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Rosie sighed as she plopped down on her bed, several goose feathers shooting out of her cushions at the impact. Her muscles immediately liquified as she sunk against the mattress, toeing her shoes off and letting them thump to the floor. Though they were only kitten heels, spending an entire day on her feet really got those arches aching. It seemed every cannibal under her care had been determined to keep her in her emporium as long as demonly possible that day, asking for her advice, bringing problems to her (pinched) feet. Typically, Rosie adored such things. After all, not only was it her business to know what was happening in her town, but one woman’s extra-marital affair was another woman’s fodder for power!
The only problem had been that Rosie was rather eager to get home that day and…take care of a different sort of business.
A favoured author of hers had just come out with a new addition to their Tales of a Wayward Princess series, featuring a runaway heiress and her various trysts with the roguish men she would meet along her travels. Rosie had been excited to see that this book focused on Delia and her enigmatic old friend, Lord Brimstone. Though he had kept to the background, watching Delia from afar and only intervening in her troubles when she directly turned to him, Rosie had felt a smouldering tension between the two of them from page one. Now, Delia’s affair with the cunning heir to her family’s long-time rival, the Duke of Bazaarosh, had ended in betrayal, only a daring escape led by Brimstone rescuing her from being kidnapped and swept away to a forced marriage.
Delia and Brimstone hadn’t even managed to make it back to his castle before they were upon each other, Brimstone ripping her bodice open and gearing up to take her right there on the floor of his carriage.
Rosie had been on the edge of her seat as she’d both devoured the book and her breakfast of eyeballs on crackers that morning. Alas, she’d been forced to put the book down right as Brimstone had gotten his hands on Delia’s bare breasts, least she be late to opening her shop, and she was never late.
The book had remained stashed in Rosie’s purse, hidden beneath the counter at her emporium, just in case she got a moment to spare to sneak in a few more pages—at least until he got those pants off and she could finally hear in great detail just what Lord Brimstone was packing down there, for Lucifer’s sake!—but no. No spare moments for this demoness. That’s what she got for being a successful woman: no time to herself and droves of demons vying for her attention.
Ah, what an afterlife.
But she was home now. Home, in bed, slipping her stockings and corset off until she was only in her slip and tucked snuggly beneath her covers. The lights were off, a few candles for ambiance lit, and her book finally in hand.
Rosie sighed to herself, basked in the comfort of it all for a moment, before flipping the book open and turning to the page she’d dog-eared.
“I want you,” Lord Brimstone growled, his hands grasping the beaded neckline of what would have been Delia’s wedding gown. “I cannot wait a moment longer. I have waited long enough to have you in my arms, Delia. I must have you now.”
With one mighty tug, he ripped her bodice straight down the middle. Delia gasped as the fabric tore and her breasts spilled free, bobbing before his hungry eyes.
“Oh, Brimstone!” she gasped, writhing on the hard floor of the carriage.
It would not be the most comfortable place Delia had been taken by a man, but with Lord Brimstone staring at her with that burning gaze, she would have laid herself across a bed of nails to have him upon her.
“Oh, my,” Rosie murmured, fanning her steaming cheeks with her free hand. If this scene kept up as it was, she’d be needing that hand for something else rather quickly.
“Do not call me that,” he hissed, crowding between her legs. Her dress slipped down her thighs, revealing pale skin, ripe for marking. “Have we not known each other long enough for you to use my given name? I want to hear it from your lips, Delia.”
Delia’s arms wound around his neck, tugging him close until her breasts were pressed to his solid chest. Their hearts beat as one as she arched her back and whispered into his ear.
“Heath.”
Brimstone shivered in response, a husky groan escaping his lips. His hands smoothed up her sides to cup her breasts in his large hands as he leaned down and-
A crackling pop cut through the air, startling Rosie so badly, the book flew clean out of her hands, landing page-down on the sheets. In the center of her bedroom, apparated out of thin air, stood her very dearest friend, dusting off his coat and straightening his bowtie.
“Evening, Rosie!” Alastor chirped, doffing a non-existent hat. “Fine weather we’re having. I hear there’s supposed to be a flaming meteor shower in the wee hours tonight.”
Rosie had heard the same thing, which was partially why she was doing what she was doing. Meteors were perfect reading weather, after all. That and, well, she’d been feeling rather antsy lately, and a good private session between Delia, Lord Brimstone, and her own hand had seemed like a swell idea to scratch that itch.
Or it had, until the arrival of her present company had effectively kicked down the door.
“Alastor!” Rosie breath, one hand pressed to her hammering heart. “What in the blazes are you doin’ here? And at this hour too!”
Alastor’s eyebrows knitted together, his head cocking to one side. “What do you mean? Did you not receive my message?”
Rosie blinked, her throw blanket clutched up to her throat to protect some of her modesty. She glanced at the mantlepiece where, indeed, a bright red envelope rested, unopened. Typically, she would check the spot as soon as she arrived home, it being where Alastor would send his little shadow minions crawling through her fireplace to deliver any messages because even still, she couldn’t convince him to just get a cell phone. However, in her haste to get home and into bed, she must have overlooked it.
“I seem to have missed it,” she said woodenly.
Alastor rolled his eyes with a merry smile, flicking his wrist and vanishing his cane with another pop of air. “Oh well, it’s no matter. You’re not busy, are you? Because I just have so much to tell you.”
“Please,” Rosie grumbled as Alastor threw himself across her bed. “By all means.”
He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek in one hand and kicking a leg up—at least he had the good graces to magic his shoes away. As he began prattling away at a million miles a minute, Rosie settled back against the pillows, the steady thrum of desire that had been building beneath her skin settling to a light simmer as Alastor’s voice washed over her.
With that signature filter of his lacing his words, it really was like listening to the radio in her parlour, except instead of narration on the news or weather, Alastor regaled her with tales of his misadventures around the hotel. A bright smile spread across his face as he told her of the drone he’d found hovering outside his radio tower earlier that morning, and his subsequent abduction and demolition of the little machine.
“It actually started to squeal towards the end,” Alastor tittered behind his hand. “It may very well have just been the machinery shutting down but I’m choosing to believe those were Vox’s screams. Why he seems to keep connecting his nervous system to his products, I’ll never know.” He chuckled to himself, flopped over on his stomach now and kicking his feet behind him.
Rosie found herself smiling at the sight. Alastor, jovial and laughing, the red shine of his hooves winking in the candlelight. It was a far cry from the Alastor she’d met all those decades ago, cagey and untrusting. The fact that he was still that way with most others, eyes narrowing behind a wide grin as he sized the other up, but not with her tickled Rosie pink. It was a treasure to have Alastor’s trust, enough for him to be this softened, malleable version of himself, like glass that had been warmed enough to lose its rigid shape. And treasure it she did.
Rosie supposed she ought to say the same for herself. After all, it wasn’t just anyone that got to waltz into her room while she was tucked up in bed, wearing nothing more than a slip. She had a reputation to uphold, just as all overlords did, and it wouldn’t do well for people to see her in such an unladylike state.
Alastor, though, was the exception, just as he was with most things.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve been having a good time,” she said, the tension that had been heaped on her shoulders well and truly lessened by listening to her dear friend chatting away. “Even if it is through antagonising Vox.”
Alastor blew out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “You always were too soft on him, Rosie. If you-“
He paused suddenly as he shifted on the bed and frowned. Reaching under his hip, he retracted Rosie’s book, rather bent now from having been laid on top of for the better part of half an hour. Still, the tips of her ears steamed as Alastor turned it over in his hands curiously. He hummed as he perused the cover, an illustration of Delia in Lord Brimstone’s arms, her head thrown back as she clutched at his sculpted chest—on display, thanks to a few tactfully bopped buttons.
“My, my,” Alastor mused, glancing around the room and seeming to take everything in; the flickering candles, Rosie’s stockings lying on the floor, the saucy book, and, of course, Rosie’s general state of undress. He had the wherewithal to look chagrined, his ears dipping to half-mast. “It appears I’ve come at a rather inopportune time.”
Rosie scoffed out a laugh, releasing her grip on the blanket and letting it pool around her waist as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her nipples were doubtless pushing against the thin fabric of her slip, but what did she care? Alastor had never looked at her in such a way to make her fear for her honour, after all.
“Just noticed that now, did ya?” she quipped.
Alastor rumbled an apologetic sound, shifting to sit upright on the mattress. “I do apologise, Rosie. I was just so excited to see your darling face, is all! But I can take my leave if you’d like some privacy.”
Rosie clicked her tongue, shaking her head with a smile. “Oh, don’t mind all a’ that. You’re here now and that’s what matters. Besides, a chat’s a pretty good second-place way to wind down.”
Rosie grinned, waiting for Alastor to roll his eyes or shoot back at her with some witty retort, but he was strangely silent for a moment longer. Tapping one clawed finger against the paperback cover as he stared mutely at the shape of Rosie’s legs beneath the covers. Often, she’d wished to have the ability to crack that pretty little head of his open and peer into his thoughts, and that moment was no different.
After what seemed an age, Alastor lifted his head and locked eyes with her. With a casual shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t mind assisting you in the first-place way.” Rosie blinked at him as he scooted closer, trailing his hand up her leg over the barrier of the blanket to grip her knee. In a low tone, he added, “If you’d like?”
Rosie, who had always prided herself on her silver tongue, was at a loss for words. She had thought after that night quite a few years ago now, when she and Alastor had attended a party together, ending with his back to wall of her apartment after hours of lively dancing and drinking, that his offer of a similar nature had been a one-time thing. A limited-edition version of Alastor that was open to casual, friendly sex, affable and willing to please her. The usual worries of sleeping with friends—that it would strain their relationship and make things awkward, that he would view her differently, that one of them would want something more—hadn’t come to pass. Alastor had been his usual, placid self the morning after, his easy smile soothing Rosie’s nerves in a way no verbal communication could.
Now, here was Alastor, one hand clutching Rosie’s knee, the other holding her smutty romance novel, offering that same deal once more.
She watched him carefully as she pushed the blanket down her body, kicking it away to flop onto the floor with her stockings. “Feelin’ generous today, hm?” She pushed her bare knee into his hand, the warmth of his palm sending a pleasant thrill along her skin.
Alastor shrugged again, that same easy smile spread across his face as he lowered himself to lie by Rosie’s side, chin still propped up on his hand. “Well, you’ve always been such a gracious host, I ought to play the part of a grateful guest every now and then. Besides, what are friends for?”
Rosie laughed, her chest feeling light and bubbly like she’d thrown back a whole bottle of champagne, the sound morphing into a gasp as Alastor slid his hand up her thigh to cup her over the thin fabric of her slip. The pressure of his grip had her stomach swooping and heat rushing to pulse between her legs. She wasn’t wearing any panties, so when he shifted his hand to reach below her slip, his fingers met her bare pussy. Rosie shivered, pleasure prickling down her spine and pooling in her pelvis. She arched her back, pushing herself more firmly against Alastor’s hand as he carefully stroked his clawed fingers through her slick folds.
“If only I’d known you were this kinda friend sooner,” Rosie joked, her breath stuttering as Alastor swiped a thumb over her throbbing clit. “I wouldn’t have spent so many nights with just me, myself, and I.”
“Well, you never asked, did you?” Alastor pointed out. “You should know by now that I’m always happy to provide for my friends.”
“Sheesh, Alastor, just how many friends are you providin’ for?” Rosie whispered.
“Just you, Rosie dear,” Alastor replied, his scarlet eyes sparkling magnanimously in the dim light.
He really was handsome, and so charming too. She could see why so many of the girls about Cannibal Town were so taken with him. It gave her a vicious stab of satisfaction to know that, for tonight anyway, his attention was solely on her.
Alastor peeled his gaze away and hummed. “Now then, I’m curious what fine literature you dabble in on your nights off. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
He twirled a finger in the air and the book floated over to hover before his face. Delicately licking a finger on the hand not currently rubbing over Rosie’s slick cunt, he flipped the book open to the page Rosie had marked. He cleared his throat while Rosie laughed between needy gasps, her cheeks stinging with a mix of lust and embarrassment.
Alastor began, “The sound of their skin slapping together filled the carriage as Brimstone pounded into Delia’s-“
“Ah! Don’t skip ahead!” Rosie squawked, smacking at Alastor’s shoulder. “Go back to where he’s grabbin’ her tits!”
“Ah, my apologies.” A slight furrow creased Alastor’s brow as he flicked his eyes across the page. “Hm. You may have to be more specific, Rosie. Hang on—I think I have it.”
“Mm, yeah, you do,” Rosie moaned, rolling her hips to grind Alastor’s fingers against her clit.
Alastor continued to stroke her as he read on. “Brimstone shivered in response, a husky groan escaping his lips. His hands smoothed up her sides to cup her breasts in his large hands as he leaned down and kissed her. Delia’s fingers tangled in the hair of her old friend. Her old friend, whose interest was making itself known as he pressed down between her parted legs.” Alastor paused to grin over at Rosie. “And they say chivalry is dead. I’m not sure this man’s intentions are honourable.”
“Oh, hush, you,” Rosie sniffed, flicking his ear and making it twitch. “Keep going.”
He did, rubbing his fingers from her entrance, up between her lips and over her clit, pressing down in short, pulsating circles. Rosie’s eyes fluttered shut, her own hand latching onto his wrist to keep him right there as he continued to read to her.
“Brimstone stripped Delia of her girdle, his searching fingers shredding her stockings to get to his prize. It was so much, so fast that Delia’s head was spinning, but even through the fog of confusion and desperation that clouded her brain, she was sure of one thing: she wanted him. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything before. When he finally entered her, pushing his hard length past her defenses, she was taken to a level of euphoria that had previously been kept a secret from her. My goodness, are they having sex or performing an ancient summoning ceremony? This sounds more like a possession than some hanky panky.”
Alastor continued to pepper in his own commentary as he read to her, all the while stroking Rosie towards her orgasm. She grinded against his touch as she listened to him narrate Delia and Brimstone’s lovemaking. The staticky filter of his voice made it almost like she was listening to an audiobook—one with some impromptu director’s commentary, but an audio show, nonetheless. It was pleasant. She’d always loved Alastor’s voice. That, coupled with his clever fingers and tantalising scent made her scoot closer to him until their bodies were pressed together on the bed. She clutched at the lapels of his jacket, burying her face in the crook of his neck to breath in his musky scent as her pleasure began to curl in the pit of her guts.
“’I love you, Delia,’ Brimstone whispered against her lips as he continued to pump his cock inside her. ‘I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Tell me, please-‘
‘Oh, Heath,’ Delia gasped in return, holding him close. ‘Of course, I love you as well.’
It was in that moment that they came together, their pleasure a joint wave that washed over them on the wooden floor of that carriage.”
Alastor’s eyes bugged as he read this line. “In a carriage? My goodness, that poor woman’s back. If this man is half the hero his manhood would lead us to believe he is, I hope he has a chiropractor on call.”
Rosie sank her teeth into her lip as she came, her hips stuttering against Alastor’s hand. He stroked her through it, his fingers moving against her throbbing clit until her pleasure receded and she flopped back against the mattress. Only then did he remove his hand, flicking his slick finger to float the book back to her bedside table, then summoning a white, fluffy towelette out of thin air. He wiped away any evidence of their activities before offering the cloth to Rosie with an eyebrow raised in question. She weakly shook her head and the towelette vanished with another flick of his wrist.
The aftershocks of her orgasm settled over her like a weighted blanket, her blood thrumming, thick and content, in her veins. She felt she could sink right through the mattress and into the earth below. Her eyes still shut, she tightened her grip on Alastor’s jacket, tugging him down until he settled beside her on the sheets.
“Lord Brimstone’s a perfect gentleman,” Rosie yawned, rolling onto her side and tossing an arm across Alastor’s chest. “I’m sure he’ll take good care a’ her. Maybe a nice bubble bath?”
Alastor laughed deep in the back of his throat, turning over until their fronts were pressed together, her breasts squished against his stiff suit. “Oh, yes? With some blood pudding, perhaps?”
“Mmm,” Rosie smiled against his collar, his bowtie tickling her cheek. “B positive. Or O neg, if the store’s out.”
Alastor hummed, his hand stroking up and down Rosie’s bare arm, leaving a ripple of gooseflesh in its wake. “And was the lady wanting such a thing right away, or-?”
“No,” Rosie instantly shot back. She tightened her grip on Alastor, burrowing closer until he was the only thing she could smell, his comforting scent filling her with every inhale. All she could taste on her tongue was the hint of his cologne and the coppery tang of blood. “You just stay right there, mister. You make a nice body pillow.”
“So you’ve said,” Alastor replied with a merry laugh, looping his arm around her waist to hold her firmly against his front. “Very well. Your wish is my command, Rosie.”
Rosie melted against him, humming into his neck. Their legs tangled together, Alastor’s fuzzy calves tickling Rosie where they touched. The smooth keratin of his hooves brushed her toes and she pressed the arch of her foot against them, rubbing slowly up and down.
“I do so enjoy our nights together, Alastor,” Rosie sighed, stroking her hand up his chest to rest over the beating of his heart. “You should come over more.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Alastor answered, carding his claws through the short curls of Rosie’s hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of head and murmured, “You’ll just have to answer my letter next time.”
She huffed a laugh against his throat before the two of them dipped into a companionable silence. It stretched out long into the night until Rosie eventually succumbed to Alastor’s relaxing warmth and weight wrapped around her, lulling her to sleep.
When she would awake the next morning, Alastor would be gone, a blanket tucked over her replacing his body heat. Only then would she get up and open the letter, still sitting on her mantelpiece, and smile at the words of her friend.
My dearest Rosie,
I know it has only been a few days, but I still feel that is far too long for me to go without seeing your face and hearing that delightful laugh of yours. If it suits you, I would like nothing more than to see you this evening. I simply have so much to tell you about the goings on around this funny little place.
Until then,
Yours,
-Alastor.