Hotter Than Hell. Jackie Kessler

      Hours later, we made a Pit stop. Jezebel had insisted: she wanted to start the paperwork on the group of mortals we’d encouraged to reach new heights of passion. Looked like she was angling for a promotion. I didn’t have it in me to tell her not to bother; her bitch Queen would never see fit to advance my little succubus to the place she deserved. Jezebel had said on many occasions that Lillith despised her, and I had to agree. What I couldn’t fathom was why. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t my concern.

      After a lingering, groping kiss—and a quick clutching of breasts and balls—Jezebel turned away from me to saunter into Pandemonium, promising to be just a few hours. “All I need is to hand in the names,” she said, her voice almost lost amid the cacophony of wails and screeches of the damned. “I’ll be done in plenty of time for us to get to San Francisco.”

      “You have two days,” I said. “Then I’m leaving without you.”

      “Duly noted. I’ll call you when I’m free.”

      With that, she walked toward the mountain complex that housed the demons and offices of Hell. Standing at the boundary of the Heartlands and Pandemonium, I watched her move, fascinated by her every step. As always. I didn’t understand what it was about Jezebel that affected me so; other succubi were just as sexy, just as talented between the sheets. But none compared to her. And—bless me for even thinking it—it wasn’t just about the sex.

      It was something that was uniquely her. Something I couldn’t put my finger on (or in), yet it was there all the same, in everything she did, everything she said, every motion of her body. It was infuriating and intoxicating. And I couldn’t put a name to it.

      Not true. It had a name.

      Jezebel.

      A pop of burning sulfur, almost undetectable here in the Abyss. Then, in my ear, Pan’s voice: “You know, you get this look in your eyes after you get bacchanalian with her. And I swear, your horns are three inches bigger.”

      “There’s something about her,” I said, watching where she’d been just a moment before. “She’s different from the others.”

      “Fuck that,” Pan said. “One hole’s as good as the next.”

      “Right,” I agreed, knowing that was sheer bunk.

      Whatever else she was, Jezebel was one of a kind. And I meant to find out why.

      Until then, I meant to screw her senseless every chance we had.

      Chapter 5

      Hey, Baby—Come Here Often?

      Pushing aside memories of Jezebel, I ambled past the table where my intended sat. Grinning broadly, I shrugged my way through the crowded lounge, all swagger and confidence. A ladies’ man. Well, one lady’s man.

      Finding a free spot near the fireplace, I leaned against the wall, took in the crowd—just another guy scanning the room, hunting for Ms. Right Now. Blending. Invisible, without having to pull magical strings. Around me, the throng of humans vied for attention, anyone’s attention, begging to be noticed, to be heard, to be held. To be stroked. Sucked. Fucked. Begging to feel like their lives mattered, even just for a moment. Screaming in their laughter, desperate for connection.

      Sometimes, humans made it so easy.

      Twenty feet away, my target sat with her companions. I studied her, drank in her face, even with it partially hidden by her curtain of curly black hair; I let my gaze roam over her torso, enjoyed the fullness of her breasts that neither her overly large sweater nor her crossed arms could camouflage. I watched, focused, flexed… marked her with my psychic signature as property of Daunuan.

      Mine.

      With that declaration, smells flooded over me, through me, connecting my prey to me—chocolate, jasmine, blackberries, musk. Her unique aroma, branded on my senses. It made me think of satin sheets, of bodies sliding together. My muscles tightened as I held her scent, imagined her in my arms and me in her, pictured how she’d shiver as I showered her body with new sensations.

      Mine.

      I’ve got you, doll.

      She was laughing again, but now I heard the undercurrent to the mirth: the laughter of her companions was alcohol-inspired and carefree, but hers was a polite copy, guarded. And her bright green eyes sparkled only partially with amusement; there was something deeper there, something I couldn’t place. Yet.

      Her eyes shine with passion and sorrow and rage as she begs me to kill her so she can save her man’s soul.

      I snorted, batting away the image of Jezebel’s human face. For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about her. She made her choice. Focus now on your intended.

      Yes, look at her: a half step behind her companions, the smile a touch too late to be spontaneous—see the way she’s sitting with her arms folded and her legs crossed and her shoulders so slightly hunched, all but screaming “keep your distance,” even though she’s out with friends and pretending to enjoy herself.

      Why the mixed signals, doll?

      I tuned out the rest of the sounds, the smells, of the other humans in the cigar lounge that boasted no cigars. Honing in on my target’s table, I listened, the buzz of the small group’s conversation filling my ears. The true blonde was in the middle of a passionate declaration, insisting: “…best movie I’ve ever seen!”

      The bottled blonde clucked her tongue. “Come off it, Ter. You know the only reason you love it is because Matt Damon’s in it. He could be in the most boring film ever, and you’d love it because he’s in it.”

      “If Matt was in it, it wouldn’t be boring.”

      “Right, because you’d be too busy lusting after him to actually pay attention to the movie!” This burst of wit from the straight-haired brunette.

      Blondie turned to my intended. “Back me up here, Vee. Am I really a fool for all things Matt Damon, or am I a grown-up who simply admires an amazing actor?”

      “‘Admires’?” Bottled giggled. “Is that another word for ‘Lusts after and wants to have his babies’?”

      My intended—Vee?—cleared her throat, smiled (but so very tightly, as if the movement pained her) and said, “Matt Damon is a fine actor.”

      Blondie grinned in triumph.

      Then Vee added, “But you know as well as I do, if Matt Damon ever spoke to you, you’d spontaneously combust from the rush of hormones. Or you’d drop dead on the spot.”

      The other women broke up with laughter, and my target took a careful sip of the contents in her glass. A sharp tongue on her, tempered with humor. I smiled, already wondering what that tongue would feel like as it dueled with mine. Would she be commanding in bed, insisting on the position and dictating the terms of the sex? Or would she be more yielding? Did she just need the right one to tame her? Either way was fine with me. Already my cock throbbed for her. Hungered for her.

      “Busted,” Bottled said. “Terri is so busted!”

      The other brunette said, “Virginia, anyone who tells Terri like it is, is officially okay in my book. You’ve got to hang with us more often.”

      Ah.