Page 17 of Demon Stalked
A little glimmer of challenge comes into my Katrina’s eyes, a spark that isn’t normally there during daylight hours. “Really?”
Damn. That spark has my dick oozing pre-cum, and it takes everything in me not to slam her up against the lockers. But one of those stupid metallic handles would bruise her back. “Really.” My reply is gruff, because I’m holding back so hard. I should be used to it by now. I’m always holding back around her in this realm.
But the moment I think she’s ready…I’m going to fucking pounce.
Katrina stands, and though I still dwarf her by nearly a foot, I can feel the power dynamic in the room change when she steps forward. “Fine. I’ll go to the dance with you.” A dash of vixen enters her eyes, and her gaze gets hooded, those plush lips parting and holding me captivated. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“I get to pick your outfit,” she proclaims.
“Done.” The dam breaks. Her fucking smile undoes me, and all self-control is lost. I speed forward and dig my fingers into her ass. Two seconds later, I have her pinned against the door of the locker room and my lips devour hers.
It feels like my entire body is coated in flames as red-hot lust consumes me, and I press myself against her, grinding down and making us both moan into one another’s mouths.
Yells erupt from the gym behind her. I don’t give a flying fuck, but she pulls away, breathing hard, her eyes wide. “You better go. Before we get caught.”
I grind my teeth together and scowl. I don’t want to fucking go. But it’s clear the mood has been ruined for her. So, I snake my hand up the bottom of her shorts, grab the waistband of her silky panties, and yank until I hear a satisfying rip. Then I slide them out of her shorts and gently lower her to the floor.
I tuck her panties in my pocket, saying, “To be continued.”
Then I stride out the door.
7
KATRINA
When there’s a knock on the hotel room door a few hours before the dance is slated to begin, I open it up with wary trepidation, half expecting to see one of my demons on the other side.
Instead, it’s a…
Middle-aged woman holding a garment bag?
“My, my, what a gorgeous woman you are!” she exclaims, shouldering past me to enter my hotel room. She has a distinct, lilting French accent that’s both playful and jovial, directly at odds with her severe appearance.
“Who’s she?” Adam asks curiously from where he’s perched on the edge of his bed, watching cartoons.
“I’m Hanna!” she says, pointing to her chest cheerfully. “Zolroth sent me to outfit his beautiful fiancée.”
“F-Fiancée?” I practically sputter in horror while I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket. Sure enough, Zolroth’s name flashes on the screen, accompanied by the message:
Sending you a surprise ;)
This Hanna lady must be the surprise.
Oh, god. Please don’t tell me she’s an elderly stripper or something. Did Akor steal Zolroth’s phone?
“I don’t know what—”
“Bathroom!” Hanna practically shoves me forward, a wide smile on her face. There are crinkles around both of her eyes that make her look decades older. It’s apparent that she smiles and laughs a lot, and for some reason, that instantly puts me at ease.
As soon as we’re trapped together in the confined space, she claps her hands once. “Strip!”
“Um…”
“Don’t be shy. I’ve seen it all.” She winks conspiratorially as I gape at her like an imbecile. Slowly, feeling incredibly stupid and half expecting for this to be a prank, I remove the sweatpants and T-shirt I changed into after school ended. As I strip down to my bra and panties, Hanna unzips the garment bag I hadn’t realized she carried in with her.
I see a flash of white before her soft hand grabs my chin, holding my face still.
