Incubus Dreaming (The Incubus Series Book 3) Page 5

  He looked down at Azrael’s hands, at his long, delicate fingers around the bone pen, tracing runes with fierce attention. He was pulling a lot of magic from the collar. Mal wondered whether the dreamcatcher really was that well-encrypted or whether Azrael was just too distracted to work efficiently.

  Mal flipped the clasp on Azrael’s belt buckle and slid one hand into his trousers without bothering to unfasten them. Azrael made a noise like a strangled cat.

  “That feels almost painful,” said Mal cheerfully, rubbing Azrael’s cock in the tight space and loving the way the muscles of his legs quivered.

  Mal raised his head and caught a reflection of them in the mirrored door of a cabinet: Azrael’s flushed face and expression of ferocious concentration, his head tipped a little sideways from Mal’s attention, Mal tight against him, one hand inside his shirt, the other down his pants. We are doing this in your tower, he thought and shivered. They were surrounded by implements used to trap and kill magical beings, spells of dangerous power, a place where the world had been made thin by too much passage…and a summoning circle a few steps away.

  “Don’t take down my wards here.”

  I won’t, Mal reminded himself. But I am going to win this race if you don’t finish what you’re doing in less than two minutes. Azrael’s cock was leaking fluid against his fingers. Mal worked him harder, feeling the muscles of his belly and thighs tighten, his breath coming in rasps.

  There was an audible pop and an explosion of sparks. For one moment, Mal thought the book really had caught fire. It was still intact when the smoke cleared, however. Azrael slammed it shut and shoved it away. “Done! It’s done! Dear gods. Fuck. That was one of the toughest encryption charms I’ve ever seen. Fuck!”

  “And yet you broke it in record time!” said Mal, still stroking Azrael’s cock, the thumb of his other hand flicking back and forth across a nipple. “See how helpful I am?”

  Azrael groaned and leaned into him. He pressed his ass hard against Mal’s erection. “Ask for it,” said Mal, his voice thick.

  “Please.” Azrael tilted his head up and sideways towards Mal’s face, black eyes desperate. Mal’s hand slid to Azrael’s throat, pushing his shirt up as he went—encircling the slender neck possessively, almost threateningly. He felt Azrael’s second “please” vibrate through his fingers.

  Mal kissed him on the mouth. With the hand that wasn’t around his throat, Mal unfastened Azrael’s trousers. They fell with a clatter of belt buckle. Azrael flinched at the noise, but Mal didn’t give him time to think about it. He pushed him down onto his desk and pulled off his underwear in the same movement. Everything landed around his ankles and Mal kicked the clothes away. Real clothes are terribly inconvenient. Mal made his own disappear, melting back into his essence.

  He leaned forward, his cock pressing against the crease of Azrael’s ass, relishing the sight of his master facedown in what looked like a grimoire, a couple of ledgers, and a scattering of pens that had fallen from the overturned toad-owl skull. Azrael was scrabbling to push things out of the way, but Mal brought a forearm down across his shoulders and ended that nonsense. Who has sex across a desk and tries to make sure it’s tidy while he’s doing it?

  My ridiculous master, that’s who. Looks like you need more distraction.

  Mal leaned close to Azrael’s ear, letting the weight of his body plaster the smaller man against the desk until Azrael could barely breathe. He kept his forearm across Azrael’s shoulders like an iron bar, pinning him in place, pressing his cheek against the ancient leather of a grimoire that looked like it probably contained numerous methods of binding demons.

  Mal wondered if a book had ever been written by a demon on how to bend a sorcerer over his desk in his own tower and fuck him until he couldn’t see straight.

  Astral incubi only fuck their summoners once.

  Mal shook his head to clear it. They were both breathing hard. He stroked Azrael’s flank with his free hand, gliding it all the way up his taut body to his face. He stroked his cheek, his lips, forced two fingers past his teeth into his warm mouth. Azrael’s breath came in shallow, panting rasps around Mal’s fingers, his tongue an uncoordinated muscular wetness, moving over Mal’s fingertips. His eyes were screwed shut, his hands in fists on either side of his head.

  Mal leaned close to his ear. “We can’t do this without something slick.”

  Azrael’s eyes snapped open. He tried to speak around Mal’s fingers, but Mal just pushed them deeper into his mouth. “Go on. Make the spell. I know you can.”

  Azrael’s eyes flicked up at him, huge and frustrated. He was still trying to talk. Mal licked the back of Azrael’s neck as though he’d been the panther. “Come on, world’s-most-powerful-sorcerer. Can’t make something slippery in your own tower without your hands?” Mal rubbed his cock back and forth along the crease of Azrael’s ass, feeling his legs tremble.

  Mal could feel him trying to focus, trying to find a way to make the spell work without hands or voice, trying to use Mal’s magic through the haze of his desire. The sensation was shockingly arousing. Mal groaned against his neck. “That tickles in all the best ways. You’d better hurry up or I’m just going to finish and you can get yourself off.”

  Azrael made a noise of protest and bucked up against him. “What was that? Go ahead and fuck me without oil? No. I don’t want to hurt you that much.”

  Oh, but I do, whispered a voice in Mal’s head. He ignored it.

  He withdrew his fingers just enough for Azrael to jerk his own head back. “You malevolent bastard,” he spat. “I am trying!”

  “Try harder.”

  Before Mal could curl his fingers into his mouth again, Azrael reeled off the spell, the runes shimmering visibly in the air for a moment. Because he’d used only his mouth and not his hands, the slippery liquid came spilling out between his lips to land in Mal’s cupped palm. Azrael coughed and sputtered. He started swearing again, but before he could get too worked up about it, Mal pressed a slicked finger into his ass. That shut him up.

  Azrael was tight with nerves. Mal wished he could use his own magic. A little feeding, and Azrael would have become calm and pliant. He would have been relaxed and unafraid.

  And unsafe, Mal reminded himself. What might come through that summoning circle in response to an unwarded sorcerer so close on the other side? Forget the circle. What might be waiting in this very room to pounce? No, no, leave his wards alone.

  “Just do it,” Azrael hissed. “Mal, just fuck me; I don’t care if it hurts.”

  Mal drew back to put both hands on Azrael’s hips, letting him breathe. He pressed the head of his cock against the slick ring of muscle. He started to push forward, but then Azrael pressed back, catching him by surprise, enveloping Mal’s dick in tight heat.

  Azrael was breathing in ragged gasps. Mal didn’t thrust for a moment. He leaned over Azrael again, kissing the back of his neck. “Mine,” he murmured. My summoner, my sorcerer, my human, mine, mine, mine.

  Azrael gave another impatient shove, and Mal moved—slowly at first, then picking up speed as Azrael’s body allowed it. Azrael was squirming and groaning, sobbing for breath. Mal moved back enough to catch one of his legs under the knee and drag it up onto the desk, spreading him wider, splaying his body flat across his books and papers and vials and pens. Mal brought down his weight across Azrael’s back and shoulders, thrusting so hard that he lifted Azrael’s remaining foot off the ground. You want to feel helpless? How’s that?

  Snap!

  A dizzy wave of desire crashed over Mal’s demon senses—fear mixed with arousal, dark longing, a need to be obliterated. For an instant, Mal panicked. I took down your wards! How? I wasn’t trying.

  And then he realized he hadn’t. Azrael had done it himself.

  Fuck.

  And then Mal was feeding, because he could not help it, because Azrael was radiating sexual energy, and it was—he was—the most delicious thing Mal had ever tasted. Feeding on him felt as natural
as breathing. It felt like a dislocated joint coming back into place, a missing puzzle piece, a musical note that had been off-key sliding into true.

  Stop, thought Mal distantly. This is too much. You’re taking too much.

  There is no such thing as too much, whispered the voice of Lust. This is what you were created to do. He fed on you for twenty years, and now it is your turn. This is exactly where you’ve always wanted him.

  Azrael’s movements were growing weaker, less coordinated. Mal knew that his feeding was creating a narcotic rush of pleasure that Azrael was in no frame of mind to resist. He’s not going to tell me to stop.

  I am Lust. I am insatiable.

  Jessica’s voice: “You are yourself.”

  Mal’s eyes snapped open. I am myself. A being bound in time to other people by choice. And I have a tomorrow. We have a tomorrow. But only if I stop.

  It took every ounce of his self-control to clamp down on the dwindling flow of magic. Azrael’s pulse was beating erratically against Mal’s skin. Mal had certainly taken too much.

  Wallace’s words from what seemed like a lifetime ago: “Does he give you his magic in the ass?”

  Worth a try, thought Mal, and poured the magic back into the sorcerer beneath him.

  Azrael came so hard, his hips curled off the desk for a moment. The intensity of his pleasure tipped Mal over the edge, and he emptied himself inside Azrael’s shuddering body.

  Mal lay there on top of him for a moment, their rasping breath barely audible over the blood beating in his ears. At last, he managed, “Ren?”

  Azrael made a muffled noise. He was lying with his cheek against a crumpled page, all attempts to push himself up on elbows and hands forgotten. Mal released the arm he had looped under one of Azrael’s legs. He stood up, then caught Azrael with both hands as he almost slithered to the floor.

  Mal dragged him to his feet, and Azrael leaned heavily on the desk. His eyes were still shut. His shirt was unbuttoned, his undershirt pushed halfway to his neck. He was naked from the waist down except for his shoes.

  Mal’s entire being was diffuse with sorcerous magic. He felt electric, as though he were made of light. Indeed, he was surprised not to find himself physically glowing. After a moment’s consideration, he crouched enough to get his arm under both of Azrael’s knees and scooped him off his feet.

  That elicited a gasp of surprise. Azrael’s arms clenched instinctively around Mal’s neck to keep from falling. He spoke in a guttural rasp, “What are you doing?”

  “Holding you,” said Mal cheerfully. The way I wish I had last time I carried you out of here. Mal was broader, but not that much taller, and Azrael’s long legs dangled over his arm as he came around the desk and flopped down in the big chair behind it. He pulled Azrael’s head up against his neck, arranged his legs over the arm of the chair, and leaned back, petting Azrael’s short hair, enjoying the way it felt almost like fur.

  Azrael didn’t struggle, didn’t say anything else. He relaxed. Mal’s emotions ricocheted between profound contentment and creeping guilt. At last, he said, “That was dangerous. We shouldn’t have done it.”

  Azrael gave a grunt that could have meant anything.

  Mal stroked his hair. “You should tell me not to do it again.”

  Another grunt.

  “Boss.”

  “I’m not your boss.”

  “You are mine, though.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “Obviously,” muttered Azrael. “Unfortunately. Terrifyingly.” He hesitated. “Utterly.”

  Something curled in Mal’s belly—not arousal, but something adjacent and more fragile. He didn’t know how to respond, so he kept stroking Azrael’s hair and face. After a moment, Azrael cleared his throat and said, “Are you healing me with magic? I keep thinking I should be sore…as much as we’ve been doing this. I wondered if I should have trouble sitting a horse this morning. Then I realized I don’t actually know. I have no idea what’s normal.”

  Mal snickered. “There are a few advantages to bedding an incubus.”

  “So the answer is yes?”

  Mal shrugged. “I suppose you’ll find out when you let some mortal fuck you morning, noon, and night.”

  “In that case, I will resign myself to mysteries.”

  “Can we reenact this for Jessica? She would enjoy it tremendously.”

  “Well, I’m not sure she’d fit in this chair,” said Azrael critically, “but we can…” He ran a hand across his face. “Gods.”

  “We should definitely reenact it,” said Mal, “except for the part where you took down your wards and I almost ate you.” He tipped Azrael’s face up. He scanned the dark eyes, so full of…something. “That scared me,” Mal whispered. He didn’t think Azrael looked sufficiently worried, so he repeated, “I almost ate you.”

  “But you didn’t,” Azrael whispered back.

  Mal’s face crumpled. “Boss…”

  “I’m not—”

  “Sometimes I need you to be!”

  Azrael’s expression changed, and he put a hand on Mal’s neck, long fingers threading up into his hair. “Alright. Shhh. I didn’t know it would scare you.” After a moment, he said, “Shall I give you the shopping list of things I want you to do today? Is that bossy enough?”

  Mal laughed. He wished he didn’t feel so twitchy. He shifted his weight, reached out to steady himself on the desk, and a drawer popped open under his fingers. Mal stared at it in surprise.

  Azrael turned to look. “Ah.”

  Mal stared at his hand, then back at the drawer. “Why did it do that?”

  “It thinks you’re me.”

  Mal gaped. “But—”

  “It’s keyed to my magical signature. Most of the cabinets are, as well. Half the locked doors in the palace—”

  Mal clapped a hand over Azrael’s mouth. “Why are you telling me that? Stop telling me that!”

  Azrael jerked his head away. “You just had me over my desk in my tower without a scrap of wards between us. You think I’m worried about my cabinets?”

  Mal felt a rush of irrational panic. “We can’t do this again. I don’t want to do this again!”

  Azrael leaned his head against Mal’s chest. “You don’t want me on my knees in a summoning circle?” He said it so softly, almost without inflection, as though he were discussing the guest menu. And yet all of Mal’s senses twanged at once.

  Azrael buried his face against Mal’s chest and laughed.

  “You are teasing me!” said Mal with a confused mixture of disbelief, indignation, and delight.

  Azrael turned, his movements increasingly brisk and coordinated, reaching for the Book of Dreams. He pulled it into his lap, opened it, and made a sound of disgust. “I was afraid of that. I should have been more careful.”

  Mal looked down and saw that the pages were blank. The words he’d read a couple of hours ago—so interesting, but so impossible to remember—had vanished. “It was probably charmed to erase itself when you broke the seal,” said Mal. “It would have done that no matter how you broke it.”

  Azrael nodded. “A little more finesse might have gotten around the trigger, though. Too much brute force.” He yawned.

  “You were distracted,” said Mal. He started buttoning Azrael’s shirt.

  Azrael scrubbed his hands over his face. “I have done something unspeakable to my desk. Gods. Do you ever wonder five minutes after sex why you thought that was a good idea?”

  “No,” said Mal loftily. “I’m an incubus. It’s always a good idea. Except for the part where I nearly ate you and you sort of wanted me to.” He shouldn’t have added that last bit. It was the part that scared him most, and he shouldn’t have said it. Mal tensed.

  Azrael didn’t say anything. He stood up from Mal’s lap and walked around the desk. He put on his trousers, put his wards back together, and set to work cleaning up the “unspeakable” mess. Mal joined him, creating some clothes for himself as he did. They were putting the last o
f the pens back into the toad-owl when Azrael said, “I don’t want you to kill me.”

  “But it felt like that,” said Mal. “It’s my nature to want to eat you…to kill you, Ren, and it’s also my nature to fulfill your desires. If you point those two things in the same direction…”

  Azrael took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “There are times when I feel trapped in my own head. You take me right out of it. That’s what I want. That’s…what you’re sensing, I think. I don’t want to leave. Not permanently. I love what we’re making here.”

  Mal uncoiled a little. “Talk to me more. When we’re fucking.”

  “Alright.”

  “And gods, I do want you on your knees in a summoning circle!”

  Azrael smiled down at his desk. He positively grinned. Mal didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile like that.

  “We could…” began Mal, but Azrael waved his hand. “Magical airlock! Guests! Wards! Testing!”

  “But—”

  “No buts. That is what we are doing right now.” Azrael opened a cabinet and began hunting for materials.

  He’s in such a good mood. I should mention the other thing. Mal took a deep breath and spoke to his back. “Boss…you like demons.”

  Azrael paused to glance over his shoulder. “A bizarre observation, all things considered.”

  Mal shuffled his feet. “I mean, we’re your best friends.”

  Azrael continued digging through the cabinet and said nothing.

  “It’s just… Jessica…”

  Azrael emerged with an ornate bottle in one hand and an onyx pangolin idol in the other. “These will do for test anchors. I will need you to simulate some alien magic. Can you do that with your aura full of mine? Oh, hells, probably not. Here, I bet we can use something from the spell traps.”

  Mal sighed. He should have brought this up when Azrael was still feeling cuddly. He went from cuddly to prickly in the blink of an eye. “Jessica…”

  Mal couldn’t tell whether Azrael knew what Mal wanted to say and didn’t want to hear it or whether he was completely focused on his airlock. “Jessica, what? Spit it out, Mal.”