Hotter Than Hell. Jackie Kessler
An incubus fucks you and kills you, then takes your soul to Hell.”
“No…”
A quick kiss on her dry lips, wetting her mouth with mine. “So here’s where we are, doll. Your man is dead. Your life was already forfeited. Now it’s going to happen a bit sooner than I’d planned.”
“Please…”
I loved it when they begged. “Tell you what, my little murderess. I’ll give you a chance. All you have to do is not call my full name when I make you climax. If you can do that, I won’t fuck you to death.” I’d break her neck. But what was the point of telling her that? “What do you think? Tell me true.”
“I…” She swallowed, said, “I don’t know your full name.”
“But you do.” I licked the hollow of her throat, kissed the sensitive flesh. “In their souls, all humans know the nefarious. What do you say, doll? I’ll screw you so hard you’ll see stars.” Between her legs, my fingers danced over her slit. She groaned, tried to move, groaned harder when I pressed down. “Think you can keep from calling my name when you come?”
Gasping, she said, “Yes.”
“Wonderful.” I kissed her neck, worked my way down to her breast. Debated whether I should let her move beneath me. I gave her fifty-fifty on being able not to call my name. She was evil down to the core; I had to admire that in a human.
She was mine three minutes and forty-nine seconds later.
Chapter 2
Stalling
“I’m dead.”
Bloody Hell. For the umpteenth time, I said, “I know.”
“I’m dead.”
“I still know.”
“I’m dead.”
My client was also a buzzkill, so I ordered another shot of Jager. On the other side of the ebony bar, Randolph acknowledged my request and made with the pouring. I didn’t know why a nonmagical human mixed drinks at the most popular interplaneary pub this side of the Astral Plane, and I didn’t care. So what if he always wore an expression of wide-eyed terror and his mouth was set in a frozen scream? As long as he didn’t spill the booze when he poured, Randolph was all right in my book.
And he was eye candy, in an androgynous, Goth kind of way. Me, I’ll always prefer the ladies. But in my line of work, the lads are also fair game. I’m an equal-opportunity sort of Seducer. I’ll happily flirt with any mortal, especially one who looked like Randolph. His mop of black hair was set off by ghostly skin, which was slightly marred by a prominent blue vein snaking over his nose. His face was delicate-jawed and clean-shaven; his body was slender, yet it managed to fill out his black T-shirt with the Voodoo Café logo emblazoned on its front. Attractive. And so damn young, practically overflowing with potential.
I could suck him dry in a New York minute. I bet he’d taste like saltwater taffy.
Maybe he saw something in my gaze, something in the curve of my lips as I watched him, because his eyes widened until a ring of white surrounded the chocolate brown of his irises, and a tic danced along his jaw. I caught the scent of his fear—tangy, like grapefruits—before it wafted away, blending with the other bar-heavy smells of cigars, booze and sweat. And brimstone, of course. Where there be demons, there be the stench of rotten eggs.
I grinned big, let my teeth slip into fangs as I inhaled the fading odor of Randolph’s terror. Mmm.
Swallowing audibly, he slid the full cup over to me, the glass making that distinct wet scrape against the countertop, the sound of an object rubbing suggestively against another. Ah, how I loved friction. “Six dollars,” he said, his voice pleasantly deep and cracking on the last word.
I softened my grin into a winning smile as I pulled out my wallet and produced an American ten-dollar bill. “For you,” I said, offering him the money with a flick of my fingers. “Keep the change.”
As he took the ten, I scraped the nail of my middle finger against the meat of his palm and pushed. Just a whisper of power, a hint of lust. Sweat popped on his brow as a wave of desire broke over him, flushing his face and glazing his eyes.
Heh.
I don’t shit where I eat, so I let him go. Besides, he wasn’t a client, and I wasn’t allowed to tempt him. The rules are damn clear on who’s a target and who’s not. Randolph literally served evil. As long as he worked at the Voodoo Café, he was off limits.
Randolph blinked twice, then flashed me a nervous grin before he scuttled off to the far end of the bar to wait on other patrons. Swim away, little fishie. Swim away.
I grabbed the drink and knocked it back, relishing how the back of my throat caught fire. Just knowing that Randolph would be mine if I ever really wanted him was enough to satisfy me. For now. Already I felt the fire rekindling inside of me, a slow honing of my senses to better experience desire whether through smell or sight or sound, a whetting of sexual appetite that heated my blood and stirred my cock.
Mortal men say they always think about sex. Hah. They should be in my pants for one night. A perpetual state of horniness goes with the demonic package.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m dead.”
My good mood evaporated, and my fangs shrank back to human teeth as I snorted my frustration. The damned sure as Hell were self-centered. Didn’t my client know she’d have the better part of eternity to mull over her fate?
I glanced over my shoulder to see her hovering just behind me, her soul a thing of pulsing blacks and reds, like a charbroiled heart seeping blood. Her weakness for sex and violence stained her spirit, highlighted how her internal berserker and seducer warred for dominance over her immortal soul. Very nice.
“I’m dead.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, doll.” A serial killer was always a toss-up between Lust and Wrath—desire for slaughter is still desire, but the rage that fuels murder scores for the Berserkers. My client’s ultimate punishment would be determined by which aspect of evil weighed the heaviest in her core. If I was a betting sort of entity, I would have laid odds on Lust. But that judgment wouldn’t happen until after I brought her to Hell—and I’d be blessed if I was going there any time soon. I’d just slaughtered a nefarious and a human (granted, wearing the same body) without a permit. I was seriously fucked, and not in the way we incubi prefer. The heaps of paperwork that I’d have to fill out…Just thinking about it made my eyeballs throb.
I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, but that did nothing to kill my headache. Fucking red tape was going to tie me up for a human’s age. Maybe I couldn’t escape it, but I sure as Hell could delay it. At the very least, I was going to get plastered before I ventured down Below. And based on the way my metabolism burned off alcohol, I’d be holed up at the bar for at least three weeks before I had anything close to a steady buzz.
“I’m dead.”
Then again, three weeks of incessant whining from my client might feel more like an eternity than it would filling out miles of Wrongful Termination forms.
A scent of lilacs tinged with winter frost, just before delicate fingers brushed over my shoulder. A feminine voice asked, “Why so glum?”
I opened my eyes and turned to see a stunning blonde smiling at me like a televangelist eager to get with the hallelujahs. Mmm. Look at her, with hair so golden that Rumpelstiltskin would have creamed his leggings—eyes so blue, the Almighty must have had that color in mind when He painted the sky. Porcelain skin, and a lean body wrapped in a white evening dress that emphasized the swells of her breasts.
Helloooo, sexy.
Her smile was good; it would have been terrific if not for the slight tremble in her full lips. She was nervous. And based