 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
Demon Obsessions: Seventh Night
Born of a succubus and fathered by a man, Rurik will do anything to be a true demon and be
accepted in the lower reaches of Hell. When his mother comes to him on the seventh night—the
night when all demons fly to the living world to wreak havoc—he is excited about his assignment
to defile a woman. He goes forth with high hopes, having been taught how to seduce and anxious
to test his training. But when he catches sight of a beautiful woman suffering a nightmare in her
bed, he is easily distracted. Her pliant body responds to his tempting touch. Her mind allows him
in. He finds himself wanting her instead of the woman he has been assigned to defile.
Born of a succubus and fathered by a man, Rurik will do anything to be a true demon and be
accepted in the lower reaches of Hell. When his mother comes to him on the seventh night—the
night when all demons fly to the living world to wreak havoc—he is excited about his assignment
to defile a woman. He goes forth with high hopes, having been taught how to seduce and anxious
to test his training. But when he catches sight of a beautiful woman suffering a nightmare in her
bed, he is easily distracted. Her pliant body responds to his tempting touch. Her mind allows him
in. He finds himself wanting her instead of the woman he has been assigned to defile.
| Dark Fantasy Erotic Romance Demon |
Available in E-book
formats at:
AmiraPress.com
ISBN: 978-1-934475-98-0
formats at:
AmiraPress.com
ISBN: 978-1-934475-98-0
Excerpt
He glanced at himself in the looking glass by his mother’s bed. Human, he thought, abhorring his natural
form. With the will of his demonic side, wings pushed their way from his back, searing him with exquisite
pain. They were followed by the pointed tail he used to play with as a child. Horns sprouted from his
temples, straight, gray, and pointed at their tips. He smiled, pleased, but this transformation lacked the
full effect. His face remained unmarred, handsome in its own right and human. Rurik spread his great
black and purple wings, ran and leapt over the railing, flying through the heat of Hell, and riding the
updrafts toward the light.
The brilliant luminance of the living proved a struggle to pass through. His wings fought the cold brought
on by the portal. Other demons’ bodies collided with his. Claws clipped his skin. Cackles of panic and
cruelty rent the airless passage. Rurik closed his eyes and focused on the object of his mission, Durbin. A
convent. Abbess. He had no clear concept of what the place looked like, but such trivial details did not
matter.
Never had he coupled. The thought intrigued him, awakening his body to a fire that warded off the cold
of passing through. When the chill left him, he opened his eyes to the dark night sky. The moon on this
side bled orange, not as bold as how she showed from the high reaches of Hell. Stars glittered. Misty
clouds blurred his vision. He watched the shadowy countryside below. Rows of crops lined the surface in
patches. Here and there small houses cornered the lots, but he did not feel they were what he sought.
He breathed deep and tasted the scent of incense in the air. Incense and melting wax, the scent of a holy
place, perfumes his mother described often when she relayed the sordid details of how she begot her
only son. A cross rose from a steeple-topped building. Rurik dipped. He passed through a closed window,
his demonic body slipping through solid mass as if it were ethereal.
The scent of living souls overwhelmed him. His mouth watered to taste them. So many women resided
in this wing of the building that he heard their thoughts as a cacophony of musical lilting voices. He
gripped the edge of a doorway and closed them off from his mind one by one. He gazed into the room
by which he stood. A woman slept there, her gold hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes
rolled beneath their lids. “She dreams,” he said before stepping closer to inspect. He climbed atop her
small bed and lay on her body, slipping past the rough coverlet and sheet until his nakedness pressed
against her clothed form. She was warm. He ran his lips across hers. They were softer than anything he’d
ever touched. She exhaled, and her sweet breath caused him to tremble.
Rurik sent out his essence, reaching into her mind. Her dream centered on a pale man with black hair
and deep-set blue eyes. This man stood before her, his hands in hers, a smile parting his lips. She wanted
this man in carnal ways. She parted his clothes from his body until they stood naked together.
The half-demon liked this dream. He reached down to pull the woman’s nightdress up. She wore nothing
underneath. He explored with his fingertips, learning the shape of her sex, influencing her fantasy and
pushing into the moist folds between her legs. She whimpered.
The man she dreamed of moved away and Rurik took his place, shaped as he was in his true form.
Startled, the woman stepped backward in the mist of the dream, but he took hold of her wrist in the
night vision and thrust a finger inside her tightness in the waking world.
Her soul reached for him, and he suckled on its sweet flavor so much like the scent of fresh rain when it
poured through the portal to Hell. He drank of the ambrosia in deep gulps. Never had he tasted
something so decadent. His thumb brushed the firm flesh above her entrance. She writhed, moaning in
her sleep, trapped by him in her dream and impaled upon his finger in her bed.
His cock stiffened, ready to perform. He wanted her, needed to force his way inside her and know the
pleasures of the flesh. His mother’s recounting of coupling flooded his thoughts and entered the woman’s
dreams, allowing her the same knowledge. She bucked against his invading finger. Her breasts crushed
into his chest, her nipples firm.
“Your name?” he asked in the night vision. “Tell me your name.”
“Abigail,” she answered across his lips.
“Are you the abbess?”
“No.”
He sighed and sat back, removing his finger from her body. Reaching down, he slicked the wetness over
his lips so as not to waste it. Afterward, he suckled it from his finger and wondered what it would be like
to bury his face between her legs and taste more of her.
She squirmed on the bed. Hands tried to find him. “Please,” she begged.
He glanced at himself in the looking glass by his mother’s bed. Human, he thought, abhorring his natural
form. With the will of his demonic side, wings pushed their way from his back, searing him with exquisite
pain. They were followed by the pointed tail he used to play with as a child. Horns sprouted from his
temples, straight, gray, and pointed at their tips. He smiled, pleased, but this transformation lacked the
full effect. His face remained unmarred, handsome in its own right and human. Rurik spread his great
black and purple wings, ran and leapt over the railing, flying through the heat of Hell, and riding the
updrafts toward the light.
The brilliant luminance of the living proved a struggle to pass through. His wings fought the cold brought
on by the portal. Other demons’ bodies collided with his. Claws clipped his skin. Cackles of panic and
cruelty rent the airless passage. Rurik closed his eyes and focused on the object of his mission, Durbin. A
convent. Abbess. He had no clear concept of what the place looked like, but such trivial details did not
matter.
Never had he coupled. The thought intrigued him, awakening his body to a fire that warded off the cold
of passing through. When the chill left him, he opened his eyes to the dark night sky. The moon on this
side bled orange, not as bold as how she showed from the high reaches of Hell. Stars glittered. Misty
clouds blurred his vision. He watched the shadowy countryside below. Rows of crops lined the surface in
patches. Here and there small houses cornered the lots, but he did not feel they were what he sought.
He breathed deep and tasted the scent of incense in the air. Incense and melting wax, the scent of a holy
place, perfumes his mother described often when she relayed the sordid details of how she begot her
only son. A cross rose from a steeple-topped building. Rurik dipped. He passed through a closed window,
his demonic body slipping through solid mass as if it were ethereal.
The scent of living souls overwhelmed him. His mouth watered to taste them. So many women resided
in this wing of the building that he heard their thoughts as a cacophony of musical lilting voices. He
gripped the edge of a doorway and closed them off from his mind one by one. He gazed into the room
by which he stood. A woman slept there, her gold hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes
rolled beneath their lids. “She dreams,” he said before stepping closer to inspect. He climbed atop her
small bed and lay on her body, slipping past the rough coverlet and sheet until his nakedness pressed
against her clothed form. She was warm. He ran his lips across hers. They were softer than anything he’d
ever touched. She exhaled, and her sweet breath caused him to tremble.
Rurik sent out his essence, reaching into her mind. Her dream centered on a pale man with black hair
and deep-set blue eyes. This man stood before her, his hands in hers, a smile parting his lips. She wanted
this man in carnal ways. She parted his clothes from his body until they stood naked together.
The half-demon liked this dream. He reached down to pull the woman’s nightdress up. She wore nothing
underneath. He explored with his fingertips, learning the shape of her sex, influencing her fantasy and
pushing into the moist folds between her legs. She whimpered.
The man she dreamed of moved away and Rurik took his place, shaped as he was in his true form.
Startled, the woman stepped backward in the mist of the dream, but he took hold of her wrist in the
night vision and thrust a finger inside her tightness in the waking world.
Her soul reached for him, and he suckled on its sweet flavor so much like the scent of fresh rain when it
poured through the portal to Hell. He drank of the ambrosia in deep gulps. Never had he tasted
something so decadent. His thumb brushed the firm flesh above her entrance. She writhed, moaning in
her sleep, trapped by him in her dream and impaled upon his finger in her bed.
His cock stiffened, ready to perform. He wanted her, needed to force his way inside her and know the
pleasures of the flesh. His mother’s recounting of coupling flooded his thoughts and entered the woman’s
dreams, allowing her the same knowledge. She bucked against his invading finger. Her breasts crushed
into his chest, her nipples firm.
“Your name?” he asked in the night vision. “Tell me your name.”
“Abigail,” she answered across his lips.
“Are you the abbess?”
“No.”
He sighed and sat back, removing his finger from her body. Reaching down, he slicked the wetness over
his lips so as not to waste it. Afterward, he suckled it from his finger and wondered what it would be like
to bury his face between her legs and taste more of her.
She squirmed on the bed. Hands tried to find him. “Please,” she begged.
AmiraPress.com
ISBN-13: 978-1935348337
ISBN-13: 978-1935348337
