Sunday, August 31, 2014

Wicked Sathariel is Firstborn

Hellacious 3 coming to Changeling Press September 5th (or Friday somewhere in the world!)

Firstborn-Hellacious 3

Hell is no place for a human…unless they’re dead!

Wicked Sathariel, the eldest son of Satan, has finally met his match, and at the oddest of times, she turns up in his head. Accustomed to having his father and siblings rummage through his mind, he can’t handle his woman seeing his hellacious thoughts. And when it becomes clear she’s heaven bound – all hell breaks loose!

Lori Thornton’s psychic ability is new, and never one to control her temper or her mouth, she often finds herself in bizarre predicaments. One such event is meeting Satan’s first-born and calling him a pretty boy. When his eyes fill with hellfire and he releases horns, talons, and the long, leathery, forked tail that swings treacherously toward her, Lori knows her life is about to spin deliciously out of control.

Find Satan's triplets in Hellacious 1 & 2 - Irreverent, funny, and sexy as...HELL! 

Wicked remained a little annoyed about what she’d said about him on the beach the day Slick reacquainted himself with Marcia Carter. He lounged against his bar, keeping his hands in his pockets. “So I’m a freaking nutjob?”
He listened to the turmoil in Lori’s mind as she peered around his apartment, taking in the dark, masculine furniture, his guitar leaning against the amp by the tall mahogany stool he sat on when he played.
Unbelievable. “You play guitar?” She glanced at the wall between the loft’s two elevators. Brushing her fingers lightly over the strings, she asked, “Who painted the picture?” Lori caressed the neck of the instrument, sending a flare of passion to his crotch as he imagined her fingers squeezing his cock.
The Old Guitarist was his favorite painting and it is why he played. Wicked found it soothing to coerce sounds from it no one heard but him. He liked having total control over something in his life. “Unbelievable that I enjoy music?” He glanced at the painting. “It is a Picasso.” He shrugged. “Over the millennia I have gained some culture if only by osmosis, honey.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He strode to stand in front of her. “Tell me, sweet Lori, what did you mean?”
“It’s just…” Breath hitched noisily in her throat. “I didn’t think, oh hell, you know what I meant.”
“Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”
“I didn’t think the son of Lucifer would play an instrument, enjoy music and art, or -- or read a book.” She straightened her shoulders. “In fact, I didn’t think you’d be normal at all.”
“I am much more than the evil creature you believe me to be.”
Wicked hadn’t intended to kiss her so soon, he wanted Lori to get used to him. Eyes that rivaled his in their blueness stared at him. She ran a hand nervously through her neck-length blonde hair and her full lips quivered. The smell of her fear made him anxious, unsure. How could he make her understand he’d never, ever hurt her. “I’m going to kiss you.”
When she didn’t step back, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers. His hands were now clenched at his sides as he vowed not to touch any other part of her body. Wick knew her wide hips would be soft, her plump breasts would more than fill his palms, and her nipples, taut beneath her shirt, would be so damn sweet. Easing his tongue past her lips, he tasted her for the first time. His senses reeled at the exotic flavor of who she was. Her thoughts, her needs, tumbled headlong into his mind and blinded him with the light of goodness from her soul.
Snatching back, he gazed at her long and hard. “Hell’s sake, I didn’t expect you to be so fucking devout.” Especially knowing what she desired of him. No matter, he would take her tonight, make her his. He ran the tip of a finger around a bud. “Are they hard for me, Lori?”
“Wicked… I… please, don’t…”
“I will do nothing you have not dreamed of.”
“I didn’t realize you invaded my dreams.”
“I watched them.” He smiled. “I wanted your sleep to be peaceful.”
“You can do that?”
“I can do anything I want. I’ve been through your mind a hundred times since that first night.” Shoving hands back in his pockets so he wasn’t tempted to touch her again, he tilted his head. “You’ve been in mine also.” He still couldn’t fathom how that had happened. Probably his mother’s doing. “Have you seen anything terrible enough to condemn me for?” He felt her feeble attempt at reading him, but he’d closed that pathway for now aware another would only spring up. Damn Josette.
“No, but, unlike you, I haven’t seen everything. I know it’s there, I feel it.” She averted her eyes. “You are the devil.”
“I am his son.”
“Like father, like son.”
He moved to stare out the window of his loft. Lights shone brightly from the many high-rises surrounding his building. Looking up, he saw a myriad of stars, and one shot toward Earth in a solitary path. He remembered when he was a boy Josette told him shooting stars were angels falling to Earth. Wicked never believed it. They were pieces of dying planets or stars, nothing more. “Tell me what you feel right now?”
“I can’t.”
He turned to face her and rested his hips on the sill. “Yes, you can.”
“I want… damn it, Wicked, I want you.”
He grunted. “I know what you want, tell me something else, something I don’t know.”
“You know everything there is to know.”
“I don’t know why it took you so long to come to me.” He should have had her in his bed long ago.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve known since the first night we would be together.”
She stuttered, “I-I guess I did.”
“I scare you that much?”
He walked to her. “Yet you envision me between your thighs.” He ran a finger over her lips and sighed. “I don’t want you afraid, and I won’t take you that way.” His body shimmered in and out of view. “You will stay here.”
“Don’t leave me!”
“You can’t stand to be with me, but you don’t want to be without me.”
“Wicked, I need time.”
“You’ve had enough, but I’ll give you a little more.” He vanished, heading below to visit with his father. Relax, honey, you got what you wanted. For now.

J. Hali Steele
Growl and roar-it’s okay to let the beast out.

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