Page 63 of Fear No Hell

Calliope

One minute I’m sitting in Sam’s lap, wondering why the fuck the purported god of Pandaimonium is touching me.

The next, I’m sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, debating whether I actually heard Lucifer call me Lilith in the split second before Sam lunged for his biological father with an unholy roar, his eyes fully obsidian as he bares his fangs at the man.

“Interesting.” Lucifer reaches for Sam, who bats away his hand without blinking.

“Calm down, boy, I don’t mean her any harm.” Lucifer makes a gesture that I suppose is intended to be placating but is condescending enough to have Sam bristling even more.

Pushing myself unsteadily off the floor, I crowd into Sam’s space, both arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

The scents of oud and darkness I’ve come to associate with him are stronger than ever before, the rich tendrils wafting around me as I rest my forehead against the small of his back.

As I whisper reassurances to him. As I graze my palms over his torso in gentle touches.

His muscles slowly loosen with each rub of my hand over his chest.

“That’s right, my love.” I press a kiss to the skin at the base of his neck just above where his shirt hits. Goosebumps ripple along the flesh as he shivers underneath my touch. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m right here with you. Always. Now I need you to breathe for me, alright, pet?”

At my order, his shoulders sink further, his body releasing more of the tension that was radiating from him seconds before.

“Good boy.” Once I’m sure he’s not going to attack Lucifer—again—I peek over Sam’s shoulder at the silver fox still standing in front of us. “How do you know the name Lilith? That is what you called me, right? I didn’t mishear you?”

“Lilith is the Pandaimonium title for the goddess of daimons.” Lucifer flicks a finger at the tattoo he touched earlier, which earns him another growl from Sam.

“We know the realm has chosen a new queen when we see that symbol—the one between your gorgeous breasts—show up on an immortal.” He reaches towards the gaping neck of my shirt as if to touch the mark for a second time.

“I needed to make sure I wasn’t imagining things—"

Blood roars in my ears.

Wait. No. That’s actual roaring.

My calm, even-keeled doctor, the one who has never once raised his voice or a hand to me, who I’ve never seen truly lose his temper, is roaring at his biological father for the second time today. “What did I fucking tell you about touching her?”

I tilt my head back to look at him and gape in astonishment at the sight that greets me.

Obsidian scars now stain the fragile skin above and below Sam’s eyes.

Black shadows form in the veins below the skin of his throat, trace across the small part of his chest exposed by his t-shirt, and track down his arms, the dark color replacing the usual blue of his blood.

Darkness gathers around him, seemingly drawn to the brutal, possessive energy he’s putting off.

I go instantly, shockingly wet.

Sam’s head jerks toward me, his nostrils flaring as he gazes down at me over his shoulder, and I know—viscerally, with the sort of child-like certainty reserved for seemingly objective facts like grass being green and the sky being blue—that he can smell my arousal.

I don’t know how I know this; human senses aren’t that strong.

He shouldn’t be able to tell how aroused I am. He does, though.

And somehow that makes me even wetter. An embarrassingly needy whine climbs its way up my throat and spills out of my mouth. Sam spins in my arms, his hand coming up to cup my face as he nuzzles into my hair with small, hungry purrs and rumbles.

“We’re leaving,” he announces.

“Sammy—” Michelle sounds far away and echoing, like she’s inside a well. Easily ignored, especially when Sam’s chest is warm and solid in front of me, his hardening cock pressing into my stomach, his hands on me.

Gods, I need to drink him down.

Sucking him off is one of the few things we haven’t done yet.

Neither of us knew whether I would ever be ready to yield the control necessary for a blow job.

Now, though, not only am I not concerned about the prospect, I’m almost drooling in excitement over it.

I’ve tasted his cum before, but today… Today I want to drink it from the source.

If there’s conversation beyond Michelle’s confused, “Sammy,” I don’t hear it. I can’t focus on anything other than Sam, my hands passing down his chest, towards the waistband of his jeans, until they stop moving, and I’m furious about it. I want to touch my pet right fucking now.

Who the fuck is stopping me from touching what’s mine?

I snap out a vicious snarl and tense to rip my hands away from whoever thought to stop me from ripping Sam’s pants off.

Before I can move, I’m being lifted, wrapped in strong, supportive arms still inked with black veins, and I’m moving.

I don’t care where we’re going, so long as I can tease at Sam’s throat with my fangs, hungry for what burns under his skin, as a masculine groan sounds above me.

My back thumps against something hard, Sam still pressed against my front.

“Sweetness.” The word, more rolling thunder than actual speech, strokes against the shell of my ear like velvet. “We need to get home.”

I think I shake my head as I grind down against him. I’m desperate, burning for what only he can give me.

“Fuck.” His head drops back. “We’re going to end up giving the neighbors a hell of a show if you keep doing that.”

“Don’t fucking care,” I hiss as I wind my arms around his neck and lift myself along his chest until my mouth is aligned with his, his erection nestled between my legs.

“I need you, pet.” For good measure and just to make sure he gets the point, I compress my thighs on either side of his and roll myself against his hard cock.

“Jesus Christ, sweetness, fuck, I want that so much, but—” He licks my lips gently, at complete odds with his aggressive grinding against the crotch of my sodden shorts.

“I need to get us home. I can’t have anyone see you like this.

I could barely keep it together with my own—fuck, baby, that feels so fucking good—father.

I’m pretty sure I would rip a stranger’s face off with my bare hands. ”

His words pierce the haze filling my mind.

Although they don’t eradicate it, they do make their way in enough that I’m not quite so willing to throw him down on the lawn in front of—a slight twitch of the white curtains in a window at the front of the house confirms their watching presence—Michelle and his biological father. The god of Pandaimonium.

I shake my head. Squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head again. I’m still in a desire-filled bubble, the world halcyon glazed around me; unlike every other time something like this has happened, I remember everything about the time leading up to now. It isn’t a blur, just drowned in lust.

“Lila?”

I open my eyes, taking in Sam’s wrecked expression. The cute little turndown of his lips. The furrow of his brows. The flaring of his nostrils as he breathes deeply, the parting of his mouth as he catches another whiff of my arousal.

“You’re right.” I exhale, the gesture almost instinctual after all of the times Sam has coached me through breathing exercises, thrilled that this time, at least, I’m doing them to control desire, not panic. “Let’s go home.”

With a sharp nod, Sam places me down reluctantly, quickly getting me settled into the passenger side before rounding the car and dropping into the driver’s seat.

Once his door is closed, his seatbelt on, I lean over and whisper into his ear, “Drive fast. I need to taste you, pet.”