A challenge to propose.

Aaralon cleared his throat and locked eyes with this demoness. However, his attempt to gain some control over the situation was failing fast, the glittering amethyst surface belied the depth of those devouring eyes. A small glimmer of humor sparkled there and Aaralon found the courage to draw his gaze away to see her full, flawless face, inches from his.

She was smiling and it was dark and secretive, not malicious like Xaurian’s or stupid and earnest like Klarissa’s. Aaralon could not place it, whether it was the smile of a greedy enemy or otherwise. Not taking any chances he went with the former and slid to the side to gain some distance yet maintain his balance and dignity. Amalirel did not move to counter him but her smile widened and her pink tongue ran over her lips again.

“Ah, my dear Aaralon,” she said in a voice of liquid, that filled Aaralon’s head and loosed his mind from its moors. “You are wary of me.” With that she was inches before him again and touching his collarbone lightly. “But I’ve a challenge for you.”

At those words Aaralon became more aware again and spoke in a voice stronger than he thought he could summon at that particular moment. “Oh really, and what challenge is that?” His voice held a sharp note of skepticism and he silently praised himself for that. But his ears flushed red and his eyes darkened with malice when he heard what came next.

A deep, lusty laughter was escaping Amalirel and this filled Aaralon with black anger. “Why are you laughing?” he hissed.

The insulting laughter stopped sharply and Amalirel’s eyes rose to meet his and she leaned close to him, rising so that her lips may touch his as she spoke. “You speak to me like I am that **** of a succubus you own.” She chuckled darkly, slipping her gloves off, “You speak as if you had a choice in the matter.”

Her cunning fingers ran along his talisman and it burned to ash beneath her touch. Cut from his neck, the remains fell to the floor and shattered into dust, swept away in a breeze. Aaralon’s lips parted and he smothered a small cry of dismay as it rose to his throat. Despite the soundless cry Amalirel sensed his distress and laughed harder now, pulling away. Aaralon focused a gaze of poisonous daggers at this bewitching deviant. He wondered why they were suddenly eyelevel before he saw the velvet black wings that held her.

Hate roiled in his stomach and he began to channel that into a spell. “The last attempts of a **** mage,” said Amalirel, running a finger over her lips and then sliding it slowly into her mouth, relishing the taste of the vanquished talisman like it was some small treat.

Aaralon sucked in a breath and bellowed a powerful spell borne of the fire and passion of the loathing that he had controlled with in him. It hung in the air as if his very voice was caught in gales of wind and then fell to clatter on the ground, useless. Aaralon’s eyes widened and shone with wild panic now.

“I grow tired of playing petty games,” breathed Amalirel boorishly. She glided silently toward him again and ran her hands down his sides painfully slow. Aaralon remained still and tense, his mind racing. “Mmm,” she moaned slightly in that voice of liquid fire. Her lips were at his ear and the sound of her voice filled his head and it grew heavy and leaden.

Aaralon began to tremble but he steeled his eyes and remained focused. Her nimble fingers had now reached his hips and naval and began to caress in slow hypnotic movements. The sensation sent warmth through him, loosening his tense muscles and making him tremble. “You know not how lucky you are, naughty boy,” she purred, “I’ve watched you, you see.”

She bowed her head so that she may taste the flesh of his neck. “I’ve seen you play that naïve mortal with such skill.” Aaralon was suddenly strongly aware that her full breasts were pressing into his back, her hard nipples rubbing against him. “I’ve seen you show discipline with the succubus, Xaurian.” Amalirel reached one of her shapely legs around to link with his and she ran her foot along the inside of his leg, from ankle to thigh.

Aaralon closed his eyes and swallowed. When he opened them again he realized that he was no longer standing on the floor, but was hovering, held up by the demon. Her full, luscious lips were devouring his neck until he was raw with want. Her clever hands were feeding the fire that was growing in his increasingly hard cock. Aaralon’s steely eyes shot to the side and his lips curled into a smile. “It will take more than that, my black hearted vixen,” he said with a chuckle.

He felt her teeth sink into his flesh and her throat, pressed against him, vibrate with moans. Her body tightened and her tits chafed against his back, through the silk and lace material of her halter-top. Her leg tightened around his and her hips twisted against him. Aaralon began to pant, his heart racing, not sure what was happening and becoming more and more aroused, Aaralon was only slightly aware of the blood seeping out of his neck. Amalirel’s velvet wings beat smoothly and in two quick swoops she had brought them both to Aaralon’s bed.

She twisted around and before Aaralon could regain orientation, she was on top his body, writhing like a snake, twisting, and biting. Her moans were intoxicating, making his head spin like he had taken a drought of heavy wine. Aaralon decided, in an act that he deemed the only rational thing to do, to play along. He reached up and grabbed her by the wrists, twisting around. It was almost too easy. She was beneath him now and their hips were grinding forcefully. Both sets of eyes were dark, shining with a strength of steel and stone, both feral animals dead set on whittling the other down first… Until Amalirel began to laugh again.