Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

He released my hand, and I sipped my drink and smiled inanely as I let him talk for a bit, telling me about himself (yawn) and that I was beautiful (well, duh) and that he wasn’t seeing anyone now because his last girlfriend didn’t work out (that often happens when you use the girlfriend as a human sacrifice, but whatever).

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” I chirped. “My last boyfriend wanted a relationship, but all I wanted was hot and sweaty sex.”

Noel spluttered his drink.

“Love your necklace,” I said, making with the Bambi eyes. What serial killer didn’t love a big-busted gal with huge Bambi eyes?

“This?” He dangled the pentacle between his fingers, and I made sure to lean forward in appreciation. My boobs nearly popped out of my dress as I admired the silver necklace. Being near the jewelry actually made me feel itchy, but I figured that was my impatience; I really wanted Noel to get on with seducing me. Talking to my nipples again, he said, “It’s a pentagram. I do magic,” he added in a low voice, ending with a smile that was probably supposed to make him seem mysterious.

Cue my wide-eyed curiosity: “So you saw girls in half?”

“Not stage magic. Real magic.” His smile pulled into a leer. “Sex magic.”

I giggled. Couldn’t help it. He was so earnest. It was adorable. “Is sex magic hotter than regular sex?”

“Oh yeah.” He paused. “Want me to show you?”

“Like you would not believe,” I said with a smile. “Your place?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He helped me down from the barstool, grinning like a lovestruck idiot. As I clasped his hand tightly, I sent out a pulse of power, exploring him, testing for magical ability. Nothing. The guy was a blank page.

Some tough assignment. Hah. At this rate, I’d have his soul within the hour.

As we waited for a cab, he babbled about his prowess as a magician. I made all the appropriate oohs and ahhs. Oh yes, he’d call my name as he came inside me, and I’d hold him tight as he died. And then, once his soul was bound to me, I’d take him down to Hell.

No need for Lillith to know that Noel was a fraud. Hell had marked him as a high-level dark magician; that was all that mattered. I’d complete my assignment easily, and Lust would get major kudos for a powerful catch. In doing so, I’d finally prove my mettle to my queen and get the promotion I deserved. Everyone would be happy.

Well, except for Noel. But hey, you can’t win them all.

The apartment wasn’t bad. I’d expected Ikea-chic and some secondhand accoutrements, but instead I found tasteful furniture (modern) and framed paintings (abstract). I recognized one of the artists as someone who’d recently been claimed by Hell — the man had sold his soul for the opportunity to be immortalized by his artwork — and I took a moment to admire the bold strokes of black in the otherwise colorful painting.

“That’s an original,” Noel said, after naming the artist.

It looked like road kill with tire streaks. I liked it.

Noel took me by the arm and led me to his bedroom, a thing of black walls and overflowing bookshelves. Oh yes: this was where the power happened. Not magic, no — still coming up blank on that end — but the sex … I smelled the lingering energy, felt the ripples in the stagnant air, tasted the aftermath of death. It was enough to make me tipsy. Sweet Sin, this room had seen many active nights. And days. And afternoons. To say nothing of the weekends. Clearly, Noel was a man who got his jollies right here — sex before, during and after the ritual sacrifices. His sheets must be easily washable.

I couldn’t wait for us to get started. I bet his soul would taste like licorice and rum — steeped in evil, dripping with lust. Yum!

As Noel started lighting some candles (black, naturally) around the room to “set the mood,” I stepped over to the bed: a four-poster with a metal frame, its sheets satin and red as a beating heart. The comforter was a lush thing of sensual black — not the dead no-color of rot but the enticing inky darkness of nightmares.

I almost shivered with anticipation. Setting the mood, indeed.

He walked up behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, then stroking down my arms. “Ready?”

“Sweetie,” I purred, turning around to face him, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Noel kissed me hard, mashing his lips against mine and forcing his tongue into my mouth. He was aggressive. Possessive. Just like I knew he’d be. I went along with it, encouraged him with little moans that could have meant pleasure or surprise or fear — whatever he needed, I’d give it to him. He was my client, and I’d make sure he was satisfied. So instead of me seducing him, I simply reacted as he kissed me down my jaw and my throat, bruising me with passion. His tongue teased me, darting, painting me with small licks; his teeth grazed me, the threat of pain in the midst of building pleasure.

He hit a sweet spot, and I bit my lip to keep myself from tearing his pants off and throwing him onto the bed. Let him be in control, I told myself. Let him have his power. Let the moment stretch. It would be over all too soon. Sex with humans always was. His hands moved down my back until they cupped my ass.

“No panties,” I breathed. His fingers quickly discovered I was telling the truth. Then I said, “No bra.”

As if that had given him permission, with one hand he tugged down the front of my dress, then stared in obvious glee at my very large, very bare breasts. (Infernal magic: way better than an underwire bra.) My nipples were already erect, thanks to Noel’s rough kisses and blunt fingers, but now the sheer hunger in his gaze as he stared at my tits made me slick with need. He was murder and sex and brute humanity in one black-clad package.

Oh, Gehenna, he was fabulous .

And then his mouth latched onto my nipple, and my reaction was very loud and very positive. For the next who knew how long, he suckled me and stripped me down until I was shining from his licks and wearing only my stilettos and a huge smile.

One of his hands was doing marvelous things between my legs when he asked me, “Can I tie you up?”

“So polite,” I murmured.

“The magic is stronger when it’s consensual.” He emphasized the importance of consent with a waggle of his fingers.

“Of course you can tie me up.” I adored bondage — Lash Me, Thrash Me is a particular favorite among the succubi. Besides, no mortal ties could truly keep me pinned; a teensy burst of power would sear through even the strongest of bonds. Or I could always just bamf myself down to Hell if I really needed to make a quick exit. But I was still sure the only thing I had to worry about from the wannabe magician was premature ejaculation.

Noel steered me to the bed and eased me down, his fingers dancing all the while. “Spread yourself wide for me,” he panted.

I obliged.

Leaning over me, he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out four pairs of handcuffs. Soon I was bound to the bedposts, still in my heels.

Noel sat back and smiled at me. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” He got off the bed and rummaged through the drawer again.

“What are you looking for, sweetie? A blindfold?”

“Nope. Just this.” He pulled out a pouch and dangled it in front of me before he loosened the drawstrings. “Salt.” He sprinkled the white crystals on the ground in a white trail, going around the bed. As Noel walked out of my line of vision, I realized the bed hadn’t been flush against the wall. “Don’t mind me,” he said from behind me. “Just have to finish the circle.”

Bemused, I chuckled softly. The handful of magicians I’d dealt with over my thousands of years had drawn circles too. Usually in blood. Noel was certainly acting the part. Shame he had no ability whatsoever.