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Sleeping with (the son of) the Devil

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She knocked at the door of the New Orleans mansion and entered, her usual smartest-person in the room- attitude fully in place, without waiting for someone to answer; the door had been left unlocked, and she wasn’t even remotely surprised: after all, people from New Orleans knew all too well who lived there, and none of them was so crazy to try to break into his home- save maybe Remy – and not-human guests… well, Chris guessed that he did have some sort of security measure in act to protect himself and his belongings from super-natural entities.

Still, without even considering what could have potentially happened to her, she stepped inside, clad in her classical work attire; nowadays, Chris Stark was dressing more and more  like her old self, the businesswoman with an attitude, the woman who never had to ask. Like to compensate for the recent discovery of her partial mystical heritage, her wardrobe had been filled once again with three pieces feminine suits, soft blouses and killer heels that screamed modern lady.

“Why knock if you aren’t going to  wait for me to welcome you in my domain, I wonder?” He sarcastically asked as she entered, matter-of-fact, into his room- his bedroom, actually; Chris crossed her arms, lifted an eyebrow as, leaning against the doorframe, studied Daimon Hellstrom; the half-human/ half-demon  was levitating, crossed legs Buddha style, into the dark room, lighted only by black and red candles  inside the pentagram on the ground.

“What do you want, Stark?” He abruptly asked as he went to the ground, but didn’t made a move to get any closer to her; she walked towards him, her reddish hair reflecting the flames of the candles, moved by an unseen cold breeze that felt – and probably was -supernatural.     

“You know, Jericho and Stephen used to say that this is all a charade to mask the fine man you truly are.” She said as she was just few inches from him, switching topic ; the artifact that she had been granted suddenly quieted, just like the voices in her head, the ones she had been hearing since becoming a telepath (and all the lost souls of Genosha, running wild into her head), and, with a little satisfied smile, sighing, she welcomed the peace she hadn’t felt in a long time- something she wasn’t allowed in any other place on Earth.

Daimon chuckled, an eyebrow lifted. “You shouldn’t  listen to what they say. They may be experienced, but, still, they are too naïve for their own good. That’s’ why this realm will fall, sooner or later- the magic is either in the hands of naïve people or novices such as yourself.”

“That’s’ why I’m in New Orleans, actually- I’m seeking answers, some of them only the Angelus host could provide me with; only,  Miss Baptiste isn’t here any longer. And by “here” I mean this plane of existence.” Grinning maliciously, she lifted his chin with a perfectly manicured   finger, her nails jet black. “So, are you interested into helping me with this whole Angelus business or not?”

Angry and fierce, he grabbed her wrist, and she gasped, trying and failing at taking a step back, at putting some space – some distance -between them; just like that, The Endacrion took life, the metallic-like wines of her bracelet entwining around his arm; she expected thorns to emerge from the wines, just like it had happened when Wisdom had tried to hold her hand after the Siege of Asgard, but it didn’t happen; the wines were keeping him close- like, for some unknown reason, they didn’t want to let it go of him.

“Uh. It doesn’t normally act like that. It must really like you.” She said, lifting quizzically her eyebrows.  Not that she had any doubt- she had had a feeling that the Endacrion and Daimon Hellstrom- Hellstorm for his friends- were kindred spirits back in New York, when, along with the rest of Cage’s Avengers, they had fought a pan-dimensional mystical incursion.

“Of course she likes me, bearer. We are almost the same, after all.” He chuckled, his free hand going to skim over the black gem of the mystical bracelet in an almost possessive way. “We are both children of two words- me, the spawn of Hell and a human woman, she, the child of an Angelus Warrior and a Darkling… a whisper of shadow to offer shelter from an endless light if Angelus was to claim victory, or a spark of light to keep the universe anchored if Darkness was to prevail.”

She gritted her teeth. “I knew it.” She spitted out the words, suddenly regretting seeking him out; she had thought it to be a good idea- she had believed him to be an ally of the Avengers- someone Strange trusted- and besides, he was the only supernatural enforcer she knew in New Orleans, now that Jericho was temporary gone. And yet, now she was regretting every and each choice that had led her into that darkened room.  

He chuckled, and suddenly, despite what was going on,  the Endacrion freed him; Daimon took Chris’ chin in his hand, lifted it so that they were almost at eye-level. “Yes- but you didn’t know that where the Witchblade is male, the Endacrion is female, nor that the actual artifact isn’t this piece of magical jewelry- this is just a key to access the real power of the balance, the one hidden inside you and your blood, sweetheart.” 

“Oh.” Her voice was so low, that it was almost a whisper. There was shame in her tone, for she was the futurist, the technarc: she knew things, she knew everything- or at least, that’s what people had always said about her. “I didn’t know it.” She blushed, lowering her eyes- a deadly mistake, as they fell on his naked chest, where his father’s mark shone in the dark; tentatively, she skimmed over the hot skin of his chest with her hand, the Endacrion’s wines yet again engulfing the red-headed Hellspawn, and yet again failing at hurting him- it was like the wines were caressing, tickling him. Like transfigured, she became bolder: she palmed with her soft, warm hand the pentagram on his chest, and looked at her own hand like it belonged to someone else; she heard, or maybe felt, Daimon gulping down a mouthful of saliva, and, smiling like a predator, she teased him by scratching his smooth chest, her lip between her teeth. 

“You shouldn’t play with fire, bearer; haven’t you been taught such a basic lesson?” He mocked her, letting it go of her chin; Chris chuckled, and got closer and closer to him -so close he could feel her hot breath on his already burning skin when she spoke next.

“I’m a Stark, Daimon- my father thought me to be fearless.” She whispered in his hear, beating his lobe, scratching it with her teeth; all the while, her hand- and now the Endacrion’s wines as well- kept scratching his skin drawing blood, bloody against the dark grey of the mystical metal and pitch black of her nails, she left a trail of open-mouthed kisses on his skin and she descended his body, sucked a particularly tender and erogenous spot, right where his shoulder joined his neck, and felt Daimon take a big breath.

“Do you like this, Hellstrom?” She purred, her mouth never leaving his hot skin; he didn’t answer, and she wondered if he had nodded, of if he had simply decided to not grace her with an answer, too full of himself, not one to ask, used to be the one doing the taking. But not now- she needed this. God helped her, she didn’t know why, but she felt like it was how, and what, it was supposed to happen. She wasn’t even thinking rationally, she didn’t care about Wisdom, who processed his love to her and yet didn’t care enough to make sacrifices, nor that the man right before her had switched so many times between sides that he had probably lost count.

She lowered herself, her mouth level with his left nipple, and bite it, sucked the small bud between her full lips, and licked away the salty blood she had drawn before, leaving, in its place, bloody red lipstick;  out of the corner of his eye, Daimon saw this, and suddenly he lost his cool, he became obsessed with seeing that same lipstick smeared on another part of his anatomy- one that this silly woman who played with things and forces she wasn’t supposed to was going to meet very soon.  

“What the…” She said as he put his hands on her shoulders and forced her away; she wanted to say, ask something, tell him she wasn’t done yet, maybe, but she couldn’t end her sentence, couldn’t think of anything to say because she just gasped when, cave-man style, he lifted her on his shoulder and walked the short distance to his decadent bed; he threw her on the bed, her back hitting the soft mattress with a tub, and before she could say anything- could do anything - he was caging her with his body, his mouth possessive upon hers as their tongues battled for domination in a kiss that seemed endless and was bringing her back to life.

 After “dying” in Asgard, she had gone through the motions, not sure of anything any longer, she had simply done what people had expected her to do, became the good girl they thought she was, but it had been just a farce; she wasn’t going to lie: she was happy that Captain America himself had asked her to become an Avenger, but at the end of the day, she wasn’t as satisfied and proud and full of herself like she had always thought; even the sparkle with Pete was gone, dead along her “old” body, and she wasn’t sure it could get back. Or that she wanted it to, anyway -not when even the Endacrion was doing her best to push the Brit spy away.

Lost in the sensual kiss, she run her fingers through his semi-long red hair, enjoying the sensation – they were warm, and yet they were burning at the same time, like small flames- and lifted her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back, her high spiked heels stinging his skin, and getting him just there, where she wanted him to, his crotch on level with her own, his desire hot and heavy and just hard against her clothed sex.

“Ah!” She gasped as he started to sensually rub against her femininity, his mouth now against her neck; she became wetter than ever, she knew she was already that close to coming, and she was still fully clothed, and he hadn’t touched her intimately yet- that was how good Daimon was. Why women break up with him? He was the kind of man you chain up to your bed and keep as a sex slave until the end of times…

“You like it?” He asked, grinning against her neck, and she moaned at closed eyes in answer, unable to formulate words. “And I haven’t even begun yet…”

Eyes in the eyes, her dark red hair a stark contrast with the silky white sheets of the bed,  she grinned, her expression full of mirth and just joy; she bit her lips- something that made his Adam’s apple bounce, and made him even harder, as he couldn’t get his mind off the idea of those bloody red lips of hers engulfing his cock as she sucked him off to orgasm, drinking drop by drop his milky, pearly offering to the goddess of Light and Darkness she was.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, hon…” He breathed, his eyes lost in pleasure as she slowly and sensually opened his belt and lowered his fly, ready to get rid of everything that was keeping them separated- that was preventing them from consuming their passion.

“Oh, please… we both know that death and the afterlife are so overrated…” She breathed in his hear, bite again his lobe; Daimon grunted, moaned, hiding his head in the crook of her neck; he kept licking and kissing and biting her skin there, while her small, perverted hands were making their way into his red leather trousers; she chuckled satisfied, lifting a perfect eyebrow, as her fingertips touched immediately his naked desire, not hidden by any other layer of clothes. “Should have known that the Son of Satan liked going commando…” She chuckled, his hair tickling her countenance.  

Her mischievous right hand was busy skimming over his underside, while with the other, and her heels, she did her best to divert him of the hindrance; as soon as they were at his knees, Daimon stood up, and in a hurry- and almost comically at times – he took them off, throwing them somewhere in the room; as he sat on his heels, he opened his bedside cabinet, and, with Chris leaning on her elbows, her head slightly lifted from the pillows, he started going through the drawers, until he announced that he had found his trophy with a “Ah, ah!” almost screamed, and a grin as huge as the sun. “I knew it was somewhere here!”

Chris shook her head and laughed- more because of disbelief than because the scene had anything even remotely comical- Daimon Hellstrom was the son of Satan, he was, like, lust incarnated, and yet, completely naked and with a willingly woman at his mercy, he could still think about birth control.

Keeping the vest, she unbuttoned her blouse, her breasts, caged by dark blue lace, in display for him; she bended over him, her lips a breath away from his own. “Let me.” She said as she took the condom from his hands; she opened the silver package, never breaking eye-contact with him, Daimon lifting an eyebrow, smirking.

“You know, there’s something very erotic about a woman putting a condom on her partner…” He chuckled, his hand pressing, heavy, against her inner thigh, still covered by her pants, leaving a burning imprint where he touched her. “Too bad you are still wearing so many clothes, Stark….”

“Then, why don’t you do something about it, Daimon?” She gasped against his ear as she rolled the condom upon his hard, maddening desire; his sex was burning under her touch, pulsing with blood and crude want for this woman he barely knew and didn’t know what to do about; she felt him tremble, gasping for air against her neck, and in her hand, his member swelled furthermore, filling the condom to the brim; she tried to circle his length with her palm, but failed miserably, and purred with desire against his neck- her mind suddenly filled with Triple-X rated images of herself giving head to the read-headed half-demon- something that, she didn’t doubt, had to be just glorious.

“Christ, Stark, drop it, or it will be over before I could do anything about you…”

Chuckling, she let it go of him, and crossed her wrists over her head, her spiked heels scratching the back of his legs; Daimon stood on his elbows, and watched her, enchanted; he caressed, smiling a little, sad smile, her cheek, and he kissed her on the lips, this time slowly, religiously, almost reverently, while with his free hand he unbuttoned her vest and parted her already undid shirt;  as he moved to her pants, both his hands went to caress and palm her hourglass figure, and his lips left her mouth and moved south; he took the helm of her bra cup between his teeth, and scratching lightly the milky skin of her chest, he freed that way first one, than the other breast.

“Mmmmm…” She purred; he chuckled, his clever hands opening her fly and lowering down her hips the black trousers, and he went for the killing, taking one rosy nipple in his mouth; he sucked the hard buts, first one then the other, releasing them with a loud pop; she gasped the whole time, breathless, one hand running through his hair, the other covering her mouth so she wouldn’t end up screaming like a virgin girl who had never known sex (and passion and abandon and lust) before.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He growled against the skin of her abdomen, his mouth and his tongue busy teasing her navel. “I want to hear you scream my name….”

“Ah….” She span her head round and round, her eyes semi-closed, her lids heavy with wild abandon as she followed his command; she kept her left hand in his hair, while her right traveled the length of her body, teasing her own skin, touching all the spots she had become accustomed to when pleasuring herself in the dark of her bedroom, late at night; she palmed a breast, caressed the skin wet with his saliva after his erotic kisses, and took her nipple between her fingers, teasing it, scratching with her pitch black  nails her own skin. “Mmmmm… Daimon….” She moaned, feeling against her covered leg his pulsing desire.

Hellstrom kept traveling the length of her body with his lips, and his decided to concentrate his efforts on the Celtic knot tattooed on her left hip.

“Uhm… a tribal tattoo… so damn sexy…..” He licked with his flat tongue the simple black drawing, the symbol of her own mystical heritage, then he open-mouthed kissed it, almost reverently, and after that, he left small love-bites around the tattoo, like to mark her furthermore; his hands were doing a pretty good job with her pants, and when he was done with the tattoo, he was done with the article of clothing as well, the black fabric somewhere in the room he couldn’t care any less about; she was still wearing the open shirt and vest, thought,  but with just a couple of sweep motions they were done with- teared apart,  just like her bra, that followed immediately afterwards.

“Ehy!” She gasped; grinning, Daimon sat on his heels, and lifted her, making her sitting in his lap; just wearing her panties, she could now feel his powerful erection in all its might, rubbing her panty-covered groin. “I liked that bra…” She moaned, kissing and biting the skin of his neck as kept worshipping her body; she held him with both hands, almost like she wanted for him to anchor her to that moment,  while one of Daimon’s hands was busy with her breasts- he had always been a breasts man, after all- while the other teased her sex through the fabric of her panties, a match to her now ruined bra.

“Uhm. You’re such a bad girl…  we’ve just gotten started and you are so wet… look at your panties, Stark… stained… dripping wet… for me.”  She gasped, as his hand moved from over her panties to underneath it, teasing her femininity; his digits stood there, on the edge, tapping her skin and yet never entering her sleek channel.

“Daimon… please…” She moaned, begged; it was so… strange. It wasn’t like she used to do things. She was a taking charge kind of woman, always taking what she wanted- money, technologies, business, secrets and yes, men and women and sex too; resuming kissing her lips, feeling her moaning and gasping around his mouth, Daimon chuckled, and answered her prayer; his thumb pressing against her clit, he entered with three fingers, abruptly,  into her, and stood still. “Ah…” She gasped, electricity running through her whole being as she felt herself approaching yet another orgasm.

“So bad… and yet so tight…” He moaned against her neck, his mind filled with pleasure, and ideas of what to do with her and how talking her into having many repeating performances in the foreseeable future; taking a deep breath, breathing each against the skin of the other, Daimon established a quick, steady rhythm, and started to masterfully finger-fuck Chris, his thumb always, always pressing on her clit;  he kept that up for a while, an agony each and every time his digits would leave her wet, warm, tight channel, Chris gripping his shoulders so strongly that she was drawing blood, until he felt her breathing and her heartbeat changing, felt her sex starting to spasm around his fingers, and with a satisfied smile, pearls of sweat framing her features, she came, in silence- and yet with the most perfect expression he had ever seen on a woman before, something he couldn’t wait to see again.

He removed his fingers from her body, allowing her body to fall back on the mattress, a dead weight, her back still arching from the pleasure he had just reserved her; she was purring like a satisfied kitten, skimming over his naked body with her fingertips and her small feet; leaning lazily on one elbow, he chuckled, and looking at her in the eyes, he slowly licked his own fingers, wiping them on his lips, tasting her pleasure for the first time- ambrosia for his taste buds.

“Delightful”, he simply said, smug and arrogant and so damn sexy. ”If you had any idea of the things that I’m planning for you, bearer…”

Smiling and laughing and carefree and just happy, erotically awakened by his actions, desiring to know exactly what the half-demon was planning to do with her, Chris jumped him, and kissed Daimon, smiling in the kiss as she tasted her own pleasure on his tongue; they kissed lazily for a short while, the half-demon never stopping to melt his lips with her own, not even while he removed her panties or her killer heels- killer because they had been hurting his back quite well since they’ve decided to bring the fun to the bed; she laid her head on his chest when he was doing abusing her lips, and tapped on his erection with a manicured fingernail.

“So, are you done with the foreplay? Because I need to get to the main show…” She asked him with her lips on his neck; Daimon closed his eyes, and moaned.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of some oral before the main dish… on you, of course.” Yes. He would have loved to have her lips wrapped around his cock but ehy, he was a gentleman- if it wasn’t something she was into, he wasn’t going to press the issue. “Unless it’s something you want to do?” He asked tentatively.

“Of course I do…” She moaned, smiling predatory, wantonly, foreseeing all the indecent acts she imagined herself performing with and for Daimon, the sex never been so carefree before, and for maybe the first time in her life something she didn’t perceived as dirty. “But first…”

She pushed him down, his back softly hitting the mattress, and then it was her time to cage him with her body; her hair like a curtain around his face, she kissed him as she lowered herself on his erection,  welcoming his giant tool into her core with sensual movements of her pelvis, making it very hard for him to resist the temptation of coming on the spot- he had resisted for far too long, concentrated as he was on giving her pleasure beyond her own imagination.

“Nice… I like how your mind works, Stark.” He chuckled, hands joined at the back of his head, his smile satisfied.

She kissed him, quickly, just one, two three small, teasing pecks, then, her hands massaging his shoulders, she sat, going in the cowgirl position; giggling like a girl, she kept scratching his skin, then, she took his hands in her owns, and guided them on her body, “talking” Daimon into gripping her ass; he immediately understood where she was going, and grinning and chuckling, never stopping to look at her face, waiting for the moment she would came again, this time for his cock, he helped her as she started to move, his cock filling her to the brim; their rhythm was a slow one- so much that it felt much more like making love than rather the savage fuck he had been intended of providing her with, and yet he wouldn’t have changed it for anything; he would never leave her body fully, the head of his penis would always remain in her, teasing her entrance.

“I’m so close….” He gasped as he felt the tell-tale sensation of an incoming orgasm; he was ready to erupt, end the show, and she wasn’t coming yet-and he needed for her to come around his cock; like she was reading his mind- something the telepath could have very well done- she grabbed her breasts, savagely, with her left hand, while the other went to press against her clit, Daimon’s palms squeezing her ass as, finally, he allowed himself to let it go, and emptied himself into the condom; tired, he considered closing his eyes, but, still inside her, he decided not to- because she hadn’t come yet, and he wanted to see her face transfigured by pleasure (his pleasure) yet again; his desire was soon granted, and, smiling and lighting like a little boy on Christmas- not that he knew anything about that- he felt her channel tightening around his shaft, and, as she gasped and moaned, trashing her head around, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, she did came, whispering his name to the wind, like it was a prayer.

His hands still on her ass, he lifted himself, Chris again in his lap, and kissed her, devoured her lips, until, both of them, spent after their intense sexual encounter, they both fell in bed on their backs, out of breath but satisfied and grinning like never before; trying her best to not to think, she stood there, her eyes focused on the canopy, her head resting against his chest.

Chris waited for the right time to make her usual move and leave, in classic Stark fashion; the cheap sheet on her sweaty, satisfied naked body, the fabric smooth on her bare skin, she didn’t lose any time and, too soon after they were finished, stretching her arms over her head, she left the bed; still naked, not bothered one tiny bit by her state of nudity, walking on tip-toes like she was a ballerina, she recovered what was left of her clothes, lifting them from the marble floor with her telekinesis; one arm stretched before her, the other at her side, a dark violet and red aura engulfed the fabric in the air, her eyes turning pitch black and fiery-hot as she gave new form to the unstable molecules of her attire.

Leaning on one elbow, Daimon looked at her with a lifted eyebrow. “Just for the record, I’m normally the one doing the disappearing act in the middle of the night. Gotta say, I’m feeling rather… used right now. Not sure I like it, hon.”

She chuckled. “Well, as I said, you are a better man than what you give yourself credit for.” As she rearranged the molecules right on her skin, the clothes appearing like magically- jeans and a simple shirt and a leather black jacket with the yellow “X” symbol on the shoulders, much more suited to the daytime -  she stood at the side of the bed, hands on her hips, an eyebrow lifted. “Whereas I’m a Stark at heart- billionaire genius extraordinaire, philanthropist, man-eater. So, trust me- that condom? It’s been as much for your own good as my own. And, by the way, thanks for having silenced the voices and the Endacrion for a while. Sometimes a telepath needs what a telepath gotta need.“

“And people always say such nice things about you…” He mocked her, devilish grin in place, never breaking eye-contact with the red-haired mutant.

“Ah! You shouldn’t listen to what people say about a woman who’s been a spy her whole life- unknowingly to them.” She chuckled. “Besides, sorry to disappoint you, but as good as the sex had been, I still have answers to seek and a billions dollar company to run. So, if you don’t mind…” She made to turn, but his voice stopped her, and she stood where she was.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked her, his voice deep and hoarse; Daimon freed himself from the sheet that was covering his naked body, and crawled over the bed to where she stood; grabbing her for her wrist, he pulled her back on the bed; when she fell,  her shirt rode furthermore up, leaving a part of her abdomen naked- Daimon ‘s orange eyes were now on level with her navel, and she mirrored his position. “Do you know what I like the most about you?”

That, I like- it just drives me crazy.” With a scorching fingertip, he scratched the skin over her Celtic knot tattoo on her left hip, partially left uncovered by her clothes, and run his tongue in her navel, erotically; her hair caressing his thighs, she covered her mouth when he repeated the motion, grinning against her skin, looking at her in the eyes- a tease she wasn’t sure she could resist. Daimon hadn’t touched her sex yet, and yet she feared that just this could make her scream, could make her cum there and then. He was good, way too good for his won good- and she didn’t know why the hell he needed such a decadent bed. It wasn’t like he needed to compensate- because he definitely didn’t have to.

“Ready for  round two, sweetheart?” He asked her as he sat on his heels, chuckling at the red-headed super-heroine; already out of breath, her cheeks rosy, Chris grabbed him for the neck, and lowered him on her petite body, making their lips collide once more in a nosy, wet and full of tongue kiss.

“Shout up and get back to work, Hellstrom….” She managed to say between kisses, her mind going numb as he grabbed her left breast forcefully through her blouse, sending a shiver through her whole being as she came yet again, the breath dying in her throat.

“Happy to oblige, hon.” He whispered against the skin of her neck, sucking her, marking her as his own, as he magicked her clothes away; it wasn’t like they were going to need them anytime soon, after all- not when he planned to tie her to his bed and have his way with her until she would have allowed him to. Besides, she got super-powers. And magic. It wasn’t like she couldn’t conjure something up, after all- something sexy and provocative, preferably. To show off just for himself, maybe. They had both been in the Hellfire Club, after all- and the Hellfire Club did have a peculiar… dress code. He wouldn’t have minded her as the Black Queen. Or maybe the White Queen- didn’t she and Emma Frost had some frenemy thing going on?

Oh, well- they would be thinking about that later. Now? Now he just wanted to concentrate on round two. And three. And Four. And in getting those marvelous bloody red lips of hers around his aching cock…