Page 9 of My Saintly Demon

“That hurts. A little left of center.” He rubs a spot over his heart. “I know what you were thinking about doing with me. I can’t pretend that comment isn’t hurtful.”

He bites into the crispy treat with a low moan. “These women sure know how to bake, Padre. How are you not gaining weight with this here all the time?” He chews and swallows. “You look good, by the way. Better in person.”

“How are you even here?” I still can’t believe he’s standing in the church kitchen. He’s just a figment of my imagination, isn’t he? A hot as hell porn star who happened to have a starring role in my wet dream this morning. Yet he’s talking like he knows me. Has seen me before. Maybe that weed is better than I thought and I’m still imagining all of this.

He turns to rummage through the fridge and my gaze immediately falls to the amazing ass I thought was only a dream. But it seems pretty real right now. Even though I’m leaving the church, my ingrained beliefs roar to the surface.

He must be the work of the devil. Unless there is a god and he’s sending me a parting gift of the most fuckable man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I pinch my arm and yelp.

Yep, I’m awake and this is happening. Holy cheeseburgers.

He turns around with a plate of cold cuts. “Are you checking out my ass, Father?” He flashes a wicked grin before selecting several slices of meat, slapping them on the counter.

“I was looking for a tail, if you must know.” Heat floods my cheeks and I tug at my collar. Not a good time to be suddenly shy. He’s literally a man I want to bend me over the closest surface and bang me like a screen door in the wind. Not the sort of thing I should blurt out at first meeting, I don’t think. Although, if he’s real, and he was actually watching me when I fucked my hand, then he has to be…

“Ah yes, all demons should have tails. Common misconception, actually.” He squirts a line of mayo on a slice of ham, covers it with a slice of roast turkey and takes a bite. “I don’t have a tail, never have. You’re welcome to take a closer look, Padre… I only bite if you want me to.” He winks and keeps eating, devouring the sandwich like he’s not been around food for years.

And, okay, my brain isn’t computing, since I’m picturing him biting my ass, because he just said he’s never had a tail, but I can check. Because he’s ademon. And clearly this is something that shouldn’t make me hard. Though the ache in my pants disagrees.

Holy Joseph and Mary. Heisthe work of the devil.

“How… how did you get here? I mean, you were someone I made up in my head. I’m having trouble understanding what’s going on here.”

Well, not totally made up. That guy in the orgy looked a lot like him. Power of suggestion and all that.

He finishes his disgusting tour of the cold cut platter and points a finger at me. “See, that’s where things get a little dicey.” He dusts off his hands and rummages for glasses in the cupboard while I let my mind go back to his look-alike in the video and lick my lips. “Funny story. See the coat closet down there?” He gestures to a door down the hallway off the kitchen. “That’s not just a coat closet, it’s the portal to my realm. My dad, who you might know, is one of Satan’s underlings. And he thinks I haven’t been doing a good job as a demon.” He says that last part with finger quotes and uncorks a bottle of wine, pouring the rest into one glass with a frown.

He takes a sip from the glass covered in sunshine-yellow daisies and licks his lips. “Have you tried this wine? It’s fan-freaking-tastic.” He holds the glass out to me. “Go on, Father, just a sip.”

“Call me Charles.”

Why I’m telling a man who just told me he’s a demon to call me by first name, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be called Father anymore. Maybe it’s because I want him to moan my name later.

Probably a bit of both to be honest.

I take the glass and drink, never breaking eye contact and smile when I notice the way he shifts against the counter.

“So, why isn’t your father happy with your demon ways?” I pass the wine glass back to him and our fingers brush. My dick jumps at the touch, reminding me I didn’t take care of it earlier. He has nice hands too.

Draining the glass, he sets it on the counter and steps closer to me. “I’m here because my dad thinks I’m too nice. Whatever that fucking means. I mean, I’m not a monster, okay? It’s not a bad thing to be a little friendly here and there.”

His eyes glow a muted red as he speaks and a warmth radiates off his body. It’s warm enough for the sweat to bead on my forehead just standing this close to him. And there’s something else. Maybe it’s a false feeling of intimacy since he was in my dream, or maybe it’s because my dick is suddenly insatiable. Whatever it is, it’s enough for me to want to be a total slut and beg him to fuck me in the church kitchen. Hell, maybe even eat some cookies afterwards. I still haven’t got the Nanaimo bar I wanted yet.

“Did you find any more of that wine while you were in the fridge?”

He snorts. “You don’t think I can make you more? That’s not a trademarked party trick, you know.” He smooths a palm across my cheek and his eyes soften along with his voice. “You’re a good-looking guy. A man of honour in the church. Why are you thinking about fucking a stranger in the kitchen?”

“Is reading minds a power or something you have?”

He shrugs his shoulder. “Sometimes. I never really worked on the skill, but you’re very… sensual. You’re dialled into my channel, if you know what I mean.”

I actually don’t know what he means because real life demons who walk on two legs in fitted suits and, dear god, havehornssprouting from their head are not supposed to be real.

But when life presents opportunities, take them. Maybe even grab them by the horns, if appropriate.

“So… if I wanted you to fuck my face right here, would you do it?”

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