Page 19 of The Monster of Darkspell Comics

Fanny

D espite not knowing what kind of surprises would have been in store for me at Deadman’s Inn, I almost wish that I had taken Jasper up on his offer so that I could have enjoyed sleeping in a real bed again for a change.

True, I couldn’t trust anything in the inn, much less its owner, but damned if this couch isn’t killing me.

Not that Pashar is the least bit sympathetic since he is sleeping soundly and obliviously in his own bed while I work to find a comfortable spot on the couch.

Punching the pillow, I roll over and groan.

I’m really starting to hate this couch. It was a dream to sleep on for the first several nights, but then that is easy to believe when one is accustomed to sleeping in terrible conditions and always waking sore and tired in the morning.

The discomforts are minor comparatively.

I also hadn’t believed that the couch would be for more than a night or two before he figured out an actual bed for me, but it seems like the demon is planning on keeping me on it for the long term.

Even then, it hadn’t entirely bothered me until I caught a glimpse of Pashar’s bedroom on my way to the bathroom and saw exactly what sort of comfort he enjoys.

Lush black and dark ruby bedding, fluffy pillows and a mattress that looks like the sort of thing that would come from a high-end hotel.

It is like the personification of sinful lust in the epitome of the best sleep one would ever have.

The sort of sleep that comes after really good sex, where you wake up feeling like a million bucks.

I want that, and I’ve coveted it ever since.

Shit. If he could do all of that for himself, how hard would it be to set up something comfortable for me?

I don’t even need anything that fancy, just a reasonably comfortable guest room to sleep in.

One that doesn’t make me shiver when the temperature in the living room suddenly cools before I can even get into bed and warm the blankets.

I don’t even need much, so it’s not like it would lessen my punishment in any meaningful way.

It just hardly seems fair to deny me an actual bed when his entire bedroom is the epitome of a den of luxury.

Granted, it looks like Dracula was his interior decorator, but I like it—so long as the drapes are firmly closed against the horrors of the mist outside.

Hell, he could keep the guestroom to his home’s color scheme, austere spaces, and touches of overdone elegance, and it wouldn’t bother me in the least.

But as I have nothing but a couch, his bedroom just begs me to enter, and I have poor discipline when it comes to resisting what I want.

I want to explore the entire expanse of the bed and find the coziest spot on it.

There is a forbidden, naughty part of me that really wants to do it while he is stretched out naked on the bed.

It’s a mental image that makes me both blush furiously and grow wet.

I’m not a virgin. That was the first of my mother’s warnings of my shameful future that I practically ran headlong into.

But as most men I’ve encountered while roving were complete pricks that I wouldn’t let anywhere near my pussy, my experience hasn’t exactly been copious or widely varied.

In fact, until just recently, I’ve been pretty sure I could take or leave having a sex life of any kind.

Pashar may be a complete dick and a monstrous demon of nightmares, but he’s one that makes me squirm with desire the moment he drops his human disguise. .. and I genuinely like being with him.

Funny. It should be the hot human look that makes me want to jump him.

He certainly picked an attractive model to emulate.

I discovered that quite by accident when I happened to glance at a magazine and was forced to take a second look in surprise.

The model’s hair was short and well-groomed, and his face lacked the scruff that Pashar’s human look had, but all it took was for me to squint a little and I saw it.

And yet, that doesn’t make me all hot and bothered.

He’s nice to look at, but the real him has me curious and wanting to take a look and see what he hides in his pants.

It’s the true body attached to the male that I’ve found myself growing closer to that I want to know.

My mouth goes dry as I picture his dark purple body and long wings stretched out over the black sheet, his long hair pooled behind him as his corethi twist around him.

And that tail. A soft pant leaves me as I imagine that long coil of his tail and the way it loops and twitches provocatively.

Having all that between my legs, and a bed with the thickest mattress I’ve ever seen to curl up on afterward, is my most immediate and torturous fantasy.

Not that he looks at me that way—or at least not as far as I’ve seen.

He could just really have a good poker face.

But it doesn’t leave me with much confidence.

As much as I enjoy messing with his head regarding the Halloween stuff, I really wish I could actually capture his attention.

I’ve been doing my best, but my best doesn’t seem to be getting results.

Even wiggling my ass in the air at every opportunity hasn’t had the desired reaction.

At this point, I’m pretty sure I could go tuck myself into his bed and curl up next to him in my Hello Kitty pajamas and he wouldn’t even notice.

I bite my bottom lip and smile. He’s never explicitly said that I couldn’t sleep in his bed.

He just told me not to dig through his things with my clumsy human hands.

I have no intention of touching anything in the room but the bed.

.. and maybe him if he doesn’t object to a cuddle partner.

.. so, what’s the harm? Especially considering how surprisingly chilly his home is.

Isn’t this the world of demons? I imagined it would be hotter.

He has to be cold as well if his bedroom is as cool as the rest of his home.

I certainly can use a warm body to curl up to or at least share heat under the blankets with.

While sleeping on the couch with the bedding I was given kept me at a tolerable temperature, the chance of being truly warm and comfortable sets me in motion.

I don’t allow myself a moment to second-guess the questionable brilliance of my plan to worm my way into a more comfortable sleeping spot and hopefully, eventually, a certain demon’s arms. Truthfully, I wouldn’t mind working my way into his twisted heart either.

I’ve never met anyone I’ve felt such synchronicity with.

It’s likely why we are tied together by more than just the magic he has bound me to him with.

We could be soul mates, or some shit like that.

I read about it in Cosmopolitan magazine, and that is what I know I’m feeling.

Our stars are aligned—or likely would be if he weren’t a demon and in a completely different world than the one that humans experience.

Even though I’ve never been outside of his home, I’m pretty certain that we are in another realm, which is pretty fucking dope if I can just work up my nerve to look out at it again.

I would give anything to actually be able to see something of it other than the dense fog that conceals everything.

The fog would take some getting used to because that is kind of like being completely blind, but maybe bit by bit it could be manageable?

But first, I want a closer look at that bed and, if I’m lucky, the demon occupying it.

With a little quiet hum to myself, I slip off the couch and leave the living room, taking a hall to its very end where a large door bars the entrance.

The nob turns easily under my hand, and the door opens with barely a whisper of sound.

The room is completely black outside of the strange illumination from several mounted crystals that give off a faint glow of light.

It’s enough for me to see by, so I don’t hesitate to step into the room.

It’s lucky, too. I know from experience that they react only to magic, so I have no way to brighten them to make it safely around the room if he hadn’t set the lighting that way before going to sleep.

If they had been too dim or darkened, I would have been out of luck.

Not that I can make out much detail, but I can see the dark imprint of the enormous bed and the bulk of the large demon stretched in the middle of it.

Without hesitation, I tiptoe over, making as little noise as possible, and peer down at him.

The rumbled fabric of the bedding is more of an impression than anything else, but his wide, sculpted chest is hard to miss as it moves rhythmically with every breath he draws deeply into his lungs.

I lean forward, noting as I do all the empty space between his body and the edge of the bed.

I bite back a laugh. He’s not going to even notice me on the bed.

There is enough room to easily fit two people on either side of him.

With how firm the mattress looks, and because his own large bulk considerably outweighs my much smaller body, I doubt he will even feel the tiny shift in the mattress when I crawl onto the bed beside him.

I just have to stay below wing level so I’m not sleeping on it.

Not a problem. It will put me at an awkward crotch level, but I’m not going to be paying any attention to the beast while I’m fast asleep.