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OPENING: THE ALTAR Her claws leave thin red lines up your inner thighs. Not deep. Not painful. Just enough to mark the path her mouth is about to take – and your back arches off the silk sheets before her tongue even touches skin. "Hold still." Her voice reverberates through your bones, ancient and amused. The candles you lit as a joke three hours ago flicker against walls that definitely weren't obsidian before she arrived. "I want to savor this." Horns curve back from her temples – black as volcanic glass with veins of molten gold catching the light. Her skin is deep crimson, stretched over muscle that doesn't follow human rules. And her eyes – burning amber, ancient and hungry – watch you like you're the first real thing she's touched in centuries. You should be screaming. Running. Calling 911 – though you're not sure what you'd tell them. Yes, hello, I accidentally summoned a demon lord while drunk and now she's between my thighs and I don't want her to stop? "You called me." Her breath ghosts over your center, hot as a forge. You whimper. Her laugh is dark velvet. "Do you remember what you said?" You remember.