Synopsis

She was a succubus, a female demon who could take any form and whose sole purpose was to seduce human males and then to steal their souls.

Andrew was deeply religious, with no sexual experience other than his own fantasies. He was saving the physical side of any relationship until after he was married. He was pure.

Of course he was unable to resist her. Of course he fell under her spell. And of course he was going to lose his soul. Or was he? There was something about him that was different, and Pathrusim, the irresistible succubus, found herself with as much as she could handle – and more. And that was without the intervention of his equally beautiful and irresistible Guardian Angel.

Sex was the answer, and yet it was also the question. Sex, in all its many flavours and varieties was natural for Pathrusim and, surprisingly and despite his previous abstinence, an activity at which Andrew excelled and, even more surprisingly, about which his Guardian Angel seemed quite enthusiastic. Love, however, was totally alien to Pathrusim, but the part that Andrew’s true love and his virtue would play in the complex relationship, was to take her down a path she would never have considered possible.

EXCERPT

“I’m a succubus,” she said simply, her body continuing to writhe slowly against
his groin even as her arms held him fast, seeming to need affection as much as
sex at this point.  “I need to have sex.  I need it the way you need food.”



“What do you mean?” he asked.  He squeezed her a little tighter, giving in to
an impulse of... affection?  She moaned softly, her body pausing in its
undulations and the flow from her eyes increasing, though her shoulders stilled
their shaking.  He looked at her closely.



You need more than sex, don’t you?  The thought came to him suddenly.  Even if
you can’t admit it...



“I feed off sexual energy,” she explained.  Her eyes grew distant.  “Back in
ancient times, my kind would seduce people while they slept.  There was so
much... sexual repression.”  She paused, as if savoring the phrase, seeming to
find the thought of denied sexual release as delightful as a beaver would find
the damning up of a stream to form a formidable lake.  “It was easy to find a
young knight or a maiden to seduce.”  She sighed, lost in pleasant nostalgia. 
“Make them come... make them cry... then make them come again.  I remember one
boy, freshly knighted, so sweet... so innocent...”  She shivered, gave a little
shake, and her gaze grew clearer, less distant, as she pulled herself back to
the unhappy present.



“Ever since the sexual revolution, though,” she continued, bitterly, “people
stopped associating sex with guilt.  Fewer innocents, and they were either more
trouble than they were worth or they corrupted too easily... just waiting for
the chance to join their peers in carnal oblivion...”  Her words trailed off,
her tears stopped, though judging by the death grip she had on his arms, she
obviously wanted - needed - Andrew to keep holding her tight.



“Why can’t you simply sell yourself on the street?” he asked.  At her sudden
tensing, he added hastily, “or be a really expensive call girl?”



She sighed again.  “It has to be an innocent.  I have to seduce my victims, or
it’s no good.  I need a Mahatma Ghandi, not a Joe Stalin.”



He mulled this over.  “Do I need to be corrupted for you to be fed?” he
asked.



She shook her head, smiling a little.  “No.  You just have to be pure of heart.
 The purer, the better.”



“Would I still have been able to feed you, once I was damned to hell?”  Andrew
grilled her, struck by the new information even as he continued to hold her
tightly.  She twisted around in his arms, wrapping herself around him, kissing
his neck.  He moaned quietly, and allowed her to continue her words and
seduction, though his arms remained as strong and comforting as ever.



Her lips brushed his ear in a feathery soft caress.  “Let you in on a little
secret.”



Andrew moaned louder, an incoherent noise of encouragement, urging her to share
the secret.



No one goes to hell without a contract,” she said, then licked his lobe. 
Andrew made another noise, half ecstatic, half befuddled.



“Hell is for demons, not mortals.  You mortals don’t go to hell unless you
actually sign a contract.  After that,” she said breathlessly, in between kisses
and licks, “no further work is needed.  You go to hell as stipulated in the
contract, not because he sends you there.”



“So...”  Andrew was finding it hard to think, the blood once more being stolen
by the usurper.  “Once I signed the contract, you’d have stopped corrupting
me?”



She moaned in acknowledgement, undulating against him, her arms and legs
suddenly wrapping tightly around him in imitation of his own embrace, less
sexual than intimate.



“But you just agreed to stop corrupting me,” he pointed out.



“Because I’m going to make you want to come to hell with me, now.”  She
groaned, just before her lips fastened onto his throat and introduced him to the
delights of the hickey.  He cried out at the intense suction, as paralyzed by
the gesture as if she had been a vampire with teeth sinking in.  She lifted her
head.  “I’ll make you choose to stay with me for all eternity, rather than
resume the cycle of death and rebirth.”  She wriggled, adding for the sake of
clarity, “or eventual ascent to heaven.  Though that’s not as common as you
Christians think.  More of a Buddhist rate of occurrence.”



She looked up into his eyes, her face streaked with tears, yet because her
perfection was magical rather than cosmetic, she still looked as beautiful as
ever, no mascara running down her face.  “Kiss me,” she said.  Not demanding,
not begging.  A simple request... simply fulfilled.  He kissed her.



And then, he kissed her again.  Rolling on top of her, he pinned her down.  No
doubt she allowed him to pin her down, as she lay there looking submissive and
helpless.  She moaned as his lips moved down to her throat, and then she gasped,
holding his head fast.