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“Ah,” Alastor murmurs, fondness threading his tone. “Poor darling,” he hums against the punctures, sealing them with a slow lick that makes her knees buckle. He pulls back gently, blood staining his smile like wine. “You’re trembling. Shall I stop?”
Or: Rosie raves about her favorite pet, the impeccably mannered Radio Demon, who she claims to be above all fleshly temptation; Lucifer, bored to the marrow, wagers he can shatter any sinner’s composure in a single night—and transforms into the perfect bait.
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