Page 97 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“Sleep well, my lord,” he murmured, his face close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips.
For a moment, I thought he might close that final distance. His eyes dropped to my mouth, his pupils dilating until the crimson was just a thin ring around bottomless black. I unconsciously swayed toward him, drawn by some invisible force that made resistance seem pointless.
Then, just as I was certain something was about to happen, he stepped back, his expression shuttering closed like blinds being drawn.
“I shall return at seven to prepare your morning meal,” he said, his voice perfectly composed once more. “Unless you wish to sleep later?”
“Seven is fine,” I managed, trying to hide my disappointment behind a yawn. “Thanks.”
He bowed slightly and withdrew, closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt like the end of a possibility rather than just a piece of wood meeting a frame.
I stared at the closed door for a long moment, torn between frustration and relief. On the one hand, I was pretty sure I’d just missed my chance to find out if demon butlers kissed as good as they looked. On the other hand, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and the prospect of embarrassing myself wasalmost as terrifying as the intensity of what I was feeling. The last time I’d tried to kiss someone was in eighth grade, and I’d somehow managed to headbutt him hard enough to give him a nosebleed. Not exactly the romantic foundation you want when contemplating seducing your immortal demon butler.
With a sigh that could have powered a small windmill, I drained the rest of my evening drink and dropped the robe, looking down at my ridiculous new sleepwear. The shorts were so small they might as well have been a denim suggestion, and the tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination. If Azrael had seen me in this, I’d have spontaneously combusted from embarrassment, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes and two tiny pieces of fabric for him to clean up.
I climbed into bed, pulling the silk sheets up to my waist. Despite the “cooling properties” of my new sleepwear, I felt overheated, my skin prickling with awareness and unfulfilled desire like I’d been dipped in spicy honey and left to marinate. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Azrael’s face, felt the phantom touch of his fingers against my skin, and my body responded like it was getting paid overtime.
Sleep, unsurprisingly, proved as elusive as financial stability had been in my previous life.
After an hour of tossing and turning like I was auditioning for an infomercial about insomnia, I gave up and sat up in bed, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape. My arousal hadn’t subsided at all; if anything, it had gotten worse, my cock straining against the thin fabric of the shorts until it was almost painful. At this point, I was pretty sure I could hang a wet towel on it.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, sliding a hand beneath the waistband to adjust myself. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through me so intense I gasped. It had been days since I'd had any… private time, and the accumulated tension of the eveninghad left me so on edge I could probably cut diamonds with parts of my anatomy that definitely weren't designed for lapidary work.
With a resigned sigh, I slipped the shorts down my hips and wrapped a hand around myself. Might as well take the edge off if I had any hope of sleeping tonight. Though at this point, I was so keyed up I’d probably need to be knocked unconscious with a shovel to actually get any rest.
I started with slow, measured strokes, trying to keep my mind blank. But it was a losing battle, like trying not to think about pink elephants or that embarrassing thing I said at a party six years ago. Within seconds, my thoughts returned to Azrael—his intense gaze, his cool touch, the way he’d looked at me like I was something he desperately wanted to taste but wasn’t allowed to touch. I imagined those elegant hands replacing mine, stroking me with the same precise attention he gave to everything from folding napkins to rearranging my sock drawer. His cool fingers would be a shocking contrast to my overheated skin, his touch firm but gentle, like he was handling something precious but not fragile.
In my mind, he leaned over me, those crimson eyes locked on mine as he whispered praise in that velvet voice.“So beautiful, my lord. So perfect for me.”His lips would brush against mine, cool and soft at first, then more insistent, claiming me with a hunger that matched my own. I could almost feel the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the coolness of his skin against my heat like the world’s sexiest ice pack.
My pace quickened, my breath coming in short gasps as I stroked myself with increasing urgency. In my fantasy, Azrael’s mouth trailed down my neck, leaving a path of cool fire in its wake like the world’s most erotic Icy Hot commercial. His hands would explore my body with reverent attention, learning every sensitive spot, every place that made me gasp and arch againsthim. When his lips closed around a nipple, the contrast between the cool of his mouth and the heat of my skin would be exquisite torture, like biting into ice cream too fast but in the best possible way.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my free hand moving to my chest to mimic the fantasy, pinching and rolling a nipple between my fingers. The sensation was good, but nothing like what I imagined Azrael’s mouth would feel like. It was like comparing a convenience store hot dog to a five-star steak dinner—technically the same category of experience, but worlds apart in execution.
My fantasy continued, Azrael’s exploration moving lower, his tongue tracing patterns across my stomach, his hands gripping my thighs to spread them wide. When he finally took me into his mouth, it would be with the same focused intensity he brought to everything—cool, wet, and relentlessly perfect, like the world’s most enthusiastic popsicle connoisseur.
I was stroking myself faster now, my back arching off the bed as the pleasure built. But something was wrong. Despite the vividness of my fantasy, despite the physical stimulation, I wasn’t getting closer to release. If anything, I felt more frustrated, like there was an itch I couldn’t quite reach or a sneeze that wouldn’t quite happen. It was like edging, except I hadn’t signed up for it and wasn’t enjoying the wait.
This had never happened before. Back on Earth, it never took me long to finish, especially with fantasies this detailed. A stiff breeze and an attractive thought were usually enough to get the job done. But now, in this demon body, it was like my usual methods weren’t enough. Like I needed… more. Like I was trying to start a bonfire with a birthday candle.
Experimentally, I let my free hand wander lower, past my straining cock to the sensitive skin behind. The touch sent a shiver through me but still didn’t push me toward the edge I wasdesperately seeking. Without really thinking about it, I pressed a finger against my entrance, surprised at how natural the impulse felt. This wasn’t something I’d explored much before, mostly due to lack of privacy in college dorms and a general sense that I’d probably do it wrong and end up in an emergency room trying to explain myself to a judgmental doctor.
My body responded eagerly, accepting the intrusion with a readiness that startled me. It was like this form knew what it wanted, even if my mind was still catching up, like muscle memory for something I’d never actually done before. I pushed deeper, feeling a jolt of pleasure so intense it made me gasp when I brushed against something inside me that apparently had a direct hotline to every nerve ending in my body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, adding a second finger alongside the first, stretching myself in a way that burned slightly but quickly gave way to pleasure. In my fantasy, it was Azrael’s fingers inside me, preparing me for something larger, his eyes never leaving mine as he worked me open with patient determination like the world’s sexiest locksmith.
But even this wasn’t enough. The dual stimulation of my hand on my cock and my fingers inside me was good—better than good, actually—but it still wasn’t pushing me over the edge. It was like my body was waiting for something more, something I couldn’t provide on my own. Like trying to tickle yourself—you know all the right spots, but it’s just not the same as when someone else does it.
23
Lucien/Beau
“What the hell?” I muttered, frustration mounting alongside pleasure. Was this a demon thing? Some weird quirk of this body that required more intense stimulation than I was used to? Whatever the case, I was starting to think I might actually die from sexual frustration, which would be a pretty embarrassing way for the Dark Lord of Iferona to go. “Here lies Lucien Noir, who faced many dangers but was ultimately defeated by his inability to get off. May he rest in perpetually horny peace.”
I tried changing positions, tried different rhythms, tried focusing on different fantasies—Azrael taking me from behind, Azrael pinning my wrists above my head, even briefly revisiting old fantasies about Professor Sinclair and Professor Holloway from my university days. Nothing worked. I remained stubbornly on the edge, desperate for release but unable to find it, like a roller coaster that climbs to the top of the hill but never drops.
“This is insane,” I groaned, collapsing back against the pillows, still hard and aching. “What does it take to get off in this body? A written invitation? A complex ritual involving the phases of the moon? A signed permission slip from the Minister of Orgasms?”
A soft snuffling sound from the doorway made me nearly jump out of my skin. I yanked the sheets up to my chin with the speed of someone who’d been caught watching porn by their grandmother.
