Where the Devil Don't Go, page 3
Sam might be a monster, but he was a considerate monster. Besides, if Christopher liked Sam’s horns and wings, wait until he saw his tongue. His real tongue. The thought had his cock thickening behind his zipper. Yeah, it was time to pay his new toy a visit.
Christopher had no idea what to do with his hands or his clothes or anything, really. It was like he’d spent the last eight years in a coma and had suddenly woken with no memory. Now that Vincent was dead, his spell was broken and Christopher felt lost. But more than that, he felt used. And stupid. A small part of him tried to console himself with the thought that he’d fallen victim to a magic he hadn’t known existed, but some other part of him wondered how he could be so stupid as to believe somebody like him in the first place.
And now, there was Sam…a literal demon. A demon Christopher had promised to serve—sexually—in any way that demon saw fit to use him. The thought should’ve scared him. The size of his cock alone should have terrified Christopher, but he’d once heard a statistic that the human anus could stretch up to seven inches, and while Sam was long and thicker than anything Christopher had ever seen in demon form, he was certainly not seven inches thick.
But it would hurt. Christopher shivered in anticipation. He loved that sharp spike of pain and adrenaline. Just thinking about being held down and fucked by Sam in his demon form had him hard and a little sweaty. But Sam in his human form was equally compelling. Maybe it was just Sam.
The whole ride back to the church—the irony had not been lost on him—Sam had remained silent, but there was a restrained violence that seemed to live just below the calm exterior. Even when he smiled, there was always this look in his eyes that said he could snap and murder a city block, leaving them bruised and bloody, without even mussing his hair.
Christopher wanted to say he didn’t know why that idea turned him on, but he did. Of course, he did. Nobody had ever loved Christopher. Not ever. He’d been a footnote in the life of every person who was supposed to care about him. So much so that when he went missing eight years ago, nobody had even bothered to look for him.
The memory was a gut punch. Not the physical kind—he’d learned to handle those long ago—but the kind that caused your brain to flood with chemicals that made you hurt in your soul. What would it be like to have somebody love him? To have somebody love him so much they’d kill or die for him? Didn’t everybody want somebody who loved them enough to set the world on fire for them?
Christopher shook the thought away. That wasn’t what this was about. It was about staying alive by keeping Sam satisfied. If Christopher had to hurt, to bleed, to suffer, all the better. Christopher was an excellent victim. Vincent had told him on the regular that he was pretty when he cried. He’d take Vincent’s word for it. When he was being abused, Christopher drifted to a place inside himself, had since he was little. But it was better that way. The world he’d built in his head was far superior to the one he’d been born into.
Would Sam care that he disappeared into himself? Vincent didn’t. As long as he opened his mouth for his cock, as long as he cried and begged and subjugated himself when he’d demanded. Christopher could do that on auto-pilot. He was very good at disassociating. If he had any kind of superpower, that was his.
There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Christopher stripped himself naked, kneeled on the cold tile floor, placed his hands behind his back, gazing down at the intricate mosaic tile work and just let his mind grow quiet. He didn’t know how much time passed before the heavy door of Sam’s chamber creaked open, but Christopher’s knees and shoulders ached.
Christopher didn’t raise his gaze, didn’t speak, but he was aware of Sam on an atomic level. Could hear the way he stopped dead for just the briefest of moments, barely a pause, before he began to walk around the bedroom as if Christopher wasn’t naked and waiting. Still, he could feel Sam’s gaze on him, heavy as a blanket. As he took off his watch, slipped off his expensive shoes, he never took his eyes off Christopher.
There was the sound of ruffling fabric but not the sound of it falling. Was he rolling up his sleeves? Removing his tie? Unbuttoning his top buttons? The idea of seeing Sam’s throat exposed made Christopher’s cock jump like it was Victorian times and he’d just gotten a peek at an ankle. What was he doing? Was Sam not going to acknowledge him at all? Vincent had done that sometimes but only as punishment. Only in the box and, sometimes, in the cage when he forced him to watch.
From the corner of his eye, Christopher watched Sam sit in the black velvet Queen Anne chair, crossing his leg, ankle over knee, slouched like some bored prince. He supposed that was what he was. A prince of the underworld. Lucifer, himself, maybe. That was what he’d said anyway. Who was Christopher to argue with a seven-foot leather-skinned demon?
“Look at me.”
Christopher raised his eyes to Sam’s. His heartbeat galloped in his chest. In just those few minutes Sam had been gone, Christopher had forgotten how striking the older man was, the power he exuded just sitting in a chair, barefoot. His cock hardened. Sam noticed. Vincent would have walked over and stomped on it, but Sam arched a brow, a slow smirk stretching across his face.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, his voice a low timbre that was nothing like the growl of his demon side.
“What do you want to do with me, Daddy?” Christopher asked, liking the way the honorific rolled from his tongue. His demon Daddy. What a strange twisted turn Christopher’s life had taken.
Sam rose in one graceful move, crossing the room, before hunkering down just before him, his thumb grazing Christopher’s chin. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Daddy?” Christopher asked, not sure if that had been rhetorical or not.
Sam examined him closely, his touch burning into Christopher’s skin. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
Christopher’s heart skipped a beat, his breath leaving in a tiny gasp. “Yes, Daddy.”
Sam’s thumb moved from Christopher’s chin to run across his bottom lip before slipping inside. Christopher let his tongue slide over the pad of Sam’s finger, savoring the tang of his flesh, but he did nothing more. He hadn’t been given permission. He looked Sam dead in the eye, letting him know he was awaiting further instructions.
“Suck it,” he murmured.
Christopher immediately began to nurse his finger, sucking it in long slow pulls, keeping his gaze on Sam just in case he did something wrong, but Sam’s human eyes were replaced with the sulfur yellow of his demon eyes. Christopher whined, shifting as his cock throbbed.
Sam chuckled. “You really do like my demon side. Interesting.”
He pulled his finger free and gripped Christopher’s throat, rising and taking him with him. “Open your mouth.”
Christopher did as he commanded. Sam leaned forward, his tongue dipping inside Christopher’s mouth. Christopher had never kissed anybody before. But he wasn’t kissing Sam; he was being kissed. Sam was rubbing his tongue over Christopher’s, both hands around his neck in a gesture that was both hot and vaguely threatening. Sam could rip his head off if he chose, but he simply gripped his throat like he wanted Christopher to know he wasn’t safe.
Sam moved his lips to Christopher’s ear. “There are so many things I could do to you. I’ve tortured people for centuries.”
Christopher swallowed, mouth suddenly a desert. “Like what?”
“Horrible, grotesque, unimaginable things. Things that would make what Vincent did look like a trip to an amusement park.”
Christopher began to tremble, and Sam inhaled deeply. “There it is. That’s what I want. Your fear.” He growled low in his throat, a literal fucking growl, like a dog or a wolf. The hands around Christopher’s neck were suddenly clawed, sharp needle-like talons stabbing at his skin.
Christopher whimpered as one of those hands dropped to his balls. Tears pricked at his eyes as goosebumps erupted along his skin, and he clenched his jaw, waiting for the inevitable searing pain as Sam literally destroyed him, but it never came. Instead, he gently dragged his nails over his sack in a strange pleasure pain that sent a shiver of awareness across his whole body.
Then the hand was gone, and Christopher was falling, shoved back into the mattress, Sam following him down, shoving him higher onto the bed to make room for himself between Christopher’s now splayed thighs. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked at Sam kneeling, still clothed, demon eyes, demon claws—he snarled at Christopher—demon teeth. What had Christopher gotten himself into? At least he knew Sam was a monster. Vincent had kept his true nature under wraps.
Sam pressed his nose to the skin on the inside of Christopher’s knee, dragging it along the delicate skin there, inhaling as he went, before burying his face in the spot where his thigh and pelvis met. Christopher clenched his shaking hands around the comforter beneath him, while Sam pushed his legs wider, leaving him vulnerable.
He could feel Sam’s breath against his balls, the sting of his claws on his thighs. Christopher didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what this was. Vincent came at him with knives and brands and, sometimes, just his fists. But Sam was…breathing him in, savoring him, studying him. The pain of his claws pressing into his skin was nothing compared to the exquisite anticipation of what came next. “What are you doing?”
Vincent would have exploded at Christopher for his impertinence, but Sam just gazed up at him with feral eyes. “I can’t very well take you apart if I don’t know how you’re put together.” Before Christopher could even formulate a response, Sam’s tongue unfurled from his mouth—not the one he’d kissed Christopher with moments ago, but the other one. His non-human tongue. He licked the space between his thigh and his balls in one long stroke.
Christopher’s mouth fell open. Sam’s tongue wasn’t normal by any means. It was longer, thicker, rougher, almost like a cat’s, but his cock throbbed at the sensation. Sam shoved Christopher’s legs higher until his hips protested and he hissed in pain. Sam cut his eyes to him, tilting his head like an animal. “You’re so small and fragile.”
Christopher frowned. “Is that a bad thing? That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Sam’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t answer, his tongue licking over Christopher’s balls and the seam of his other leg. “Hold your legs open,” he snarled.
Christopher did as he asked, flushing to the tips of his ears. This felt so intimate and strange. To Vincent, he was a living, breathing toy. He’d had absolute power over Christopher and he’d debased him in a million ways, but he’d never done anything like this…whatever the fuck this was. Christopher’s fingers dug into the backs of his knees as he held himself splayed open for Sam to look at. To…play with.
When Sam spread him open, there were no claws. Christopher moaned long and low as Sam’s tongue licked over his hole. “So small,” Sam muttered, seemingly to himself, then something prodded at his entrance. He whimpered as he realized it was the tapered tip of Sam’s tongue. Jesus.
At Christopher’s cry, Sam pushed deeper, then retreated. He was making a noise that almost sounded like a warm purr, his chest heaving beneath his crisp button down. “I want to taste you.”
“Aren’t you?”
Christopher yelped as teeth sank into the tender flesh of his inner thigh, his hands flailing at his sides, his brain reeling from the sudden attack. Just as quickly, Sam was laving at the wounds like an animal might, licking the blood with his soft, very human tongue, savoring each drop. “You taste amazing.”
Christopher’s whole body trembled. “Th-thank you.”
Suddenly, Sam was looming over him, his blood still smeared across his lips. “Do I scare you?”
Christopher let go of his knees, his heels hitting the mattress. “Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
Christopher hesitated. Did he? He was shaking, dizzy, his heart jackhammering in his chest, his nipples and cock hard. His thigh muscles ached and his balls throbbed. “Yes,” he said, realizing it was true. He did like this feeling, whatever it was. “Do you like me being scared?”
Sam nodded. “Yes. But only for me. Fuck, you smell so good like this.”
It was such a strange thing to say. But only for him. Sam didn’t want anybody else scaring Christopher? Like his fear was a prize. Sam reached for something out of Christopher’s line of sight, and then he was reaching down between them, two thick slippery fingers pushing into him without warning. “Ow,” he keened, face contorting as fire shot through him, the tight ring of muscle protesting the sudden invasion. Sam grunted, forcing his fingers deeper, his gaze locked on Christopher’s face.
“Tell me it hurts.”
Christopher whimpered. “It hurts, Daddy.”
Sam twisted his fingers, fucking into him. “Do you like hurting for me?”
Fuck. “Yes, Daddy.”
The fingers disappeared, leaving Christopher feeling empty and hollow. Then Sam was sitting back on his knees, removing his shirt, lowering the zipper on those tight black pants, pulling his cock free. Christopher thought he might pass out. Sam’s human cock wasn’t as intimidating as his demon one but it was bigger than anything Christopher had seen before.
Sam used the lotion on the side table to slick up his cock, pushing his clothing just far enough out of the way to not hinder him, before he was back to looming over Christopher, one hand on the bed beside him, the other guiding his cock to his entrance. “Hold yourself open for me.” Christopher raised his legs, spreading himself, knowing he needed every advantage. “Good boy.”
Christopher gasped at the praise, but Sam had muttered it almost like it was involuntary. Had Vincent ever said a kind word to him? Even when he was done hurting him? All thoughts of Vincent vanished as the head of Sam’s cock breached him, pushing in only a bit before pulling back. He looked down at Christopher’s entrance in annoyance. “Maybe I healed you too well.” After a moment, he said, “Get up.”
Christopher froze at the sudden order, then rushed to comply. Sam sat where Christopher had laid, crooking his finger. “Come here.”
Christopher licked his lower lip, eyeing Sam’s huge cock as understanding dawned. He straddled Sam’s thighs, heart pounding so fast he thought he might collapse. He settled until once more Sam’s cock was pressed against his hole. Sam flicked his hands, claws emerging to drag slowly along Christopher’s bare thighs. His gaze followed the lines they left behind, reveling in the sharp sting, but knowing it would do nothing to take away the blunt pain to come.
Sam used more lotion to slick his shaft and gave Christopher a look like he wouldn’t wait forever. Christopher’s hands shot to Sam’s shoulders as the first inch settled inside him, his blunt nails digging as he whined. He forced himself to breathe, to relax, rising up and trying once more to let Sam in.
Sam’s fingers found Christopher’s nipples, teasing over them, before trailing his nails lightly over his belly, his hand wrapping around Christopher’s softening cock. “You can do it. I know you can take it.” How long had it been since somebody had touched his dick for anything but pain? “You’re so beautiful. Your face, your agony, is beautiful.”
Tears trailed down Christopher’s cheeks as he repeated the process of rising up and sinking down, cries falling from his mouth each time his body gave up more space. He shouldn’t have been hard, he shouldn’t have been turned on. It hurt, this invasion, but it felt good too, like he could do this for Sam, like he needed to do this for him, be good for him, be everything he was supposed to be.
Sam’s nails scraped his cheeks, his chest, his arms, leaving the barest hint of scratches behind, but it was intense. The sensory overload of feeling Sam everywhere had Christopher’s head spinning until he felt woozy, not like with Vincent, not like he was disassociating, but something else, something more, like he’d been given a sedative but one that made him horny and euphoric.
He wasn’t sure when the pain stopped and the pleasure started. He didn’t know when the ache in his ass became a dull throb instead of a burning ring. He just knew he was riding Sam, sitting in his lap, head thrown back, working himself up and down while Sam spurred him on, hands on his hips, driving up into him as he came down.
Sam’s attention, his undivided, unwavering attention, was a heady thing, but his expression gave away nothing. It wasn’t blank, just intent, watching Christopher, like he was more interesting than Sam’s pleasure. But maybe Sam didn’t like it, didn’t like sex with a human. It made him want to be better, do better. “Is this good? Is this okay?”
Christopher found himself on his back, Sam still buried in him, his knees over Sam’s elbows. “If I have any complaints, you’ll know.” Something in Christopher withered, tears pricking his eyes once more. Sam pistoned his hips in and out of him, driving himself deep enough for Christopher’s toes to curl. He was so deep, so full, it was like he could feel him in his belly, but he just stared over Sam’s shoulder at the elaborate plaster ceiling overhead.
“Hey,” Sam said. “Where did you go?”
Christopher smiled. “I’m right here, Daddy.”
Sam stopped moving, dropping Christopher’s legs to grip his chin. “Don’t lie to me. What just happened?”
“Nothing, Daddy,” he said, smile watery.
Sam frowned, once more examining him like he could read his mind. “You need the words, don’t you? That’s your thing.”
“What?”
Sam began to move within him once more, his mouth pressed against his ear. “You need me to tell you that you’re doing well. That I’m pleased. You need me to validate you. Sex with humans is new to me. I forgot it’s not just your bodies that are fragile but your hearts and your minds. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Hush.” Sam bit him, teeth sinking into his shoulder hard enough for Christopher to cry out. “God, I love the way you cry,” Sam muttered, licking his earlobe before biting down. “You’re doing so well, taking my cock so well. Being so good for me.”
