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Three movies later, Grace called it a night. She was the first of the group to do so but it had been such a long, exhausting day—at least it had been for her.
Back in her room, she stripped off her clothing to shower, leaving the outfit in a mound atop the comforter. I’ll worry about that later. If she were lucky, Niffty might come in and handle it while she washed up.
Although she had a robe at her disposal, she still favored the hotel’s towels, wrapping one around herself and knotting it at her cleavage as she emerged from the bathroom.
To her disappointment but not surprise, her dirty clothing was still piled up on the bed. Okay, I’ll worry about that in the morning, then. As she approached her bed, she noticed its headboard had been knocked askew.
Grace had no idea when that had happened but guessed it might have been the result of the deal she’d made with Alastor; it had been like a dust devil had briefly appeared and vanished within the confines of this space.
Unlike the pile of clothing, Grace didn’t want to leave this until morning.
She was uncertain whether Hell had earthquakes — hellquakes, she supposed would be more apt — but being that earthquakes were hellish, it wouldn’t surprise her if they got those damn things down here, too. She hadn’t experienced one yet but it would be her luck that one would strike overnight, causing the headboard to crash on her head.
That wouldn’t kill her double-dead, but it would doubtless be a terribly unpleasant way to wake.
She climbed up onto the mattress, kneeling around her pillows to try and figure out how to reattach the headboard to the wall behind it. There were three tiny hooks protruding from the wall, and three matching thin wires attached to the headboard. It looked to be a similar mechanism to hanging a painting. “Simple enough,” she told herself quietly.
But the wires were taut and once free of their hooks, they were not nearly as easy to get back where they needed to be. Grace didn’t have the strength to lift the headboard off the floor, nor could she stretch any of the wires enough to get them back into place. “Aw fuck me,” she muttered. The only option was to call Charlie up, but how would she explain this?
As it was, she wasn’t even sure her current explanation was correct.
Alastor corporealized into her room, standing in the corner and watching silently.
Even without hearing him enter, hearing him breathing, feeling his stare searing her skin, Grace knew he was there. The feeling of his presence was stronger now since she’d handed her soul over to him.
It would take some getting used to, but she didn’t mind it as much as she once did.
Grace jerked on the headboard again. It kept its recalcitrant ass in place—the wrong place.
She asked Alastor without looking his way, “You gonna stand there with your horns on your head and your fangs in your mouth, or are you gonna help me, Mr. ‘Oops-I-Missed?’”
He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Where would you like my fangs to be?”
Grace ignored him in favor of trying once more to lift the headboard enough to fix it. “I’ll show you who’s more stubborn, you stupid fucking headboard that doesn’t even have puncture marks from my horns!” As offensive as it was the headboard wouldn’t move, it was worse that it had no puncture wounds from what she’d hoped hadn’t been a dream. The more she thought about it, the more upset it made her.
One moment, Alastor stood in the corner, observing in silence. The next, he appeared behind her in that entirely unsettling manner of his where he didn’t actually move through physical space.
Ethereal black tentacles wrapped around the edges of the headboard, fitting it into place on the hooks as if it was no effort at all.
Without missing a beat, Alastor then pinned her against the headboard, hissing in her ear, “Do you trust me?”
Sure, she’d just given him her soul.
Unbeknownst to him, he’d had her heart for some time now.
Nonetheless, Grace breathed, “No.” Even if she wanted to trust him, at his core, he was still a psychopath whose motives were known only to him. And maybe not even that.
“Smart girl,” he replied, gripping her wrists together against the wall with his left hand. “You shouldn’t.”
Genuine fear sluiced through her. She hadn’t been this frightened since the night she first arrived at the hotel. “Now you tell me that?”
He chuckled that deep, delicious, scheming chuckle. “What kind of monster would I be if I’d given you any kind of helpful warning before we made our little deal?”
“A stupid one,” Grace whispered, clenching her eyes shut. Like stupid little me.
“That’s right,” he purred, winding a strip of fabric tightly around her wrists. “And I’m not stupid.”
Grace’s heart pounded as she opened her eyes again and focused on the fabric binding her wrists together. She recognized it; that was his bowtie. What the actual fuck?!
Alastor murmured against her ear, “Nor are you; you knew fully well what you got yourself into.”
“I—did? Did I?” Her trembling body caused her voice to tremble, too. Was she nervous? Excited? Cold? She couldn’t even tell.
He raked his fingers down through her wet hair, claws skimming her shoulders. “The more time I spend near you, the more I realize how much I enjoy playing with you.” Alastor nipped at her ear. “Toying with you.”
What? She’d tried to say that aloud but the word lodged in her throat.
“Teasing you.”
His hand sneaked around over her chest, a single claw sinking into the knot of her towel before wiggling it loose.
The towel dropped to her knees.
Grace squeaked; she could do nothing else.
Alastor brushed her hair forward over her shoulder. He leaned in, licking and nibbling the side of Grace’s neck. “Rosie told me she thought you looked exceptionally tasty. How right she was—”
Bite! He drew blood from her shoulder; she yelped, shivered, and barely suppressed a moan.
After a moment, Alastor drew his tongue up along her spine, starting at the small of her back and ending at the nape of her neck.
Whether or not he was getting some cannibalistic jollies off tasting her, she was getting disturbingly, painfully aroused.
Grace moaned, “How are you so magnificent?”
“Is that mockery?” he asked, his hand clamping around her neck. With how swift he was to anger at the thought he was being mocked, he definitely would have been pissed about that outfit she wore to meet with Vox.
“Anything but!” she rasped.
He released her.
She glanced over her shoulder to catch his gaze. “God, Alastor, are you that starved of genuine praise that you don’t recognize it?”
He scowled, then blatantly changed the subject: “Do you know what bissel means?”
Grace shook her head; when Rosie had referred to her like that, she’d assumed it was a racial epithet of some sort and was happier not knowing the truth.
“It means ‘a little bit.’ You’re a morsel.” Alastor then disappeared from her field of view and a searing pain shot through her right ass cheek; he’d bitten down. Hard.
“Fuck!” Grace cried out, promptly earning a wad of fabric wedged firmly into her mouth.
“Mustn’t disturb your neighbors with that kind of noise, my dear,” he chastised. “After all, they’re trying to sleep.”
She spat it right back out only to see it was the pair of underwear she’d left heaped in her pile of dirty clothes. Why does that arouse me?! She growled at him, “Do that again!”
“Grace,” he snapped, “that was rude.”
God, how she delighted in his reprimands. “Please do that again,” Grace exhaled.
“Beg me for it, you wanton little sinner!”
Grace twisted in her spot, meeting and holding his gaze; she wanted him bearing witness to her sincerity. “You can do whatever you desire with me, for as long as you want and as many times as you’d like. Be gentle, be rough, tear me to shreds, stitch me together or leave me for dead; I don’t care what else you do to me as long as you bite my ass like that again. Please, Alastor! Bite me!”
“That’s more like it.” Alastor rewarded her left ass cheek with a matching chomp!
Grace’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned low and long.
He continued to bite and lick; if she wasn’t mistaken, there was even the occasional press of his lips to her skin in random spots. The small of her back. Her ribcage beneath her right arm. And at completely and totally random, the top of her head after carefully navigating her horns. The horns she longed to have him caress again.
Even so, his undivided attention had gotten her so wet that it was now trickling down the inside of her thighs.
And then the attention stopped.
Out of the corner of Grace’s eye, she saw Alastor’s jacket join her pile of clothing. So too did his dress shirt.
Her eyes widened. The 'sexy stutter,' as Valentino had called it, resurfaced then: “Wh-what are you doing?”
“I'm a demon of my word. Are you?"
"Y-yes," she breathed.
"You said I can do whatever I desire with you if I bit your ass, Little Fawn, and I did. So now I get to do with you what I want for as long as I like. And I wish to feel your skin against mine again.”
“‘A—Again?’” Grace echoed feebly. She suddenly realized how a computer must have felt to Blue-Screen-of-Death.
His shoes thumped to the floor beside the bed, one by one, her heart thumping with each.
Again?
The sound of a zipper fly opening sent skitters of goosebumps across her skin.
Again?!
His trousers joined his shirt that joined his jacket that joined the pile of her clothing.
Then—that—that means—
Alastor’s undergarments joined his trousers which joined his dress shirt which joined his jacket atop Grace’s pile of clothing.
That wasn’t a dream.
Grace trembled in anticipation, feeling his warmth spread along her back as he encroached on her.
Holy shit! That wasn’t a dream!
He slid his cock between her thighs, rubbing it along her lips, spreading her arousal and coating himself with it. She clenched her legs together around him, trying to feel as much as she possibly could. Alastor rewarded her with a purred, “Very good girl.”
She wanted to cry, tears of joy and of dismay and disbelief, wanted nothing more than to shriek, turn around, and pounce on him. To fling her bound wrists over his head and yank him down onto the mattress atop her. That wasn’t a dream!
Grace wanted nothing more than to shower him with the affection he likely lacked during his life, and certainly since his death.
He continued those long, lazy strokes with his cock between her thighs, reaching around to grip and squeeze her breast, sinking his fingertips into her. Just when she started fearing this was all he wanted from her, he shifted his angle.
As it turned out, Alastor did not seem to believe in easing into things.
‘Things,’ in this case, being Grace.
He entered her from his spot kneeling behind her with a single, hard thrust. Grace gasped, the noise devolving into a long moan. Alastor sunk his claws into her hips, proceeding to use her body as additional leverage that he most certainly didn’t need for his thrusts.
She sobbed something that sounded vaguely like “Yes!”
Blood streamed from the punctures in her hips, each smack of his body against the bites in her ass making them sting even more. The feeling would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already been down on them.
“I—”
He paused between deep, hard thrusts to add several more puncture wounds with his teeth in her shoulder and neck.
“Ohh—”
Grace deliciated in the trickle of blood oozing from her collarbone down her chest. It forged a little red river into the canyon of her cleavage.
“Ahhh—”
He released her right hip and grasped her breast, smearing her blood across it, dragging his nails across her nipple and leaving light scratches in the delicate skin.
The first sound he made this whole time was a quiet mmmm while licking her blood from his fingertips.
“Alastor— don’t stop—”
So of course he stopped, hissing in her ear, “Good girls beg for what they want, my little fawn.”
Grace whimpered, “Please, please don’t stop—I’m—I’m so close!”
All the intoxicating nips, bites, the licking, the sucking, and the occasional kisses then gave way to primal desire when he resumed thrusting, his focus on nothing but advancing and retreating harder and faster.
If he took any physical pleasure in her pussy enrobing his cock, he was about to be in for a surprise of catastrophic proportions; she hadn’t come during the dream-that-wasn’t-actually-a-dream.
Grace finally crumbled around Alastor, falling to pieces yet becoming whole all at once.
She twisted her wrists in their satin binding so her fingers could seek purchase against the obnoxiously smooth wall above the headboard, her whole body shuddering through wave after wave of ecstasy.
It’d never been like this before, in all of Grace’s experience.
He surged forward as deeply as he could go, pressing the weight of his body against hers, crushing her against the headboard as his cock throbbed inside her.
It was all she could do not to weep at the horrible beauty of it all.
After several moments and a couple more slow, gentle thrusts, Alastor retreated.
Having forked her to within an inch of her afterlife, he pulled back the covers, dragged her down beside himself and spooned her. With his free hand, he tugged on the bowtie, freeing her wrists.
There was a long, contented exhalation against her bare back. Alastor’s arm quickly grew heavy where it rested over her waist, his grip on the bowtie relaxing. And then his arm and hand went completely limp.
Sleepy boy! I exhausted you, huh?
Grace smiled, reaching over from her spot to switch on the radio hoping that maybe he would broadcast some thoughts inadvertently as she thought he’d done before.
What played on that station now was some quiet, soothing jazz without vocals; something perfectly lovely to listen to while drifting off.
Her hand hovered over her phone where she’d left it, blood dripping onto the bedside table from one of her countless bite wounds.
Her wrist sported purple bruising from the silk tie; she hadn’t realized until just now how tightly he’d bound her.
After a moment, Grace plucked the phone from its spot and took a carefully angled selfie of her chest and neck; a multitude of love pokes from Alastor’s fangs decorating her lilac canvas, a crimson stream meandering from her collarbone down between her breasts and to her belly.
Before Grace could change her mind, she opened her texts and replied at long last.
Grace swallowed a scowl; boy did she dislike being called naughty. How fucking dare you? I’m a good girl, you towering piece of shit!
Willing to bet he gets me off better already with such minimal experience than you can with your scads of it, you STD-ridden filth-pile! She briefly considered actually sending that but thought better of it; that message had been sent with the clear intention of getting under her skin. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it’d worked. Undoubtedly Vox had told Valentino all about Grace’s infatuation with Alastor.
So instead, she sent her titillating selfie and followed that with:
Grace grinned wickedly. This, she had no doubt, was a sincere and accurate compliment. And then she waited to see if he would follow up and ask her about her last text.
She bit her lip to keep from chuckling and after making him wait even longer, Grace finally sent her already-typed-up reply:
She then blocked Valentino’s number and cleared out his text history.
In becoming tethered to Alastor, she’d set herself free.
Stay sane, deer friends!
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