Calladia stretched her arms high overhead, showing off the lean, muscled lines of her torso. Her powerful thighs flexed, squeezing his hips. Astaroth loved her strength and how comfortably she wielded it.
“Ready for another yet?” he asked, tapping his lips.
She laughed and leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest. “Are you trying to set a world record?”
“If you think three orgasms is a record, I need to educate you. Let me tie you to a bed for a few days and we’ll see what we can accomplish.”
She scooted forward until his erection pressed against her lower belly. “Maybe I’ll tie you up,” she said, gripping his wrists where they rested beside his head. She pinned them down as she leaned in for a long, deep kiss.
He tasted the two of them on her tongue, the combination simultaneously crude and sublime. This was what he’d craved badly enough to spend untold years on Earth: raw, animalistic passion, impolite and uninhibited. He wanted to drown in her.
“So,” Calladia said against his mouth. “Want to fuck?”
“Absolutely.” He could hardly believe this was happening. Their relationship—if it could be called that—had escalated quickly.
Then again, considering the two of them, was there another way for it to play out? Escalation was the name of their game, since neither of them backed down from a challenge.
Calladia nipped his lower lip, then sat up straight. She yanked a strand of hair off her head and started wrapping it around her fingers, apparently unwilling to get off him for long enough to grab a sturdier thread from her bag. She tied a few knots, then whispered, “Condom din convosen.” A gold foil packet dropped from thin air into her waiting hand.
“That’s a neat trick,” he said.
“It’s amazing what you learn in college.” She opened the packet and rolled the condom over his erection. Then she lifted up on her knees, notched his cock at her soaked entrance, and started sinking down.
“Bloody hell,” he choked out as he watched her take him to the root in one smooth stroke. Her pussy squeezed him so tightly, he couldn’t be sure if he was feeling the throb of his pulse or hers.
Calladia moaned. “Oh, that’s good.”
Astaroth had a reasonable amount of pride in his penis. It was large without being logistically challenging to accommodate, and he’d received many compliments over the years. But as Calladia shifted on top of him, murmuring about “big” and “thick” and “so full,” he felt elevated to the level of a god.
He gripped her hips. “Ride me,” he ordered.
Calladia braced her palms against his chest and lifted off him in a long, slow drag. When she sank back down, they groaned in unison.
How could this feel so perfect? Astaroth had had a lot of sex over the centuries, but nothing came close to the first few moments of being inside Calladia. The ground was hard beneath the sleeping bag, his hair was wet and smelled faintly sulfurous, and rain smacked against the tent fabric as a sudden wind threatened to tear the flimsy structure down, but he wouldn’t trade any of it for a more luxurious setting. After a lifetime of lies and political games, this moment was raw and real.
Calladia set a steady rhythm, her body arching sensuously with each roll of her hips and her arousal dripping between them. Her strong thighs held him trapped as her arse flexed under his fingertips, and Astaroth deliriously thought that she would make a hell of an equestrian. He mirrored her movements, and soon they were moving in tandem, graceful as dancers. Or as fighters, rather, battling together toward a common goal.
Astaroth moved his thumb to Calladia’s clit. She gasped and tilted her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and her short nails dug into his pecs, a slight pain he wanted more of. He wanted her to claw him up, mark him as hers. He wanted to wear her possession on his skin.
Calladia’s rhythm stuttered, and he knew she was close. He took control, thrusting up in hard, fast strokes while his thumb pressed and rubbed. “Come on,” he told her through gritted teeth. “Come for me.”
Her inner muscles clenched, and then she was jerking and crying out, shaking all over as her cunt squeezed him in rhythmic flutters. He watched pleasure seize her, memorizing every detail: her opened mouth and tightly closed eyes, the flush sweeping her cheeks and upper chest.
She was beautiful.
Calladia collapsed against him, hands winding into his hair and stroking over his horns as she mouthed at his neck. “Your turn,” she whispered.
Thank Lucifer. The sight of her orgasm had brought him to the edge. He gripped her hips, thrusting up aggressively as tension seized him tighter and tighter. Then it released all at once, an explosion of sensation that left him gasping as he filled the condom.