d ever seen.

His hand slid to her stomach, and he pulled her against his chest. His erection prodded her ass, and warm lips brushed the sensitive spot below her ear. Calladia sighed and leaned her head to the side, and Astaroth nibbled his way down her neck.

Should she feel guilty? Calladia didn’t know anymore. If he was the old Astaroth, yes. But this one . . .

This one she liked very much.

Calladia turned her head to look over her shoulder. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his face flushed with a combination of heat and arousal. He licked his lower lip. “Calladia . . .” he murmured, naked longing in his voice. His hands slid to her hips, anchoring her against him.

Maybe this had always been inevitable. Calladia let go of any doubts, craned her neck, and kissed him.

He kissed her back, slow and sensual. This wasn’t the hot, furious passion of the morning; it was a thorough, mutual exploration. His lips were damp from the water, but she licked the mineral-tinged drops away until all she could taste was him.

Astaroth’s tongue delved lightly into her open mouth, then traced the edges of her teeth. Calladia laced her hands behind his neck, arching her back as she pressed her behind into his crotch.

Astaroth met her movement and elaborated on it, setting a slow, sensual grind below the water. One of his hands dragged up her waist to her breast, cupping her through the wet sports bra. The other crept lower, fingers brushing over the fabric covering her mound.

Calladia felt like she was on fire, and he’d barely begun touching her. She wanted more: his lips around her nipple, the pump of his fingers inside her, the powerful wave of his body surging over hers. She turned in his arms to face him, pulling him close and kissing him more deeply.

Astaroth groaned softly as his palms landed on her ass. “You drive me wild,” he said between kisses. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Calladia didn’t want to waste breath on words when she could be devouring him instead. She stroked her tongue against his, then nipped his lower lip. Her hands slid up his neck to toy with his wet, silky hair, and she gave in to an urge she’d felt for a while and gripped his horns.

Astaroth made a stunned sound, and his hips jerked. Encouraged by the response, Calladia stroked up and down his horns with the same eagerness she’d given to jerking him off that morning. They were hard and smooth, the ends slightly blunted rather than razor sharp.

What a marvel his body was. Lean and cut and utterly responsive to her touch. The horn job was apparently really doing it for him, because he was grinding against her aggressively, and his kisses grew frantic.

“Lucifer,” he gasped. “I need more.”

“More of what?” she asked playfully. Then she went up on her toes and dragged her tongue over one horn. It tasted faintly smoky and wholly delicious.

The noise Astaroth made was feral. He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “More of you,” he growled. Then he hefted her into his arms and carried her to the side of the pool. He deposited her on the edge, then wasted no time tugging her sports bra off. The position put his head at the height of her breasts. He stared for a moment, then lunged forward and wrapped his lips around a nipple.

Calladia gasped and clutched his horns. Her nipples were sensitive, and the searing heat of his mouth intensified the pleasure. Astaroth massaged her other breast, then lightly pinched one nipple while his teeth nipped at the other, and an electric thrill shot through her.

He switched between her breasts, giving them the same thorough treatment until her nipples were rosy and swollen. When he blew air over the peaks, she twitched.

“So sensitive,” he said, smiling wickedly up at her. “I wonder what else is?”

Calladia widened her legs in invitation. “Let’s find out.”

Astaroth looked thrilled by the prospect. He kissed his way down her stomach, then hooked his fingers in her panties and dragged them off. The fabric made a wet slap against the stones as he tossed it aside, and she was fully nude.

She expected him to dive right in, but Astaroth took his time exploring her. His hands coasted over her body, mapping her shoulders and arms, the bumps of her ribs, and the curve of her waist and hips. He followed the touches with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, like he wanted to taste every inch of her.

Then he pushed her thighs wide and sank lower in the water. She felt his gaze like a physical touch, and his pale blue irises, once reminiscent of ice, now reminded her of the hot core of a flame. Together, they were burning out of control.

He dragged his finger over her pubic hair and lower, parting her labia. “Exquisite,” he said. Then he buried his face between her legs, kissing her ravenously.

“Oh!” Calladia jerked against him. Hecate, he was good at this. He tasted her with long, strong swipes of his tongue, mapping out every contour, even sinking his tongue inside her. His horns rubbed against her sensitive inner thighs, and Calladia leaned back, bracing herself on her hands to get a better view.

Astaroth of the Nine wasn’t precisely on his knees, but he kissed her with the ardent fervor of a zealot praying to his god. He used his entire face, rubbing his cheeks and chin against her labia and wet inner thighs. His clever tongue traced designs over her clit as if he were inscribing a secret poem. He was merciless, not letting up for a single moment, gripping her hips to hold her in place. When he sucked hard on her clit, Calladia’s arms gave out. She flopped onto her back, staring dazedly at the night sky as Astaroth built and built her pleasure. The stars had vanished behind clouds, and a drop of rain struck her cheek.

Her existence narrowed to this small slice of space, seemingly suspended out of time. It was a world of sharp contrasts: the heat of Astaroth’s mouth and hands versus the cool raindrops beginning to patter down, the hard rock beneath her back versus the soft press of skin. She was coming undone, hands scrabbling at the ground while her thighs twitched. The pleasure was building quickly, so intense it was almost frightening. As tension seized her lower belly and her clit grew so sensitive each lick nearly hurt, she instinctively tried to snap her legs shut, but Astaroth kept them pinned wide. He didn’t let up as she moaned and bucked, her cries growing desperate.

The climax rushed toward her. For a moment, Calladia couldn’t breathe, and she opened her mouth on a silent scream as her body grew taut as a bow. Then the pressure released all at once, a series of rolling waves that racked her. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically, and heat flooded her skin.

Astaroth kept going, never varying the rhythm or pressure that had tipped her over the edge, and the pleasure stretched out for long moments. When the last tremor had shaken through her, Calladia went limp, gasping for air.

Astaroth straightened. He rubbed his hands over her waist, hips, and thighs, looking extremely smug. She couldn’t begrudge him that; he could be as smug as he pleased after delivering that steamroller of an orgasm.

He licked his lips, which still gleamed with her arousal. “Delicious. My witch tastes sweet.”

Was she his witch? Her body certainly thought so. Her head was airy light, and her muscles felt like they’d melted. At that moment, he could have asked her for anything, and she would have done it.

The sky opened up and fat raindrops came pounding down, stinging her skin. Calladia sat upright with a laugh, and when she wobbled and would have collapsed again, Astaroth steadied her.

“Rain,” was all she managed to say, and she giggled at the absurdity. Of course he knew it was raining. She laughed again, high on endorphins, and Astaroth grinned back.

The rain beat a tattoo against the rock, and where it struck the pond, small jets of water exploded up from the displacement. “Should we make a run for it?” Astaroth asked, wiping drops off his face.

Calladia staggered to her feet, then reached down to help him out of the pool. He accepted the gesture, though he didn’t let her bear much of his weight. She ran her eyes up and down his nearly naked body admiringly. His cock jutted out against the fabric of his underwear, thick and long, and she couldn’t wait to get her mouth on it.

Astaroth shivered.

Right. Demon. If she thought the night was chilly, he was probably freezing now that he was out of the hot water. She hurried to grab her backpack and phone—which had landed in a nearby bush—though the bra and underwear she left behind, figuring they’d get musty if she packed them up while still wet. She’d get them in the morning.

“Come on,” she said, casting him her version of a rakish grin. “I’ll race you to the tent.”