She expected him to dive right in, but Astaroth took his time exploring her. His hands coasted over her body, mapping her shoulders and arms, the bumps of her ribs, and the curve of her waist and hips. He followed the touches with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, like he wanted to taste every inch of her.
Then he pushed her thighs wide and sank lower in the water. She felt his gaze like a physical touch, and his pale blue irises, once reminiscent of ice, now reminded her of the hot core of a flame. Together, they were burning out of control.
He dragged his finger over her pubic hair and lower, parting her labia. “Exquisite,” he said. Then he buried his face between her legs, kissing her ravenously.
“Oh!” Calladia jerked against him. Hecate, he was good at this. He tasted her with long, strong swipes of his tongue, mapping out every contour, even sinking his tongue inside her. His horns rubbed against her sensitive inner thighs, and Calladia leaned back, bracing herself on her hands to get a better view.
Astaroth of the Nine wasn’t precisely on his knees, but he kissed her with the ardent fervor of a zealot praying to his god. He used his entire face, rubbing his cheeks and chin against her labia and wet inner thighs. His clever tongue traced designs over her clit as if he were inscribing a secret poem. He was merciless, not letting up for a single moment, gripping her hips to hold her in place. When he sucked hard on her clit, Calladia’s arms gave out. She flopped onto her back, staring dazedly at the night sky as Astaroth built and built her pleasure. The stars had vanished behind clouds, and a drop of rain struck her cheek.
Her existence narrowed to this small slice of space, seemingly suspended out of time. It was a world of sharp contrasts: the heat of Astaroth’s mouth and hands versus the cool raindrops beginning to patter down, the hard rock beneath her back versus the soft press of skin. She was coming undone, hands scrabbling at the ground while her thighs twitched. The pleasure was building quickly, so intense it was almost frightening. As tension seized her lower belly and her clit grew so sensitive each lick nearly hurt, she instinctively tried to snap her legs shut, but Astaroth kept them pinned wide. He didn’t let up as she moaned and bucked, her cries growing desperate.
The climax rushed toward her. For a moment, Calladia couldn’t breathe, and she opened her mouth on a silent scream as her body grew taut as a bow. Then the pressure released all at once, a series of rolling waves that racked her. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically, and heat flooded her skin.
Astaroth kept going, never varying the rhythm or pressure that had tipped her over the edge, and the pleasure stretched out for long moments. When the last tremor had shaken through her, Calladia went limp, gasping for air.
Astaroth straightened. He rubbed his hands over her waist, hips, and thighs, looking extremely smug. She couldn’t begrudge him that; he could be as smug as he pleased after delivering that steamroller of an orgasm.
He licked his lips, which still gleamed with her arousal. “Delicious. My witch tastes sweet.”
Was she his witch? Her body certainly thought so. Her head was airy light, and her muscles felt like they’d melted. At that moment, he could have asked her for anything, and she would have done it.
The sky opened up and fat raindrops came pounding down, stinging her skin. Calladia sat upright with a laugh, and when she wobbled and would have collapsed again, Astaroth steadied her.
“Rain,” was all she managed to say, and she giggled at the absurdity. Of course he knew it was raining. She laughed again, high on endorphins, and Astaroth grinned back.
The rain beat a tattoo against the rock, and where it struck the pond, small jets of water exploded up from the displacement. “Should we make a run for it?” Astaroth asked, wiping drops off his face.
Calladia staggered to her feet, then reached down to help him out of the pool. He accepted the gesture, though he didn’t let her bear much of his weight. She ran her eyes up and down his nearly naked body admiringly. His cock jutted out against the fabric of his underwear, thick and long, and she couldn’t wait to get her mouth on it.
Astaroth shivered.
Right. Demon. If she thought the night was chilly, he was probably freezing now that he was out of the hot water. She hurried to grab her backpack and phone—which had landed in a nearby bush—though the bra and underwear she left behind, figuring they’d get musty if she packed them up while still wet. She’d get them in the morning.
“Come on,” she said, casting him her version of a rakish grin. “I’ll race you to the tent.”