Chapter 47: Vespertine Embrace (and an Auroral Caress)

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✨ Mature content ahead! ✨


The trailing edges of twilight just lingered as the Radio Demon's eyes blinked open. He'd not quite fallen asleep, though his lust-fogged thoughts had drifted far in his haze, half-dreaming of an ocean at night.

The Princess of Hell was still tucked against him, and Alastor simply stared out the window above them for a moment, blinking in the fading light as he tried to orient himself to what had just happened between them.

It had been nothing like his visions, nothing at all.

No dream could compare. No imagining would be able to capture her warmth, how solid yet soft she was, how deliciously wet and wanting. So wonderfully cool and pleasantly warm all at once - if silk and satin had a combined texture, it still wouldn't compare to the feel of her.

But it was the sounds Charlie made that captured him above all. The symphony of her passion utterly robbed him of all sense, save for the delirious want to hold her, to be as close to her as he possibly could, to claim her body just as assuredly as she'd claimed his soul.

There was magic in her voice, and he wondered dimly if it was some kind of spell that she might have unintentionally cast, like when she'd slipped with her Authority. It wasn't something that overly concerned the deer demon, however. His thoughts were his own, and the spectre bonded to him would have sounded some alarm.

It had gone curiously quiet, and there was only a sense of calm and contentment when Alastor reached out with his mind, like the still water of a deep lake.

He let out a soft sigh, breathing in the silence. His head lolled to the side, and soft strands of white-gold hair tickled his nose as he looked at his partner who, too, was beginning to stir. The blonde demoness' locks were a frumpled mess from his hands, sprawled across her shoulders and trailing across the wooden floor of his tower.

On the floor? Spirits he was taken, wasn't he?

Her clothes were in taters, revealing the path his fingers had taken as he'd explored her body. The dress had been a tasteful style - as was most of her fashion - well-fitted and flattering, but not overly revealing.

That had been before their excursion, however. Now the poor garment looked more suited to a brothel, leaving her feminine features completely on display. "At least I can fix this with Reversal," Charlie murmured, examining her dress as she propped herself up on an elbow.

"There's other mending spells that would probably be more useful, my darling," the deer demon noted, making sure the curtain of her hair was out of the way before he gingerly rose to his feet, pulling her after him. He'd been long dead, so he no longer truly aged, but he felt an ache in his knees and elbows he would have associated with someone far older than himself when he'd died.

She seemed to feel the same despite not having lived herself, wincing slightly as she stretched. "I probably should have had you teach me one of those," his apprentice giggled.

Whatever sorcery was in her laugh pulled at the heart of him, and Alastor pushed her lightly back onto the couch behind her. "Taking your clothes off was hardly the point of your studies," he murmured.

"And is it the point now?" Charlie asked sweetly.

Even her sweat was sweet as he hovered over her, his tongue at her collarbone as he pressed her down into the cushion. "Not quite, dearest. I've another point, actually," the Radio Demon crooned, and the princess gave a giggly groan at the comment, pushing open his shirt fully.

Her fingers swept across his skin, and he hissed in a soft breath at her touch; pushing the darker memories from another world away and reminding himself that she was one who would never, ever seek to bring him harm. His clothes had their tears now only because of her passion, and he had enjoyed her touch before well enough, at least the state of her ardor.

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