Demon Angel

protested. "One of Lucifer's demons must be president of the university."
    He grinned. "I actually think it was the result of the media attention. There are several news vans parked outside."
    "You put this in the 'good' category?"
    "Yes. It will be difficult for the nosferatu to attack us if we are under constant public surveillance—and if anything happens to one of my students, we'll likely know right away. And without my presence at the university, there will be less danger of my students there being targeted, though there is still a core group of DemonSlayer players."
    "DemonSlayer—Lucifer focuses on them not just because of your relationship to the players, but because he finds the game offensive," she realized. "Its source bears my name instead of his." Lifting her head, she moved forward slightly and nipped at his earlobe. "Now: real good news. I want it."
    He shifted beneath her, ran his hands up the length of her spine. She heard the smile in his voice. "Taylor and Preston are aware Smith and the nosferatu are corrupting the investigations in some way and may even be responsible for the murders."
    "But they have little evidence," Lilith guessed.
    "Very little."
    She waited, then planted her elbows on either side of his head and rose up to look at him. Her hair fell forward like a curtain in front of her eyes, and she impatiently pushed it away. "That's it?"
    "I was waiting for your contribution," he said. Gathering her hair at her nape, he traced his fingertips over the bare skin beneath.
    She desperately tried to think of something. His lips were so close to hers. "I still have my job."
    "With Beelzebub as your superior, that is indeed an advantage," he said dryly.
    "This is what we have?" She lowered her forehead to his and smiled when she felt his breath quicken. "We are lost."
    "And neither of us has ever proved a successful guide for the other," he said with self-deprecating humor. She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth; his body tightened beneath hers, and his hands moved to her shoulders. "Shall we simply try to hack our way through the nest?"
    "We lack swords, and I'm no martyr."
    "We could throw books; I have plenty."
    "Now who's delving into absurdities?" She licked his jaw; his unshaven skin was rough beneath her tongue.
    "I've never thought clearly with you sitting atop me." In a smooth movement, he rolled and pinned her beneath him, his hips wedged between her thighs.
    Laughing, she hooked her ankle behind his knee, pulled with her leg and twisted her torso. She straddled him again, but her laughter died. His eyes were arrested on her face, and the wealth of emotion in his expression made her chest ache.
    "You are still strong, Lilith." She looked away, but he captured her chin, brought her gaze back to his. "Not as you once were, perhaps, but still strong. Not as fast, but quick enough. You have not lost the skills behind the demon's powers. And your psychic abilities are gone, but you have two millennia's experience reading faces, body language."
    She dipped her head, but couldn't contain her sad smile. Though his Fall had been voluntary, he must know exactly how she felt. "And my cache?"
    His mouth twisted with wry humor. "Pockets are a wonderful invention." His knee rose, nudged her back as if to draw attention to his olive cargo pants.
    "Which are appallingly empty; I would kill for a rubber," she said, and meant it. Smoothing her hands against his chest, she absorbed his deep rumbling laugh through her skin, and felt an echoing rumble in her stomach. "I'm hungry," she realized, with a touch of wonder.
    His gaze dropped to the spread of her thighs over his abdomen. "I am, too," he said gruffly, and heat shot through her.
    "I'm more than willing to wait—" Her stomach growled again, loudly.
    He gave a shout of laughter, and laced his fingers through hers. His muscles flexed beneath her legs as he sat up, the motion bringing his face close to hers, her bottom seated firmly over his erection. "You haven't eaten in two thousand years; I'll feed you first."
    "Hugh—" she moaned softly as he scooted forward to the edge of the bed, her sex tight against the hardness of his cock, sliding over his thick length with each movement.
    "I cannot think when you are on me," he repeated, his laughter strained now.
    She caught his laugh in her mouth; it was a promise, this kiss, though it remained unspoken—all of her promises and bargains and wagers had been made with her tongue, but