The Demon’s Queen (A Deal With A Demon)

Azazel is big on seduction. He doesn’t get into role-playing or the various kinky stuff that other clients favor. The man truly leans into the girlfriend experience.

So I know my role. I take a seat on the luxurious couch in the suite and allow him to bring an unopened bottle of wine. I never have more than one drink while working, a rule I also apply to my clients. Alcohol changes people in sometimes unexpected ways, and I have no desire to put myself in a dangerous position. Or a messy one. I don’t have a particular drive for children, and taking care of drunk adult ones is a task I avoid whenever possible.

Azazel expertly pours two glasses of red wine before setting the bottle aside. He brings them both to the couch, but instead of sitting close, he carefully eases down into the other side. Since he’s over six feet tall, he has no problem passing my glass to me. “I would like something different tonight.”

I almost sigh before I catch myself. Different doesn’t have to default to a red flag, but with how my luck is currently running, I don’t like my odds of making it out tonight with Azazel still as my client.

Still, I smile at him. That’s Future Me’s problem. “What did you have in mind?”

He takes a sip of his wine, almost as if he’s nervous. But that can’t be it. I just watched him remove Tanner as a threat without the slightest bit of effort. What could he possibly be nervous about?

I slide a little closer to him and press my free hand to his chest. “No matter what it is, honey, I promise I won’t think less of you for it. Just talk to me.”

He takes another too-large sip of his wine. “I would like to . . . role-play.”

I keep my features carefully schooled in interest. What kind of role-play is he asking for that makes him this jumpy? Yes, it’s a new ask, but it’s hardly taboo . . . “You know I’m happy to do whatever you like, as long as you talk me through it first.”

“I want . . .” He finally looks at me, his brown eyes so dark that they’re nearly black. “I would like you to sign a contract.”

I blink. “A contract.” My mind whirls, but no matter which angle I come at this from, I can’t see what would make him act like this. Contracts for bedroom games have existed long before a certain franchise made them popular a decade ago. They can sweeten the spice, can lay out the terms in a way that makes everyone feel safe. With that said . . . “Not a legally binding one.”

He huffs out a faint laugh. “It won’t hold up in any court in the country.”

Some of my nerves ease, but I haven’t survived this long by being a complete fool. “I’d like to read it before agreeing.”

“Of course.” He reaches into his designer suit jacket and produces a surprisingly small stack of papers. “Take your time.”

I sip my wine and then set the glass on the coffee table so I have both my hands free. He may say this contract isn’t meant to hold up in court, but Pope would flog me bloody if I signed anything without reading it first.

It’s three pages, hardly the densest reading, but detailed enough that I have to go back to the beginning and parse through it more slowly. When I reach the end for the third time, I look at Azazel and arch my brows. “You want me to be yours for the rest of my life? Darling, I didn’t know you had a marriage kink.”

His smile is tighter than normal, his charm flickering in a way that truly does worry me. I hate to admit it, but this is one red flag too many. The best client may pretend that I’m theirs and theirs alone, but the moment our session ends, they don’t fight the reality that this is just business. This contract may be pretend, but it represents a problem.

Worse, though, is the little warmth in my chest of wanting. I know better than to truly fall for my clients, though I’m human—I care for my favorites well beyond what they do for my bank account. They may fancy themselves in love with me, but they’re in love with the fantasy of Ginger, with the experience I provide.

“It’s a new development. Something I’m . . . trying out.”

Understanding dawns, bringing with it an unforgivable sting. “This is a sample contract. You’re going to do the real thing on some lucky partner?” I smack him lightly with the pages, trying to cover up my conflicted emotions with humor. “Why didn’t you just say so?” I read through one last time. It’s honestly thorough for how short it is. A lifetime commitment. An assurance that the safe word will be honored above all else. There’s even a clause about what happens if children result from the union—something I will not be worrying about with my IUD and contractual use of protection with my partners.

Azazel, normally the very picture of cool and composed, actually blushes. “It’s tacky.”

I don’t comment on that. “I’ll sign this for the night if that’s your fantasy. But I am curious about how you want to spend the rest of the time before dawn.”

His eyes heat. “I have a few ideas.”

I don’t try to fight the pulse of pure need that goes through me in response to his lust. This, at least, is a known and acceptable emotion. I can fake it with the best of my peers, but Azazel is too damn perceptive. From the very first session, he read my body as if he possessed a map and set out to make me come as many times as possible before seeking his own completion. After the day I’ve had, a dozen orgasms sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Even so . . . “Indulge me and be specific.”

He produces a pen and presses it into my palm. “I want to spoil you, Ginger. I want to treat you as if you were mine in truth.”

“That’s not specific.” I wave the pen at him, even as my heart leaps. I know better than to believe pretty lies. Truly, I do. But sometimes the unloved orphan I spent my childhood being gets the best of me. Even though the world has proven itself cruel and selfish, in my heart of hearts, I simply want someone to choose me, to love me above all others. I’m too old for fairy tales—I have been since I was a child—but some fantasies persist even when you know better.

He grins almost ruefully. “Mostly, I want to shove up that dress and taste your cunt.” He’s achingly familiar like this, self-possessed and confident. “Once I get my fill, I’ll fuck you. Again and again, until our time together is at an end.”

I can’t stop myself from squeezing my thighs together. “In that case . . .” I sign with a flourish.

It’s not until I lift the pen that I realize my mistake. In my distraction, I haven’t signed the name Ginger. Why would I? She’s real only in these moments with my clients. I’ve never had to sign anything as her.

No, I sign it as Eve.

I press the papers to my chest. “I need a moment.”

“It won’t matter.” Azazel drains his wine and sets the glass down on the table. “I’m sorry, Eve. You may never forgive me for this, but at least you’ll be alive to hate me.”

Fear slices through my lust, shredding it. “What did you say?” Even as I tell myself that I heard wrong, I know I haven’t. He said Eve. My name. My real name. And it’s not because he saw me scrawl it on the paper.

I stand abruptly. “I have to go. I’ll issue you a full refund.”

“It’s too late for that.” He still sounds regretful, which scares me more than anything else. I’ve ignored red flag after red flag, and now I’m in trouble I can’t get myself out of. There will be no interruption to save me, not with a locked hotel door between me and the rest of the world. Damn it.

Azazel hasn’t moved, so I take the opportunity to skirt the coffee table and dig my phone out of my purse. I shoot him a look, not sure if I should be more scared or less that he seems intent to let me do this.

Almost as if it really doesn’t matter.

I don’t bother texting Pope. I have to get the fuck out of here, and my hands are shaking so much, it’s difficult to type out my passcode.

They pick up immediately. “What’s wrong?” Of course they’d know something is wrong. I would never call them in the middle of a session without cause.

“I need an escort to the car.” There’s no need to get into the weirdness of this whole thing. Even as I think it, I’m struck by the fact that some fool part of my head is still sure Azazel won’t hurt me. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve witnessed far too many instances where a “good” person turns feral and violent to those closest to them. Afterward, everyone wrings their hands and wonders how they didn’t realize the danger.

In reality, the signs were there all along. They just chose to turn away from them. To continue in their happy little lives, sure that nothing bad could happen in their nice neighborhood. To believe that this client won’t be the one who lashes out. I’m a fool.

Pope doesn’t hesitate. “My man will be there in three minutes. Lock yourself in the bathroom if you need to. He has a key to the hotel room.”

With anyone else, that would be a huge breach of trust. With Pope, it’s the standard of doing business. They don’t fuck around with their people’s safety.

Azazel rises slowly to his feet, and I skitter back a few steps.

“Right. I’m going to do that.” I hang up. There’s no point in keeping Pope on the phone, and I’d prefer both my hands free if it comes to a fight.

He raises his hands, palms out. “I’m not going to hurt you, Eve.”

“Stop saying that name.” I edge back a few more steps. I know the layout of this suite well enough. The bathroom is just down the hall and to the left. Azazel is obviously strong, but surely not even he can break down a door in three minutes? Or two minutes now.

“Please calm down.”

“No one in the history of the universe has ever calmed down when someone said to calm down.” I back up another few steps. “Please don’t come any closer. Pope’s man is liable to shoot you.”

“I didn’t want things to go like this. I wanted to find another way.” He drags a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry.”

Now it’s my turn to hold up my hands. I’m well into the hallway now, only about ten feet from the bathroom. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Just . . . stay there.”

“E—” He cuts himself off and sighs. “You’re in danger.”

“No shit.” The words come out too high and tight. Despite my best efforts, my fear leaks in through the cracks. “Please don’t come any closer.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He glances at the door, and his expression goes stony. “One day, you’ll understand and forgive me for this.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s before me. I can’t stop the scream that tears from my lungs as he wraps an arm around my back and hauls me against his chest. It doesn’t hurt, but no one moves that fast. It’s almost like he teleported. “I’m sorry.”

“Please . . .” The room fades out around me. For a moment, I’m sure he drugged me, but my head feels clear despite the fear shrieking at me that I’m in danger.

I shove against his chest, but there’s nowhere to go. I hear the hotel room burst open as everything goes black.