“Come on, Belial,” she cooed. “No one fills me up like you do. No one tastes as good as you. All that power and rage.” She moaned like she was going to come from thinking about it.
He groaned again. “Go fuck Lucifer if you want power.”
“Lucifer has a pencil dick.”
He had to laugh. Lucifer was the most powerful demon in Hell. Even if he did have a pencil dick, he could have done something to fix the problem. But Naiamah had always hated him with a burning passion and wouldn’t go near him.
She rose and faced Bel again, crossing her arms over her chest, which only served to push her breasts together. He wanted to slide his cock between them and come all over her chest.
Fuck.
“Give me what I want, and I’ll track down your Nephilim blood,” she said, the light of victory already shining in her eyes. “Your precious brothers will be safe. Think what will happen if they’re caught, Belial. They’ll be tortured and destroyed. You have to protect them, and to do that, you need to keep your favors.”
Bel closed his eyes. He’d probably be willing to risk it if he was just worrying about himself, but he had his brothers to think about too.
She knew exactly what buttons to push to manipulate him. He was changing, becoming something less and less demonic, and he shouldn’t have been able to care about his brothers the way he did. But he did care, and Naiamah knew it, and she wasn’t above using it to get what she wanted.
Worse, he wanted to give it to her. He wanted it so fucking bad.
He couldn’t seek the sources for the Nephilim blood himself either. Naiamah was bound by their old bargain not to betray him, and besides his legions—who weren’t powerful or connected enough to be able to get what he needed—there wasn’t anyone else in Hell with that kind of reliability. It was her or no one.
“Fine,” he said, sighing with resignation while his cock jerked with excitement. “But I’m binding you to this with a contract. We fuck, I get the blood.”
A triumphant smile split her perfect face. “Fine. But the blood will cost you, and I’m not paying. I’m only finding you a source.”
“Fine.”
“Let me out of the sigil, and we’ll play on your bed. You said your apartment is warded. No one will find me.”
“No. We fuck in the circle. I don’t trust you not to try to escape.”
Her lip curled. “As if I’d want to linger any longer than I have to on your precious Earth. Humans are dirty little things, and I hate having them near me. No, it’s only you and your brothers who actuallywantto be here, though for the life of me I can’t fathom why.”
Like Naiamah, most demons of the Order of Thrones were uninterested in the human realm, where their powers were muted and they were forced to abide by strict rules. In Hell, they could rule their territories as they preferred and revel in the blood and chaos.
Kings and Queens of Hell were responsible for authorizing visits and rarely had cause to go to Earth themselves. They sent others on special missions to coerce humans susceptible to evil, the goal always being to thwart the opposing efforts of their angelic nemeses.
It was boring as, well, Hell.
What was the point in all that good-versus-evil bullshit? Why bother at all? Why not live their lives doing what they enjoyed and leave others to do the same?
That was all Belial wanted. And, being a King of Hell himself, it had been relatively simple for him to secure himself and his brothers their one-way ticket to freedom. The hard part was making sure they stayed free. Sacrifices would have to be made.
Starting with the recanting of his vow not to touch Naiamah again.
It shouldn’t have mattered to him. Demons weren’t supposed to be capable of keeping that kind of vow in the first place. He was so messed up, and this shit was too complicated to dwell on. He’d need a PhD in psychology to even begin to understand the wars that were being waged inside his head.
Which he could actually get if he got the damned Nephilim blood and then found a way to permanently secure his and his brothers’ freedom on Earth.
Belial climbed off the bed and rose to his full height. “Turn around. Don’t look at me or I’ll gouge your eyes out. Don’t touch me or I’ll rip your arms off.”
Naiamah moaned like his threats were as good as foreplay, and she immediately complied.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, skin already crawling with self-hatred, though his blood pumped with arousal. Thank fuck he’d put a sound-sealing sigil on the door so his brothers wouldn’t hear what he was doing.
Oh, the things I do for this family.
12
