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Hellbound

Summary:

Unable to shake off the demons, particularly a devil, of her past, Fortune becomes aware that her anguish is bleeding over to her current deal and dalliance with Raphael.

Once and for all, she confronts this with the devil she knows better. After a much needed amendment to their agreement, she seals her fate.

Inspired by the songs A Pearl, and Shame.

Words: 5379

Relationships: Raphael x OC/Raphael x Tav

Date of Original Publication (AO3): January 25, 2023

Tags/Warnings: Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulative Relationship, Age Difference, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Deal with a Devil, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Relationship(s), Trauma, Moving On (Fortune is traumatized by a former love interest), Angst and Porn, Angst, Smut, Fear Play, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Face-Fucking, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Fingering, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Rimming, Fluff (if you squint hard enough) Praise Kink, Master/Servant, Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex, Aftercare, Not Beta Read

Author's Notes:

A direct continuation to A Devilish Distraction.

More of Raphael and Fortune because this damn devil has me on a chokehold. I went into a spiral listening to Mitski, and I coped with it by writing this. Welp.

I'm still hoping that we get NPCs as patrons for warlocks in the game, like Auntie Ethel for an archfey patron, or Raphael for a fiend patron. Fortune would be a Pact of the Talisman warlock if that option gets into the game. I know warlocks get pact boons at third level in tabletop D&D, but I took some liberties and had Raphael forge her talisman right after their agreement.

Love, hunger, possessions, wealth, influence, knowledge, power, pleasure- there’s always something that everyone is enslaved by, from the simplest of creatures, to the most powerful beings in the multiverse.

To Fortune’s shame, she had been a slave to her desires. She wants a partner in crime, for someone who will stand by her, for someone who will love her even after seeing all the ugly and twisted parts of her psyche, and it cost her the freedom she took for granted.

From the moment she had lighted the candle the night she wagered her soul for a stranger she stupidly claimed to have loved, she already knew she was damned. The flames flickered and illuminated her visage from below, and in the mirror, she can see herself surrounded by darkness; it was how she imagined hell look like, and later, the foolish girl found out that it was far worse than that.

True to her name, she’s fortunate enough to have evaded the Hells the first time. Then came her defeat at the hands of those who were to be her quarry. That should have been the end for her.

The wheel of fortune turns, and she finds herself free from her prison, only for her to squander that freedom again.

All because she’s still a slave to her desires.

The bastard Raphael left a mark on her, after their sin in his king-sized bed- not a mere love bite, but his goddamn initial, in Infernal script, branded onto her skin. It still ached when she woke up, and the curse the let out upon seeing it when she looked in the mirror reverberated through the walls of Raphael’s home.

Now she’s truly damned.

Then again, was she ever free?

Does true freedom even exist?

Raphael manipulating her into a contract didn’t stop her from seeking him out for a distraction from what haunts her. Fortune was bent over hardwood and used like a whore, then read to like a child, and still, she cannot fall asleep, or put the past behind her.

On the other hand, Raphael had already dozed off, his hands slack around the book. His wings are wrapped around the two of them in an embrace guaranteed to warm Fortune up even in the coldest of nights. The tiefling didn’t even know cambions can do that with their wings.

In his slumber, Fortune observes him. In his slumber, he looks at peace. In his slumber, he is vulnerable.

One flick of the rogue’s wrist and that throat would be gaping and spraying with his devil blood.

Instead, Fortune found herself caressing his cheek, and leaving a feather-light kiss on his horned forehead.

True to her nature as a rogue, Fortune moved in silence, careful not to wake her lover up, slipping past his arms and dodging his leathery wings. She puts the book on the table, leaving the bookmark where they stopped, and leaves his study. With muffled footsteps, she treads back to the bed chambers provided to her.

As soon as the doors behind her click shut, the tears started falling.

Everything is all coming back to her; the way Thatcher, or Kairon, broke her damned heart. Fortune is certain Raphael will break it even further.

It started with Thatcher plying her with wine. Devils and their bloody wine.

Before she learned of his true nature, she had mistaken him for another elven noble who wanted to try what lying with a tiefling felt like. In hindsight, him making a remark about wondering how it would feel like to be in her skin should’ve given it away.

A lot has transpired since then, from watching him dragged to the hells due to someone else tampering with his gift meant for her before she can get to it, to losing her mother to a lycanthrope attack and watching her father be cursed with the affliction. It made her desperate to keep the people in her life.

It made her desperate enough to beg Asmodeus to give Thatcher, or rather, Kairon back. Later, it made her desperate enough to embrace her mother’s copy, but that’s a story for another day.

Fortune should have seen the figurative knife coming. Even after wagering her soul for him like that, and after showing his true nature which he loathed so much that he built Thatcher to mask it, he didn’t trust her.

Devils don’t trust.

But Thatcher twisted the knife way too far when he disguised himself as Hoard, sullied his own name to the party, and tried to convince Fortune not to kill those strangers in Asmodeus’ name, just to test their reaction. Of course, Fortune would lie to her father about not wanting to kill those strangers Asmodeus tasked her to eliminate. They’re strangers, and Fortune isn’t that selfless. But learning of the truth that his daughter would be a remorseless killer would break her daddy’s heart.

So, she lied.

Still disguised as her father, Thatcher kissed her forehead, then revealed himself a few moments later, furious at the perceived betrayal.

Devils and their bloody schemes.

The most heartbreaking part is, if Thatcher hadn’t betrayed them, if he had stayed with Fortune, they would have had a fighting chance to take down their quarry. Perhaps they’d have fulfilled their contract with Asmodeus, and earned their freedom.

Instead, Fortune revealed her hand and didn’t even fight back.

Overcame with guilt and despair, the rogue committed suicide by proxy by letting her prey take her down, taking blow after blow until her body collapses, and her minotaur companion, her oldest friend, takes her away, and watches as hellfire claims her.

Poor Villian. He didn’t deserve to see me like that.

Fortune could already feel in her bones that another bloody catastrophe will unfold with Raphael.

Devils are always so tempting at the start. But in the end? All they bring is ruin. One cambion already ruined her. Now she’s letting another one damn her further.

Fortune is certain that Raphael doesn’t trust her either. She’s certain that whatever affection or fondness she has for him won’t change him, just like it didn’t change Thatcher. She’s certain that down the road, Raphael will gut her, just like Thatcher did.

Even worse, she and Raphael consummated their lust.

Fortune is certain that she will never be able to erase what he felt like, what he smelled like, and what he tasted like from her memory.

The rogue was being deceitful when she told the devil that the stress that comes from minding her compatriots is what drove her to seek him out.

Fortune wanted him one last time before the chase begins.

In a hurry, she begins to dress. She had intended to leave through the window, and disappear into the night. Blinking away tears, she puts on her stockings and adjusts the hemline of her skirt. As she puts on her boot, she felt a searing hand on her shoulder.

“My dear, I’m offended that you’d spurn my offer of a bedchamber in my house for a bedroll in the dirt, after I’ve treated you so well too,” he starts, voice hard.

“Wait, Raphael I-”

The words cease from flowing out her mouth as Raphael whirls her around and pushes her against the wall, pinning her under his weight. Forcefully, he burns her lips with a kiss, tongue invading the wet cavern of her mouth. Gooseflesh ripples through Fortune’s body, and she felt her knees buckle under his touch.

“Do I have to remind you of what you agreed to, Fortune?” the devil asks as he gasped for air. “Or do I have to remind you again with a lesson? I grow tired of this; you test my patience-”

Instead of letting passion overrule her better judgment again, Fortune wriggles away, palming at his chest. “No!”

Raphael tries to catch her, but she takes a misty step away from him, panting, tears in her eyes.

“I can’t take it, I can’t! I don’t want your touch right now. I want you to stop touching me,” Fortune wails, voice breaking. “I want you to stay there and listen. You said you’ll give me anything I want, yes? Failing to do so is a breach of contract, so stay put.”

This girl is far too clever, too quick-witted than what he gave her credit for, and Raphael isn’t sure if he should be furious, or proud. The cambion stops short of moving or talking, seeing how doing so would result in him breaking the contract. No devil worth his salt would incur the punishment of Asmodeus’ ruby rod over such an error.

“You truly are a descendant of Glasya. Go ahead, use every loophole you can find, but few walk away from me in violation of a deal, Fortune. Remember that.”

Fortune takes a steadying breath and clears her throat. “Let me explain, just, give me a damn moment.”

“Take all the time you need, we have all night,” Raphael replies, crossing his arms.

Sighing, Fortune takes a seat by the open window, eyes closed as she tries to calm herself. Raphael sat across her, on the bed. In any other circumstance, Raphael would have been relishing at the sight of his clients like this: vulnerable and easily plied. For some bloody reason, he can’t find in himself to celebrate seeing the tiefling lady like this.

This girl really is growing on me.

The cambion’s eyes are trained on her as she began to speak.

“I was lying, I’m getting along well with my compatriots. There was something else haunting me. Remember that whole affair with Asmodeus’ bastard son? It left me scarred, in more ways than one. It left me slow to trust, and yet it also left me desiring to be trusted. I want someone who trusts me. And you devils, I know you’re incapable of such a thing. I don’t think you can fulfill this contract, under these circumstances. If I were cruel, I’d say that I want you to do that for me, and watch you burn as you fail.”

Fortune is right, and that makes Raphael wince. Devils don’t trust.

“But I can’t afford to be cruel right now. I know that I might need you later. And I-“ Fortune hesitates, biting her tongue, then she screws her eyes shut, as if saying the next words physically hurts, “For some bloody reason, I’ve grown fond of you. I still want you. Gods, I want you so much…”

Now that, Raphael did not expect her to say out loud. Still, he gives no reaction, and lets her continue.

“I don’t think I can fulfill my end of the bargain, as well. Oh, bloody hells, I’m not even sure what being yours mean, Raphael! Do you expect me to stay here and sit on my hands while the tadpole eats away at my brain? Is that what you meant in making me yours, by treating me as some kept woman you provide shelter and support to in exchange for my companionship? Is-is it my soul that I wagered to you? You can’t even have that if I lose it to the tadpole- gods! This is far too complicated… The point is, we’re doomed to violate it, one way or another, and you of all people should know that. Isn’t there a way out of this, or at least a way to amend the deal?”

Raphael had been pondering about voiding the deal. Now, there’s an opportunity to do so, but Raphael is not a fool to just let this woman go. To his delight, she had given him an opportunity to make it work in his favor.

The devil produces the written copy of their contract from thin air. “We can agree to render this contract void… as if the deal never happened. However, reverting has its consequences. How would you propose I give back the intangible things you wanted that I provided, Fortune? Like a night of passion, or a request to listen?”

No answer can come out of the tiefling’s mouth. She shakes her head.

Raphael continues. “I admit, I’m also starting to grow fond of you in my way, so I am extending my mercy. For both our sakes, we can agree to amend it with a new one, to balance the books.”

A long, tired sigh pushes past Fortune’s lips. “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

Fortune’s hand itches to slap that smile off of Raphael’s face, but she kept her hands to herself.

“Now that we’re both in a situation that allows for clearer thinking, unlike the last one…” Raphael begins, harkening back to the circumstances of their first agreement, the memory of burying himself deep inside of Fortune making him lick his lips. “Let’s discuss the stipulations of this new agreement.”

“Name your terms. What makes me yours? What exactly do you want from me?”

The devil’s clawed, long fingers stroke Fortune’s chin, and he leers at her. “I want to own your body,” he purrs into her ear, voice low and seductive. One hand squeezes her hip, and it slowly inches to her behind. “To use it for whatever I desire, my dear.”

“Human, elf, or devil, you men are all alike,” Fortune spits, sneering.

“Are we now? Or is it your dark, sensuous charms that captivates and enthralls a man, regardless of his origins? But I digress- Now name your terms. Tell me something that you want.”

“Now hold on a minute, owning my body could mean several things,” Fortune snaps, placing her palms on his chest. “It could mean that you can use me as a means to sate your sexual appetite. You can use to it bear your children. You could use it to fight a battle. Hell, it could even mean that you own the tadpole in my head, as it is technically inside of my body right now. Reword it.”

Raphael laughs and squeezes her. “This is what I love and hate about you, sweet cherry. You always see beyond what’s in front of you, always reading between the lines, always attempting to think a few steps ahead…”

“I can’t afford myself to be short-sighted anymore, and you know that.”

“Indeed, my dear. Fine, let me rephrase.” Raphael pauses to kiss her neck. “I am the only creature allowed to gain carnal knowledge from you. I am the only one allowed to kiss you, hold you, taste you, know you, and violate you like this. In the works of the flesh, I am your only master,” he near-whispers into her skin, taking in her scent as he did.

“Exclusivity? Are you getting attached now?” Fortune asks, slightly amused at the notion. “Don’t you have countless mistresses who can attend to your needs better than a rogue on the run for a cure to an illithid infection, Raphael?”

A gasp pushes past the tiefling’s hips as her cambion lover grinds his hips against her. Underneath the layers of cloth that separate them, he’s already hard as rock, and pulsing against her thigh.

“As you can see, you’re the only one who can elicit such a reaction from me even before you touch me, little cherry,” Raphael growls.

Truth be told, Fortune is flattered to be this desired, after feeling unwanted from Thatcher’s betrayal. The tiefling leans into him, heat pooling into the pit of her belly.

“Now, name your terms, so we can seal the deal.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Fortune thinks, thoroughly. She needs to make this worth it; being a cambion’s consort and bedmate is too steep of a price for something that won’t be of much use to her. All the nobles that sought out dalliances with her in her youth gave her the same material things Raphael had provided. Even without a noble financing her, riches, she can earn with her own hands, and influence, she can earn with her own tongue. What can Raphael offer that she cannot achieve with her own means? What can Raphael offer that other nobles she had the displeasure of knowing can’t?

Fortune recalls his halfling servant, Korrilla Hearthflame, and how effortlessly she wielded her borrowed magic. The only magic Fortune knew are spells that supplement her roguish activities.

Fortune could use some of Raphael’s magic. Fortune could use more power.

“Make me your warlock. It even ties in with your original intent of using my body- turn me into a vessel of your power.”

The devil’s laughter booms. At this point, Fortune might as well offer herself on a silver platter.

At the same time, Raphael cannot wait to see just how this little vixen will use her gifts.

“My dear, it’s a deal.”

Back in his study, Raphael drafts the contract as Fortune looms over his shoulder.

Watching a devil produce a contract out of thin air is a sight that will remain in Fortune’s memories until her last days. In gold ink, the terms of their contract appear on the document. This time, Fortune carefully reads every single word.

Satisfied, she dips the feather in the inkwell, and signs her name over the dotted line. Raphael follows shortly, and the contract dematerializes. Pain sears Fortune’s neck as the brand on her skin glows, signifying that the deal is sealed. Magic surges through her veins, arcane and eldritch powers coursing through her, and she nearly stumbles. Raphael catches her, steadying her feet.

“Couldn’t we just have made a toast to seal it instead of this?” she asks Raphael, an unamused expression on her features. Raphael presses a thumb against the mark. Fortune sucks air through her teeth at the feeling of the touch.

“Don’t you think branding you is more… thematically appropriate, consider the nature of our deal?”

“You devils and your whimsical nonsense,” she groans. To that remark, Raphael snickers.

The devil’s palm glow with hellfire, and an intricate, golden amulet with a blood-red gem embedded in the center materializes. It dangles on a delicate, golden chain. As the metal cools, he unfastens the chain, and puts the necklace around Fortune’s neck.

“There, another gift. A symbol of our deal, and a useful tool in your endeavors. Use your new gifts wisely, Fortune.”

“I intend to make you proud,” she half teases, half declares.

“Ah, speaking of whimsy, there is something new I wish to try tonight. I’m certain that what I have in store will help you bury the memory of that damn Thatcher. First, let’s pick up where we left off…”

With that, his lips descend upon the tiefling’s. This time, she readily accepts him, pushing back the memories that haunt her as she lived in the moment, tasting her lover’s intoxicating tongue, inhaling his heady perfume and musk, and feeling his muscles under his night shirt.

Smoke rises around them, and they are transported to Raphael’s bedroom. The doors to the balcony are left open, the wind making the fog dissipate, and the curtains sway and dance.

Breaking the kiss, Raphael strips himself, and Fortune watches his muscles shift and move with grace. Then, he proceeds to undo her clothing, until both are bare in each other’s presence.

Lifting her up, Raphael groans as his lover wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. With his tail, he pulls a drawer open from his nightstand, and retrieves a fresh flask of that lubricating concoction they used on the first night they lay with each other.

Still carrying Fortune in his arms, he walks to the balcony, and sets her to sit on the railing. The crisp night air makes his member retract slightly, but he’ll warm up soon enough. He pulls away from Fortune, and sees the hesitation in her eyes.

“Worry not my dear. I’ll hold you.”

“On the balcony?!” Fortune blurts out, looking over her shoulder. “What if someone sees us?”

“Let them see,” he moans into her ear, and nips at it.

Kisses mixed with bites and scrapes of sharp teeth mark Fortune’s neck, and any attempts to keep quiet in fear of a passerby hearing fail. Deft fingers pluck, roll, and pull at the hardening cherries on her bosom, cold to Raphael’s touch due to her exposure. Her devil beau’s warm, sinister tongue brushes over the brand on her neck and Fortune curses, the pain and pleasure making her head spin.

Gods, Fortune is almost in her mid-thirties, but with a gentleman like Raphael? She feels inexperienced, and way younger than she should.

She leans back, momentarily forgetting that she’s perched on a railing, and fear jolts into her body, much to Raphael’s fiendish delight. He laughs at her reaction, and she knits her eyebrows together.

“Bastard,” she hisses, cheeks burning in embarrassment and arousal.

Raphael smirks, then firmly holds her with one arm as the other snakes between her legs. His tail brings over the bottle of lubrication, and he pours it all over Fortune’s already glistening sex, thoroughly wetting her until her tender flesh offers no resistance to his claws.

Obsidian eyes saw stars, literally and figuratively, as Fortune throws her head back. Raphael had three fingers lodged between her folds, his pinky inside that tight ring of muscle hidden between the cheeks of her derriere, and his thumb on her clitoris, circling the sensitive cluster of nerves as his fingers teased her. Fortune’s tail curls around his arm.

Raphael went to work. His lips latched on to a tit as he pleasured her. Fortune’s hands flew to his horns to steady herself, feeling the delicious, agonizing stretch of having both of her entrances filled and toyed with.

“My dear girl,” Raphael grunts, taking a break from suckling her breast. “Seeing you like this, I am unsure if I wrote my clause for my benefit, or yours.” Then, he went back to being busy with his mouth, his devilish tongue flicking and circling her hard nipples.

Fortune offers no reply, unable to form words from the intensity of the pleasure she felt. The telltale twitch of her hips lets her lover know that she’s close.

“Now, come for me,” Raphael growls against her breast, then he bites down, her maroon nipple pinched between his teeth, and his ministrations becoming aggressive as cruel as he teased chased that orgasm from her.

A submissive, sexual slave at heart, Fortune spasms around his hand at the command, the sound of his voice pushing her to her release. The devil’s name is upon her lips like a zealot’s pleas, a string of saliva connecting her lips together.

Slick with her release and the salve, Raphael withdraws his hand from between her legs, and he allows her to recover, head pressed against his chest as she breathed heavily. Then, he tilts her chin up, and shoves his forefinger and middle finger in her mouth. Fortune tastes the slightly sweet salve mingling with her own tang.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes Fortune moan against his digits. Raphael’s free hand stroked her head, watching with delighted arousal as her obsidian eyes flutter shut. She licks his fingers clean.

“You love your master’s praise? You want more?”

Fortune nods a few times, eager to please.

“Then you’ll have to earn more.”

Without being prompted, she hops of the railing to kneel before him. A leer spreads across the devil’s mouth as the tiefling grips his member and runs her tongue from the base to the tip.

“Such a good girl you are, learning how your master prefers to be pleasured in such little time…”

With her talented mouth, Fortune bathes him with her saliva, then gets busy suckling the heavy flesh that hangs below his length as she strokes him with her hand, ending it with a wet, lewd pop. Inch by inch, Fortune takes him in until his head tickles the back of her throat, and his dark hair tickles her nose. Eyes watering from exertion, she blinks the tears away and starts to bob her head.

Raphael’s eyes are fixated on his lover, watching her every move with a lascivious expression on his fiendish features. His hands clamp around her horns, and he proceeds to use them as handles as he thrusted his hips.

“Perfect,” he hisses, eyes drinking in the sight of her helpless and at his mercy.

The rogue maintains eye contact as she skillfully pleasured her master, taking all of him in as much as she can, letting him use her mouth. Her hands reach under his manhood to fondle him, squeezing him as he took her.

The devil’s hips twitching, he pulls her away from him, saliva stringing from her mouth to the angry, deep red tip. Fortune gives it one last suck, tongue fluttering against the underside.

“Enough. Bend over the railing, right now.”

The gruff, nearly guttural tone of Raphael’s command makes all of the hair on Fortune’s body stand on end.

“Yes master,” she whimpers as she does as she is told.

An embarrassed squeak bubbles up from the tiefling’s throat as she felt his warm tongue skirting around her back entrance, the ring of muscle quivering as it slid around it. Her tail stands erect in the air, twitching and vibrating like a happy, affectionate feline’s.

“I- that’s- isn’t that- oh! Fuck, Raphael what are you- oh gods,” Fortune babbles, no longer coherent once again. She hates and loves how he manages to rob her of her words every damn time.

The new sensation made Fortune lose herself to the pleasure, wild cherry eyes screwing shut and a look of labored pleasure upon her visage as Raphael licks, sucks, and kisses around the area. It all feels so taboo, and that factor just adds to the tiefling’s exhilaration.

Satisfied with his work, Raphael withdraws his face from between the apples of his lover’s cheeks. He wipes his mouth. With the snap of his fingers, the mess is gone, his mouth and hands clean. Then, with his strength, the cambion dangles half of her body over the balcony, her hips crushed against the cool marble railing. Without the need to tease her due to her already dripping snatch, Raphael slides right inside of her, past her folds, taking her like a bitch once again.

The position makes Fortune panic.

“Oh gods, Raphael, I’ll fall-“

“Shhhh,” he soothes her, holding her firmly. “I will never let you fall. I’m right here…”

Fortune screws her eyes shut, hands planting themselves to the railing as Raphael moves inside her, flesh slapping against flesh.

“Tonight, I am your master, and I’ll leave no holes unfilled once again,” he growls, the tiefling’s messy curls tickling his nose and chin. “You’re mine, and all of you are mine to please myself with and violate, do you understand?”

“Yes, master!” Fortune cries, voice quavering.

The angle of Raphael’s penetration hits Fortune in all of the right places, his head brushing against that spongy cluster of nerves that sends jolts of pleasure radiating through the tiefling’s sinful body. Opening her eyes, she sees the pavement down below, and fear mingles with her pleasure further, breaking her.

Shamelessly, her moan echoed into the night, the howling wind masking it. Her lover reaches one hand around her to massage her clitoris as she rode her release on his length, coming all over him.

As Fortune recovers from her high, Raphael takes the bottle of that lubricating concoction once again, and he douses her backside with it, spreading the lubrication all over her flesh, ensuring that it covers and slickens her hole. Then, he withdraws his hard, hot length from her womanhood, coats that with the lubricant too, and gives It a few pumps.

“Yes, master, please, your cock in my ass,” she begs, and the filthy language makes Raphael twitch. “Please, please, please, I need it!“

As the head pushes past her entrance, Fortune pushes back on it, eager to have her hole suck him inside of her, tail twitching in anticipation once again. The eagerness he displays makes Raphael chuckle, amused that she had grown to love and crave the feeling of being sodomized by him. Not a lot of his mistresses were open to this treatment. Some found it degrading, or violating. Perhaps it is, and Fortune is among the few who sought it out and begged to be degraded and violated.

Fortune felt ashamed of having such desires. However, in the presence of a devil like Raphael, there is no moralistic judgment against them.

What’s for certain, however, is damnation. For dealing with the devil, for consorting with the devil, for surrendering to the devil, Fortune is hellbound.

Raphael slides half of his length in and out a few times, watching with perverse satisfaction as her entrance stretches and shrinks, an obscene pop punctuating each motion. He teases the ring with his head in between penetrating her, basking in her moans and little sounds of enjoyment as he debased her. Finally, he stops teasing. He grabs her hips, dangles her over the edge once again, and pounds her properly, burying himself to the hilt.

The tiefling rogue’s pert breasts bounced and shook as her lover took her, her hands scrambling for purchase on anything she can grab. Thankfully, Raphael bends down to kiss her head, and she uses that opportunity to cling onto his horns. Fortune’s tail snakes around his thigh, clinging on for dear life. This earned her his amusement, and he laughs into her ear at her display of fear.

“Our activities are much more pleasurable when you’re reeling in fear,” he purrs, voice dripping with evil intent. “Are you afraid, Fortune? Scared I might let you fall?”

“Y-yes,” she chokes, breathing hard and fast from the fear of falling to her death, and being pounded mercilessly by a devil.

Raphael’s strong wings curl around their bodies, shielding most of Fortune’s body from the wind, and any onlookers that might be watching. Above all, it felt like a safety net.

“Embrace It, my cherry. Fear and pleasure are two sides of the same coin,” the devil purrs, grunting and groaning as he pumps inside of her.

The pressure starts to build at the base of Raphael’s spine, the pent-up frustration making his tail lash back and forth involuntarily. He had been holding his release for quite a while now.

“I’m close,” he growls. His hand moves to wrap itself around Fortune’s torso. “Join me. Come for me, cherry, come for me…”

One had letting go of his horn to stroke herself, Fortune did her best to follow the command, grunted over and over into her ear. Soon, her release is imminent.

“Raphael, master, I’m coming, I’m coming- yes!“

A deep, guttural groan almost deafens her as she felt his warm seed spill into her in spurts. Fortune cries and moans as she rode out her second climax with Raphael’s, hips twitching and tail shaking around his thigh.

The wind tousles their hair, howling with them.

The devil brings his lover back to safety, pulling her into his arms, and into his warm room. With a soft thud, Fortune finds herself on his bed. Then, Raphael closes the doors to the balcony.

“Stay,” he commands, but his voice is soft, almost taking a nurturing quality to it. The tiefling lays in silence for a brief moment, watching the shadows of the curtains dance.

The devil comes back with warm water and a washcloth, even when both of them could just prestidigitate the evidence of their lovemaking away.

Fortune does not question it.

With care and tenderness unbecoming of a devil, Raphael cleans her up, running the wet cloth on her skin. Mind still hazy from pleasure and fear, the tiefling sits in silent confusion, feeling like a small child being tended to. The rational part of her brain reminds her not to trust any tenderness from a cambion. However, her body, her senses, and her most primal desires crave more of these petty affections.

Once he is satisfied with his work, he lays next to her, and pulls her to his chest, covering her with the duvet to her waist. His wings, sprawling on the king-sized, curl around their bodies, further covering his lover from the cold.

Fortune does not question it.

Instead, unprompted, she whispers.

“I love you.”

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 raphael #baldur's gate raphael #raphael baldur's gate #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x oc #raphael x tav #fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfic

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adarlingwrites · 1 year

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The Devil’s Hour

Summary:

Raphael, half-fiend noble, indulges the rogue Fortune to a late, epicurean supper. After discussions, diatribes, twists, and turns, the tiefling agrees to stay the night in the cambion’s home, and she gets more than what she bargained for when she meets him by the devil’s hour.

Words: 16117

Relationships: Raphael x OC/Raphael x Tav

Warnings: Adult content, alcohol, arguments, seduction, manipulation

Author's Notes:

Hello, welcome! There’s not enough Raphael content, so I decided to write my own. Goodness. At least it broke my writer’s block and dry spell.

I tried to capture the character’s essence and psychology with what little information is available on him from Early Access and his datamined voice lines, plus the lore D&D has on devils and cambions, so bear with me. I ran a mile with an inch, so this fic is full of subjectivities, some information might be off, or the characters might not act as some would expect. I might revisit this story once the full game is released if new lore about our favorite cambion surfaces.

This fic doubles as some exposition for my character’, Fortune. She’s my first D&D character, and the events in the first campaign she participated in would make for a great prelude for her involvement in BG3 and would shape her interactions with Raphael.

Heed the warnings, there's problematic content in this fic. I hope you all enjoy this self-indulgent filth.

The fire crackles at the hearth, and moonlight pours from the balcony, the wide windows allowing enough of it to cast a soft glow on everything it touches. Chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, the lit candles providing more ambient lighting in the dim dining room.

Hors d’oeuvres and canapés are spread across a rectangular dinner table. A guest is seated in the middle of it, and nurses a cocktail garnished with a red cherry in her hand. However, she made no moves to touch the food, as the master of the house is nowhere to be seen yet.

Instead, her black eyes are fixated on the painting on the wall, the one that depicts him.

She remembers her father’s words, spoken to her in the summer of her youth.

“Art goes beyond brushstrokes and color, my little cherry. One must consider things such as composition, anatomy, lighting- even the character of the subject, whether it's sentient or inanimate. An image is worth a thousand words. What message do you wish to portray Fortune? There’s always one in a painting.”

Though the tiefling’s expression remains impassive, the tail betrays her wrath.

WIth paintings depicting noblemen, the meaning is often: I can own you.

In another time, she might’ve created such a painting.

In another time, she might’ve stolen it.

The irony of being the one who used to create masterpieces and becoming the one who takes them wasn’t lost on her.

Painting was an honest living, powerful people recognized the tiefling artist’s skill for it, and nobles had no limit to their vanity, so she couldn’t complain, even when said nobles treat her as an oddity, and as an eccentric plaything they pay with glittering gold and favors to depict them in the most flattering manner.

The tiefling rogue is almost certain that her host will do the same with her. But it’s not her prowess with the brush that he seeks.

From experience, most nobles and monarchs treated those beneath them in three ways: as disposable tools, as sources of entertainment, or as food to play with. The particularly callous ones saw her as all three. Only a devil could be more callous.

Those are two groups of people she loathed the most.

Unfortunately for Fortune, Raphael happens to be both.

Not again, she thinks to herself.

The feeling of deja vu vanishes as she steels her resolve.

I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Won’t I?

The heady scent of cherries, musk, and a hint of sulfur permeate the air. Fortune caught a whiff of that smell the first time she and her host met, and it only means one thing.

Raphael has arrived.

“Hello, Miss Fortune,” a baritone voice, smooth and sensual, says from behind. Fortune flinches, but doesn’t stir from her seat.

She always disliked being referred to as Miss due to the unfortunate pun that the honorific brings.

“Raphael. A pleasant evening to you.”

“I hope I didn’t make you wait too long. I had an urgent appointment with a client, you see.”

“Not at all. I understand that business comes first. You’ve been the most gracious host.”

“You are too kind.”

Niceties. Is there even a point, when you’re speaking to a devil?

The cambion strides to the seat opposing hers, and takes his place, infernal wings fluttering as he sank into the chair. He gives her one of his smarmy smiles, horned head tilting to one side ever so slightly.

A servant arrived to serve an apéritif to complement their first course. The cork pops, and sparkling champagne pours into Raphael’s wine flute. As the servant pours Fortune hers, she makes conversation with the host.

“I’m grateful you were able to make some time for me,” Fortune quips, fluttering her eyelashes.

She knew how to play this game, as much as she hated participating.

“Dining with a beautiful woman- and a potential client- is always a delight.”

The game is on indeed.

Ah yes, the demeanor of a slimy, cunning businessman, Fortune thinks to herself. Her shapely, delicate fingers play with a lock of hair. “Oh? You flatter me, Raphael. I only asked for a chat, and you invited me for a meal.”

“A gesture of goodwill, seeing how abrupt our last meeting had ended.”

Because you kidnapped us from camp then dropped us off right after you gloated, you bastard.

Raphael continues, gesturing to the dining table with his hand. “In fact, I’ve had the servants prepare us a wonderful twelve-course meal.”

“Oh my,” Fortune exclaims, and she gives him a coquettish smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The tiefling’s mind wanders back to the tiefling refugees, her kin. She thinks of Zevlor, and those under his care, especially the children. If there was anyone who deserved to have their bellies filled, it was them. Not a bastard like Raphael.

Nor a bitch like me.

Then again, all the food she ate from monarchs and noblemen were of the same nature back when she painted for them.

This cambion, however, is a different beast.

Fortune’s appetite wanes. All this food is the fruit of Raphael’s deceptive and exploitative contracts, no doubt.

She thinks of how much everything around her is worth in gold; the furniture, the fine clothes Raphael is wearing, his perfume, the drink, the food–

Raphael is showing off.

There is no way the both of them could finish all of the foodstuffs on the table, even if Fortune had her father’s appetite, and Raphael was a large, physically imposing man underneath the fine clothing. That’s not even taking into account Raphael’s tall horns and majestic wings. Fortune is already petite as it was, standing only at five feet and three inches without counting the horns. Next to the cambion, she’s diminutive. A doll.

It’s an ostentatious display of wealth.

It’s a demonstration of power.

And men like Raphael certainly loved flaunting theirs.

Servants arrive with washbasins for them to clean their hands in. They clean up, and the meal begins at last.

Raphael takes a piece of finger food, crusty bread topped with ripe cherry tomatoes and goat cheese. The tiefling held her breath as he took a bite, sharp teeth piercing the succulent tomato. A stray thought wandered into Fortune’s mind.

How lovely it would be if he bit into me.

Distracting herself from the improper and intrusive thoughts, the tiefling gets over her apprehension to eat from a noble’s hand and reaches for the same appetizer that Raphael took. The medley of the crunch of the bread paired with the juicy tomato and the soft cheese is something to be savored. Fortune found herself genuinely smiling for the first time.

Then, she went for the seafood: fresh oysters on a bed of ice, seasoned with a squeeze of lemon. The briny taste of the sea is upon her tongue, and for a moment, she’s back in her hometown, tottering along the coast, hand-in-hand with mother and father.

Fortune yearns for them briefly, then pushes the nostalgia aside.

Raphael’s hellfire eyes were trained on her mouth as she tasted a little bit of everything. Her lips are painted black as always, now shimmering from the food’s juices. The devil’s mind began to wander as he drank in the scene of the beauty before him indulging herself.

No doubt there must be a sensual image in that devilish mind of his, but the tiefling is far too busy enjoying herself to care.

Fortune breaks the charged silence.

“It’s a fine selection.”

The cambion grins. “That’s merely a taste of what is yet to come, my dear.”

A promise of danger rings true in his voice, and the tiefling coughs into a napkin.

“I see that you’ve changed your furniture,” Fortune comments, straying away from the previous subject. “The first visit I had here, we had supper on a grand, circular table.”

“Indeed. When I heard you were coming alone, my little cherry, I instructed my servants to swap it out with this one.”

Did he just call me his little cherry?

Fortune would have known if someone tried to detect her thoughts. It might be just a coincidence.

Of all the nicknames you can call me… why my childhood nickname?

Raphael continues. “It’s much more suited for an… intimate dining experience.”

The bastard’s hellfire eyes are half-lidded and burning into her.

The tiefling, harlot par extraordinaire in her youth, was once again a blushing virgin whose breasts barely sprouted from her chest in his presence.

In a moment of self-consciousness, Fortune thinks of how she appears to the cambion. His servants provided her with a black, off-shoulder evening gown to wear, embroidered with red roses and adorned with gold trim. Instead of wearing her hair loose as usual, she braided two sections on either side of her face, and secured them together at the back of her head with a pin. She wore roses in her hair, like she would in her youth. Her jewelry remains the same, a gold ring adorning her lower lip, and several earrings on her left ear, with two delicate chains connecting to a decorative piece on the end of one of her horns.

Fortune is the image of loveliness, one non-planetouched humanoids would call exotic, and it had been quite a while since she felt lovely.

The way Raphael is looking at her makes her feel ravishing.

No, I won’t fall for his seduction.

“It is indeed more personal to dine together like this.”

A servant arrives with the second course, a delicate amuse-bouche, smoked salmon and caviar canapé. Fortune notes that she’s been served seafood twice in a row, but she had no complaints. In fact, she enjoyed it, being a native of the great port-city of Lyrabar.

The cambion takes a sip of champagne from his glass. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here just to make observations about my decor. State your business, dear.”

“On the contrary, I didn’t come here for business.”

“Oh?”

Black cherry eyes meet hellfire ones with a sultry gaze.

“This visit is for pleasure.”

The planes of Raphael’s face shift subtly, betraying a lascivious smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth for a brief moment.

“And, pray tell, what manner of pleasure do you seek?”

“The pleasure of a good conversation."

Raphael chortles. “Is that all?”

“We’ll see. I’d like to know you better, before we make any commitments or agree to any contracts.”

“You are a discerning one even in desperation, Miss Fortune.”

The tiefling narrows her eyes. “Who says I’m desperate?”

Their interaction is interrupted by the servants coming to serve the next course.

For the third course, soup, a servant wheels in a large pot. First, he pours them a rich white chardonnay. Then, he serves his master his bowl. However, Fortune’s is served in a hollowed-out loaf with the remaining bread and butter on the side. The mouthwatering aroma wafted to Fortune’s face.

A satisfied sigh found its way out of Fortune’s lips as she ate her first spoonful. She found bits of shrimp, scallop, and clam… her favorite things to put in her seafood stew. The delicate, creamy broth coats the inside of her mouth like a warm embrace.

The dish is a tavern staple in Impiltur, one she grew up with.

Fortune begins to suspect that Raphael is intentionally serving her dishes that allude to her origins. Her paranoia grows.

She must’ve made a face to earn her a snicker from Raphael.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“It’s been a long time since I had this dish.”

“Is that so? So you’ve been to Impiltur.”

“Yes I-”

Fortune held back before she sussed out anything personal to him.

“I’m surprised that such a dish would find itself at a nobleman’s table. It’s a tavern staple there.”

Realizing this could be perceived as an insult, the tiefling freezes at her perceived faux pas. Raphael must’ve seen the shift in her demeanor, and he laughs to ease the tension.

“It has quite the refined and rich taste despite its reputation. Then again, Impiltur used to be more refined. The build of the palaces there are splendid, aren't they? It’s a shame such a powerful nation lost its influence over the years, its gleaming cities a shadow of its former glory. Although, its burgeoning economy makes it a great place to trade. I’ve made several visits to the capital, Lyrabar.”

Suspicion continues to simmer in Fortune’s gut. Raphael bringing up her home city can’t be a coincidence.

How much does he know about me?

“Indeed. It had its fair share of trouble, but I heard the Impilturians were nothing but self-sacrificing and charitable. They’re recovering.”

The tiefling didn’t know what to make of the look the cambion across her gave her after her response.

All of a sudden, Raphael’s voice is hard and dismissive.

“A land of fools.”

No doubt he’s trying to elicit a reaction from me. Stay calm, Fortune.

“I suppose those virtues are lost on a devil.”

“Such virtues won’t keep us fed, my dear.”

“Oh, don’t mistake my remark for derision. It’s a mere observation. People in high places keep themselves secure by forgoing such virtues.” A more recent memory comes into Fortune’s mind and her tone shifts to that of disdain. “Historically, the monarchy and nobility act in self-interest to secure their power and safety.”

Now Raphael’s engaged, his previously languid posture straightening.

“Ah, history and politics, two of my favorite things to discuss at the dinner table.”

It’s now time for the entree, the fourth course.

The cambion and the tiefling could barely notice a servant bringing a whole, steaming mushroom quiche. The servant serves them both a piece as they continue to converse, and pours them more wine.

Fortune shares her opinion. “Understandably, Impiltur is now seen as less influential in comparison to its wealthier neighbors due to the numerous tragedies that struck it, and the absence of a monarchy. However, I think the latter is for the better.”

Now Raphael’s tail thrashes back and forth, eager to pick the tiefling’s brain apart. “Intriguing. How so?”

“Even though the royalty that ruled Impiltur were often described as heroic in their defense of the nation, and the Impilturians’ national identity are described as self-sacrificial, monarchs as a class will choose self-preservation in the end. Knights prioritized protecting them while the common folk were terrorized by fiends. No offense.”

“None taken. Ah, let’s have the entree before we continue. This is a dish best served hot, dear.”

Fortune digs in. The earthy, nutty taste of the mushrooms was a break from the taste of the sea, grounding her from being carried away by the tides of her memory.

Raphael took sips of his wine, and continued their discourse.

“You see, Miss Fortune, at my core, I’m a businessman. I understand your… plight against the monarchy, and I see many wonderful opportunities that their absence brings for business, but let me play devil’s advocate for a moment, little cherry. The demise of King Imbrar II, followed by two more tragedies, led to the end of the royal bloodline and the rule of lords of the Great Council. As you’ve said, the loss of a monarchy led to the loss of its influence. The King is the most important piece in lanceboard, for good reason. Say what you will about the monarchy’s interests, but the presence of a king alone can shift the tide of power and affect trade and relations. A figurehead, or the lack one thereof, can mold the morale of the people as well. Tell me again how is the lack of a monarchy a boon for your nation?”

Fortune rolls her eyes, rebuttal ready. “Unlike an imaginary game of lanceboard, a real nation can govern itself without a king just fine. The people’s taxes, including those from businessmen like you,” Fortune stresses, in an attempt to appeal to his sensibilities, “are better off being used to pave roads or provide aid to those who need it than to pay for some spoiled prince’s meals. Oh, but the Great Council is not any better either. Inept nobles. They relegated the welfare of the destitute to priests and do-gooders while they line their coffers. It’s the common folks' efforts that are helping restore Impiltur’s prestige, not theirs. And the Constabulary can’t even keep the crime down, what good are they then?”

“Well put, my dear. But you are wrong about one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Everything is a game.”

Fortune scoffs and leans back to her chair.

“For devils and businessmen, perhaps.”

“Oh come now, naivety doesn’t suit you. Ah but back to the topic at hand…” Raphael pauses to pick up his glass and take a sip. “I suppose the lack of a monarchy, an inept council, and an incompetent constabulary is an advantage for a rogue like you, is it not, oh Red Rose of Lyrabar?”

The knowing grin Raphael gives her made Fortune’s gut twist.

Silverware clatters to the ground. Fortune had let go of her fork, stunned. A servant comes to pick it up and replace it. A smug smile stretched across the cambion’s lips, and he steepled his fingers under his chin. No doubt he’s basking in the tiefling’s stunned expression.

Oh shit. I’m supposed to be the one sniffing out secrets and lies, thought Fortune. What have I gotten myself into?

Raphael regards the bewitching creature before him, hellfire eyes drinking in her form, and thoroughly enjoying her unnerved expression.

He thinks back to the day he introduced himself.

This band of destitute, tadpole-infected souls were of interest to him, and so, he dug up what he could about them.

The tadpole aside, nearly all of the ill-favored souls he invited for supper are motivated by greed: the Blade of Frontiers got too greedy for power, hence his own deal with a devil. The young githyanki warrior is greedy for her queen’s approval. The wizard got too greedy for knowledge. The vampire spawn is greedy for blood and freedom.

Greed is a virtue Raphael admired, but it was quite the common one.

That leaves the most enigmatic members of the group: a Sharran half-elf cleric, and their de facto leader, that vixen of a tiefling. Going by her deity’s reputation, Raphael could easily guess the cleric’s motivations, but the tiefling?

Fortune is a mystery that he would love to unwrap.

And unwrap her, he did.

But there are more layers to be peeled back.

Fortune smiles to mask her nerves. “I haven’t heard that moniker in many summers.”

“So it is true! I knew there was a reason why you had taken such an interest in my painting,” Raphael exclaims, clapping his hands together.

“You noticed me staring, hm?” the tiefling asks, hoping that her coquettish remarks are enough to hide her unease.

“On every occasion.”

“Well played, devil. Well played.”

Perhaps Raphael’s fascination with the tiefling is as simple as the calling of flesh.

Black waves framed her face, and a single stubborn lock of hair sticks out from her widow’s peak, dangling over her forehead. Her eyebrows had a distinct shape to them, the hairs extending above her brow, giving the impression of a battle-axe’s blade. Notably, the end of her tail is of the same shape, but it doesn’t possess a sharp edge. A delicate, button nose complements her high cheekbones. The tiefling’s lips drew attention; she possesses lips with a well-defined bow, and the gold ring that adorns her lower lip creates an illusion of more plumpness.

Fortune is a luscious little cherry, her red skin appealing to the eyes, and the tongue. And speaking of eyes, even her eyes were reminiscent of the wild black cherry.

Raphael finds himself drawn into its deep, sensuous void.

But there’s more to it than physical beauty. Raphael knew he could easily find that, with his power, and his own devilish charm. A thousand mistresses Raphael does have, but the thought of breeding with a tiefling woman to secure his bloodline did not cross his mind until now. There’s a sharpness to her, an edge fawning girls who fell for his charms and machinations lack. Her potential for power is something he would love to explore. She just needs a push in the right direction…

Whispers and gossip go a long way. If her other exploits prove to be true, she’d make a worthy wife to him too.

A fox and a vixen. Now, aren’t we quite the pair?

In another time, Raphael would’ve courted her to be his blushing bride. But for now, he’s courting her for the power that lurks beneath her skull.

She opens her mouth to speak and Raphael pauses his ruminations.

“The moment you referred to Impiltur as my nation, I had a feeling you know more about than you let on,” Fortune comments as she reaches for her wine.

“And I expected you to catch on earlier, cherry.”

“I’ve had my suspicions that you were alluding to my origins when I was served seafood twice in a row. I didn’t want to make that obvious, though.”

“You see beyond what’s presented to you. Good.”

“There’s always a deeper meaning to things. Only a fool would take anything at face value.”

“Wise words, Miss Fortune.”

As they spoke, a servant served the fifth course: salad. In between the exchange, Fortune bites into forkfuls of endives, cherry tomatoes, pears, and goat cheese. The servants pour them more chardonnay. Both of them made quick work of the dish.

The soiled dishes are taken away, and the sixth course arrives, fish. The servants cart in servings of salmon steak with roasted tomatoes and garlic drizzled with olive oil are served on the side to provide variety.

Fortune eyes the meal in suspicion.

First Raphael served seafood and an Impilturian tavern dish to allude to her origins. Now she’s being served the meal she enjoyed with her parents whenever the shop sells an expensive painting…

If the next dish is the same one as the one she suspects, she’s in trouble.

“Now where were we? Ah, yes, the Red Rose of Lyrabar. Infamous larcenist, a vixen notorious for targeting the monarchy’s and the nobility’s priceless works of art. I heard she never got caught. Impressive.”

Fortune raises her eyebrow at the praise.

“It would seem the rumors are true. Now here she is, in the flesh,” Raphael’s voice drops a few octaves, as if uttering a secret, “and dining with a noble.”

The tiefling laughs and makes a mockery of a curtsy.

“It seems like a lifetime ago, but I’m pleased that my legacy still lives to this day, and has reached you, oh most esteemed man of the house.”

Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and Raphael chuckles in amusement.

They carry on with their meal, and Raphael carries on with the conversation. “So, what do you think so far, my dear? Will I be having a brand new signature on a contract soon?”

“Hm. It would be a lie to say that I find you trustworthy. You’re one of the few who managed to uncover my secret identity. Now you know two of my secrets. I continue to talk about myself, but you barely gave anything away about you, and we’re already halfway through the meal.”

“Tsk tsk, you’re not as observant as I thought.”

“Oh trust me, I’ve been processing some observations… And it would be unwise to reveal my hand, for now.”

A hint of mockery taints Raphael’s voice. “And I almost thought you didn’t know how to play.”

“You see Raphael, I come from a family of guild artisans. Painters to be exact, but we’re also merchants. We try to be as discerning and discreet in business as possible,” she pauses, and looks at the meal before her. “But you know that already.”

“Of course. I’m surprised that the authorities never suspected that the tiefling painter who was in service of the ones being robbed is the famed art thief. Then again, as you said, they are inept.”

“Indeed. But then again, who would suspect the eccentric painter who wore roses in her hair and ate too much of the nobles’ food? We were upheld as paragons, what the nobles think tieflings should strive to be instead of being vagrants and cutpurses: little puppets in their service. Fools.”

Raphael clapped his hands. “And in their failure to look beyond what they see with their eyes, they never suspected that the cheerful, mindless persona you carried was a ruse. Well done! Quite the prolific actress you are, my dear.”

“Oh, stop. I don’t need that empty praise. I’ve gotten enough of that from them already. Truth be told Raphael, in another life or another time, I would’ve stolen from you.”

“I’d like to see you try, my dear. But I’m flattered.”

“Now, where was I? Oh yes. My father had taken a few bad deals before, and the last one cost us the family painting shop.” Fortune pauses, taking a sip from her glass and proceeding to nurse it with one hand. “And I’ve taken a bad deal of my own after that too. I didn’t learn from his mistake. So, you understand my apprehension.”

“To his credit, he didn’t know he was selling it to cultists worshiping an ancient moon-devouring serpent.”

The unease in Fortune grows. “I had a feeling you already knew about that…”

The next meal arrives. Finally, the first main course.

Goblets of pinot noir are put in place of the diners’ glass flutes.

The first main course is duck confit, with potato slices fried in the same fat the bird was cooked in, and red cabbage braised with apples, paired with red wine on the side.

Fortune’s stomach churns, mind racing.

It's a tradition in their household to make the dish during special occasions such as birthdays and anniversaries. Fortune would capture the duck, her father would butcher it, and her mother would prepare the bird.

A servant cuts her meat for her, meat falling off the bone, the juices dripping and soaking the potatoes it’s been served with.

Sensing her apprehension, Raphael takes a bite of the succulent meat.

“Sumptuous. You’re not touching your food, little cherry. Is something the matter?”

“Just what the hell are you playing at, Raphael?”

He wears a smug, satisfied expression on his angular, infernal features.

She's finally cracking. Excellent.

“What are you talking about, my cherry?”

“Making references to my childhood nickname, digging up my past, and now you’re serving me meals I enjoyed with my family- How much do you know?”

Dark, cruel laughter booms in the dining room. “Miss Fortune, you’d be a fool if you think I’ll tell you half of what I know. Where’s the fun in that?”

With enough force to knock her seat back, Fortune stands up.

“Bastard! I’ve had enough games. This was a mistake.”

The tiefling makes her way to the doors, but clawed hands caress her shoulders from behind, and she feels the broadness of Raphael’s chest press against the back of her head. Raphael is so close.

Too close.

She can feel the heat of his infernal skin radiate from underneath layers of clothing, and smell his heady perfume. Fortune made the mistake of squirming, and she gasped as she felt something warm and twitching against his thigh. Suddenly, her smallclothes felt damp, too damp, unwanted lust and fear clouding the best of her judgment. The tiefling’s mind is screaming at her to flee, but her legs aren’t listening.

Fortune’s mind is racing.

I’m losing the game.

What is he going to do to me?

Please, no, not like this-

“Shhh, my darling cherry,” the cambion croons as he holds her in place. As if he read her mind, he leans down, the tip of his nose brushing against the tiefling’s black locks. Raphael sniffs out a whiff of cherry from her too, as well as warm notes of vanilla, but the most prominent scent was floral. Rose. Befitting of her moniker.

But underneath all of it is the smell of her fear… now mixing with arousal.

A sinister snicker rumbles from Raphael’s chest.

“You asked to see me, and I obliged. I would love to make good use of that precious time. Go back to your seat, and let’s continue our meal.”

The tiefling remains frozen in place. She didn’t utter a word, and the cambion continued.

“Think of me as your mentor. By leaving, you’re forfeiting the game. Do you think it’s wise of you to flee from me after discovering that I know you more intimately than you thought?”

There is more knowledge I have yet to gain from you, he thinks to himself.

The devil is playing with his food, and it isn’t the feast laid before them.

It’s her.

The game continues.

The two diners ate the first main course in peace. Raphael is wearing an infuriating smile throughout, while Fortune glared daggers at him. Gods, he loved to win, and she hated to lose.

As they finish the meal, Raphael stretches out his wings. “Ah, just in time. Here comes the palate cleanser.”

The eight course is just as he said, a palate cleanser. Cherry sorbet.

Fortune finally breaks her silence.

“Is that why you wear the scent of cherries? And call me one? And serve me these? To taunt me?”

“You’re paranoid, aren’t you? My dear, after everything you went though, I am no longer surprised.”

“And I’m sure you had your friends down below tell you all about that too.”

“Indeed, my dear. Ah, I have heard of your exploits, and how it ended. You’re probably still wondering just how much I know. For keeping me entertained, perhaps a summarized version of the events would suffice.”

The tiefling’s features shift to that of a grimace.

Does he know about the imp? About Asmodeus? About Thatcher- or should I say Kairon? Or is this one of his tactics to coax more information from me? Gods, I am in over my head again. I hate it.

Raphael takes a spoonful of his sorbet. He takes note of the color of the sweet refreshment, and of Fortune’s fuming cheeks, then chuckles. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, and resumes conversation.

“The tender-hearted, sentimental rogue, seeing how her elven object of desire suffered Asmodeus’ wrath due to her tiefling companion’s meddling and her perceived inaction, wanted to bring him back. It turns out the elf is in reality a cambion, and the bastard spawn of Asmodeus himself. In return, five strangers need to die. In a tragic misunderstanding, the cambion betrays you, just right after you’ve grown closer too. But you couldn’t bear the thought of five strangers’ blood on her hands, lest you become a villain. In a rare moment of honor, a rogue faces them in a fair fight despite knowing she’s outnumbered, effectively committing suicide by proxy. A tragic conclusion. And I love tragedies. Brava, Miss Fortune. I can almost hear the thunder breaking in your heart.”

Bile rises up Fortune’s throat, constricting from her barely contained rage.

Dammit, he knows.

“There’s something about the story that still leaves me puzzled. I always love to pick a character apart in a play, so this is a burning question I need to ask. Why save the cambion? Sympathy for the devil?”

“I don’t know if I should be furious or impressed,” Fortune spits. “You know, Asmodeus asked me the same thing. I’m afraid that’s something you won’t get from me.”

“No hints at all?”

“Guess.”

“Ah, another game.”

Raphael stands from his seat, stretching his wings as he languidly makes his way around the table.

“Greed?”

“No.”

“Influence?”

“Still not the answer.”

“Power?”

“Try harder.”

“Guilt?”

“One of the reasons, but not the most prominent one.”

Finally, he stops behind Fortune’s chair. Raphael leans in, voice dropping to a mere whisper.

“Don’t tell me it was love.”

A broken laugh bubbles from Fortune’s throat. “And what if it was?”

The laugh Raphael gave her is a cruel, mocking one. “Oh dear, please tell me you are bluffing.”

Fortune stands up, and faces him. She repeats her question.

“And what if it was?!”

Raphael continues his mocking laughter.

“My dear girl, it’s hard to believe that the Red Rose of Lyrabar, the infamous larcenist known for her cunning and ability to never get caught, would wager her own soul to an imp, just to save that of Asmodeus’ bastard spawn whom she had known for mere weeks, because she fell in love with him!”

He pauses to laugh again, wiping his eye with a knuckle.

“Such intriguing complexities. You are quite the colorful character indeed. I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

Fortune’s shoulders shook. Raphael really touched a nerve this time.

Something dark stirs in her eyes.

“Yes. It’s hard to believe when you’re a heartless, stinking devil, right? The Archfiend would’ve laughed at me if I admitted that to him outright. But oh wait, you’re not pure devil, you’re a cambion too.”

Raphael found the laughter in his throat dying down to an awkward silence at the mention of his ancestry. What is she playing at?

“You know what us tieflings and you cambions have in common? We’re both of fiendish ancestry, both reviled by people because of it, and we’re both greeted with unwelcome stares, judgment, and even violence. You and I in particular are both of infernal origin, but we’re very much humanoid in our psyche.”

Raphael opens his mouth to say something, but Fortune shows no sign of stopping.

“My family were the only tieflings where I hail. My only friend was my minotaur neighbor, the only other horned oddity in town. Did you know that all the dalliances of my youth were all secret? It’s because everyone’s tempted by the devil, but no one would want to be seen with the devil, else they might find themselves lynched for ‘consorting with fiends’. Though my folks did their best to make me happy, a tiefling’s existence is a lonely one, but no doubt cambions like you and Kairon have it worse. Poor you.”

Raphael’s expression begins to darken and twist, but Fortune carries on with her bitter diatribe.

“I’ve spent enough time in the hells to familiarize myself with the food chain, Raphael. Your lot has it bad. Be born in the hells and you won’t even survive beyond childhood from the abuse your devil kin will inflict, or if you do get lucky, you’re cannon fodder for Zariel’s Blood War. Be born here in the material plane, and you’ll find yourself shunned by humanoid society too. Devils don’t need love. But you’re part human. So, in its absence, you grasp for power.”

It’s Fortune’s turn to play, and unlike Raphael’s tactics of attrition, she’s going in for an unexpected strike, like she often does as a rogue. A single, devastating blow.

“You want to prove something, don’t you? Either to your devil mommy or daddy, the goddamn people who shunned you, or to yourself. Is your clients’ fear and servitude an adequate substitute for validation? Does it fill the void in your heart, all these riches you’ve accumulated in an attempt to carve a place to yourself in this world? Do you pursue countless beautiful faces so you’ll finally feel wanted, desired, or loved?”

A clawed, furious hand squeezes her jaw, and Raphael’s hellfire glare could burn its way through Fortune’s skull and fry the tadpole swimming around with its intensity. She won.

“Listen here-”

But Fortune keeps talking despite her victory, voice rising to a shout.

“So what, I did it for love! All I wanted was to paint, to master my craft and be known for the effort I gave, but the world got in the way. I thought I found someone who would stand with me against the world in Kairon. I thought I found someone who would help me win the game. Now, wouldn’t that be nice? This world is out for our blood, Raphael. The circumstances in which we are born are beyond our control. We were dealt with these cards, and I bet we both intend to play for a better hand.”

There she is again, playing to his sensibilities, and Raphael hates the fact that it’s working. To Raphael’s surprise, tears begin to pool at the corner of Fortune’s eyes. He had clients cry and beg for his mercy before, but this was different. She’s not just crying for herself. She cries because of devilkin’s collective plight. Taken aback, his grip on her softens.

Truth be told, she’s right. Raphael is part mortal. As a mortal, he’s vulnerable to error and emotion, and she just touched a raw nerve.

The cambion had miscalculated on just how far the little tiefling can pick him apart.

He didn’t say a word and let her talk.

“But after giving it some thought, and I had plenty of time to think, I didn’t really love him, no, not really. I don’t even know if I’m capable of such. I was just mimicking my tiefling parents’ affection for each other. Perhaps it’s the feeling of being loved that I craved. I thought I finally found someone who carried the same loneliness that consumed me, and understood. But all I got was betrayal springing from a bloody misunderstanding. I couldn’t bring myself to draw my blade against him. I thought I could reach him. I wanted to help him… My compatriots had to put him down. My sacrifice was moot. Perhaps you’re right, I’m a self-sacrificing Impilturian fool. I wanted it so badly that I was willing to seek it out from a devil. That is a mistake I won’t make again.”

For the first time in a long time, the charming, silver-tongued cambion didn’t know what to say.

The creature before him is far from the not easily rattled, unflappable leader of that miserable band of tadpole-infected misfits, nor was she the daring vixen who left a single, taunting rose in place of what precious item she stole.

This is a woman scorned, and the hells hath no fury like a woman scorned.

I could use that, he thinks.

Raphael lets go of her. He looks at her for a moment, expression unreadable.

“Well played.”

Fortune swallows thickly, throat aching.

Of course this is still a game to you.

III

A tense silence hangs heavy in the dining room.

Fortune’s tears haven’t run dry, and she hasn’t even realized. A look of shock sweeps over her face when she does.

The poor creature isn’t even aware that she’s weeping.

Raphael clears his throat.

“Oh my,” Raphael mutters, reaching inside of a pocket. His gentlemanly demeanor outweighed his infernal rage now that he had calmed down and gathered information he could use later. He offered her an embroidered cambric handkerchief.

“I didn’t intend to make a lady cry, during dinner too. Forgive my uncouthness that led to our spat, my dear.”

When she didn’t take it, the devil wiped her tears away for her. Fortune flinches, but she lets him. She knew from experience that cambions are capable of tender moments. But she didn’t trust it. Not anymore.

Servants arrived to serve the ninth course, only to find the master of the house wiping his guest’s face. Raphael clears his throat and nods to his servants. Fortune’ still carries a confused look. The cambion guides her back to her seat, and being still in shock, she offers little resistance. Then, he returns to his own.

Raphael remains silent while the second main course is being served, a rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes, and paired with a dry, red merlot. Then, he motions them to leave with haste.

He takes a bite of the succulent meat and makes a gesture with his hand.

“The meat is cooked as rare as possible, to my liking. Much flavor is lost when it sits in the heat for too long. Go on, I assure you, it’s as juicy as it looks.”

Fortune’s nerves settle down, and she takes a bite. It was nothing short of delightful, the lamb melting on her tongue like butter on a hot pan. The next bite she took of the meat, she had it with the impossibly creamy potato.

“It’s been a while since anyone could get me so heated, even if you did reveal your hand while doing so. Well played, Miss Fortune.”

Bitterly and resigned, Fortune chortles.

“Still a game to you, huh? You love watching women cry in your dining hall?”

“I’ve broken my fair share of hearts.”

“I don’t doubt that at all, Raphael. Not at all.”

Both continue with their meal.

The tiefling sips her wine, then starts another chat. “You know, I intimidated an ancient white dragon into doing my bidding once, and figured out his lies right before that.”

“Oh? Do tell me about this tale, my dear.”

“We were looking for such a dragon so we can travel to the Plains of Purple Dust with ease. Except, we couldn’t find it, and all there was was this pale elf who keeps an inn at the mountain where the dragon allegedly resides. He saw one of my companions, a sea elf. He made a comment about not seeing one in decades. When I asked for his age, however, he said that he’s in his twenties. A minor inconsistency at best, but it turned out to be an important piece of information later.”

The tenth course arrived as they spoke. A servant brought a charcuterie board with assorted cheeses, breads, crackers, dips, and jams. After refilling the goblets with more merlot, the servant leaves. The two partook in snacking on the selection as their conversation carried on.

“Go on.”

“I tore my brain apart trying to look for an answer of where to look for the white dragon. It took me a butchered ritual to speak to Asmodeus, being dragged into hell by an imp, and signing a devil’s contract to bring back Thatcher- I mean Kairon so he could help us and I could stay close to him before I figured out how simple it was. It was the pale innkeeper.”

“I see you werel looking beyond what’s in front of your eyes. So, how did you intimidate him to do your bidding?”

“Simple, I held him by the neck and threatened him.”

“My dear, I’m not sure if I should call you brave, or foolish. That was enough to instill fear in an ancient white dragon?”

“Yes. Though, after seeing the full scale of his size, I offered my apologies to him right after he flew us to our destination. I wouldn't want any bad blood with such a creature.”

“If it were any other fool sitting in front of me, I’d have called it a tall tale. But my, my Miss Fortune, you’re certainly a bold one.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” she replies, winking.

Raphael couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh at the pun.

“You’re not the only one who can play with words, Raphael.”

“I knew it. You’re a Tymoran, aren’t you?”

“Indeed.”

“Is that why you call yourself Fortune? You’re evoking your goddess, through your name?”

“My folks are devout Tymorans, and they gave me my name, but I’m not as faithful as they are... They were lonely ones who found each other after a lifetime of being outcasts, and Tymora is one of the gods who welcomes said outcasts. Neither of them knew if tieflings can breed true with each other, so they asked the goddess Tymora for a miracle, a child as their lucky charm.”

“Hm. A tiefling child in a loving home. You’re a fortunate one, indeed.”

“Sometimes I doubt it. In my youth, my existence felt like a cruel joke. Why bring forth a soul in a world that will revile her? But I learned to balance that cynicism with grit. Tiefling, painter, rogue, or whatever I am, I’ll carve my place in the world. And I am grateful to be alive and able to act again.”

There was a brief flash of emotion in Raphael’s hellfire eyes. Admiration? Fortune couldn’t tell, as it went away as swiftly as it came.

“Ah, we’re digressing,” Fortune interrupts herself. She’s giving away too much of herself again.

But can I really stop myself from doing so? After years of being alone? I don’t trust my companions yet to reveal myself this much, yet here I am, spilling my thoughts and feelings to a devil…

Fortune’s responses throughout the night is everything Raphael hoped for. It’s always a pleasure to watch clients start revealing more about themselves from a simple remark on his part.

“Indeed. What is the point of that story with the dragon, if not for an entertaining tale to liven up the conversation once more?”

“Solutions can be found without unnecessary risk or sacrifices.”

“Ah, this is about our potential deal again.”

“Like you said, if I can exhaust all possibilities before accepting your deal, I will. I don’t want to be a fool who makes the same mistakes twice.”

“You’ve already told me twice, cherry.”

Silence once again. Both of them sat there, studying each other, trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

“How did you know about Kairon?” Fortune finally asks, the stitches in her heart thoroughly undone as the wounds of the past reopened.

“Fortune, my dear, that’s a trade secret I’m not willing to part with yet. Hm, perhaps I’ll let you in on the secret one day. I see your potential. You’ve given me valuable knowledge, after all. I am most grateful for the knowledge that one of Asmodeus’ bastard sons failed him again.”

The tiefling glares at him.

“Why would you even care about what happens to him?”

“Tut tut, you should know by now that the hells reward ambition, with how much time you spent there due to your old contract’s stipulation. There is merit in knowing how the competition is doing, dear. You come from a mercantile family- I thought this would come to you naturally.”

“I know that. I’m just surprised you would consider him competition when he already lost so much.”

Taking a deep drink from his goblet, Raphael pauses. His hellfire eyes were trained on the tiefling before him.

“Hmm… Do I sense lingering affections from you?”

“Oh, no,” Fortune blurts. “I’d tell him to rot in the hells but that would be redundant. But now I have to ask, what would you even be competing with him for? It wouldn’t be for status or power, he’s already losing in that regard.”

After a short pause, a flirtatious smile spreads on the tiefling’s lips. “Don’t tell me you consider him competition for yours truly…”

Raphael gives her an amused scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, dear.”

“Please, you’ve been giving me bedroom eyes since the start of the meal.”

The look on Raphael’s face is nothing short of cocky. “It’s beyond my control if you’re drawn to my magnetism, Fortune.”

Fortune notes that he finally dropped the bloody honorific, and smiles to herself.

For the eleventh course, dessert, the servant sets down a cast iron baking dish between the two. Fresh wine glasses are provided, and filled with sweet, fragrant port.

“Ah dessert! I hope you have a sweet tooth. Cherry pie, baked to perfection, served with a dollop of vanilla cream on top, and kept warm especially for you…”

Fortune’s mood was improving, but now she looks at Raphael with knitted eyebrows, composure wavering once more. Her black eyes are glittering with rage. Raphael’s voice dripped with smugness as he continued speaking.

“Your mother made this very special. That poor, sweet, old tiefling couple, still mourning their only daughter. They’re still holding out hope that you’re alive…”

“They’ve already mourned me the time I was gone, why would you do that to- What have you done?”

Raphael grins. Fortune thinks her mind is playing tricks on her, unsure if she did see a hint of genuine warmth on his visage.

“I assure you, I did no harm. Our meeting was too inconsequential for a contract. All I asked for was a basket of cherries from the tree their beloved daughter once tended, and for a freshly-baked cherry pie. In exchange, I offered a painting from my private collection, one that you painted, as something to remember you by.”

“My painting? In your collection?” There was genuine surprise and satisfaction in Fortune’s voice. However she refused to let herself be sidetracked. Fortune rubs the middle of her brow with her forefinger and thumb.

“Why are you doing this?”

“For you to come here alone, you must have an agenda. So, I thought of possibilities and scenarios that can play out. It would seem that one of them is correct. You wanted to test if I am worthy of your trust.”

“So you dug out the skeletons in my closet to prove that? Stalked me, tracked down my parents, and unraveled my secrets?”

“I did what I could to prove to you that I will be a generous benefactor, should you take my deal. You’ve already received so many incentives, is that not sufficient yet?”

Raphael almost sounded genuinely offended, and Fortune couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow.

“Gale was right. You devils have a strange way of courting.”

“And yet you still play, and you play hard to get. Do you simply enjoy prolonging the courtship?”

All Raphael got in response is an exasperated sigh.

The tiefling woman eyes her mother’s pie. She takes a slice, eats a forkful of it, and chokes back a sob. It’s just as good as she remembers it.

Taking a slice of his own pie, Raphael eats a forkful of the dessert as well.

“Delicious. Ah, I should’ve bargained with her for the recipe…”

“It’s a family secret not even a devil can pry from mommy, that’s for sure.”

Raphael’s mind wanders back to the thought that passed him earlier, of securing his bloodline with a tiefling woman. The cambion looks at the dessert before him, the cream watered down by the juices and mingling with the deep red filling, then at his guest’s deep red skin. He conjured up a risqué scene in his head, and he feels his manhood twitch against his trousers.

“Family, you say?” Raphael mutters under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing, my dear. Enjoy your dessert. We only have one course left. I’ll have the guest bedchamber prepared for you.”

Fortune was bringing her fork to her mouth when she heard him say that. Her fingers go limp, and the pie on the fork falls back on the plate.

“You expect me to stay the night?”

“Would you rather lay down and digest your meal in a patch of ground?”

Damn it.

The tiefling’s creature comforts are catching on to her. She had been given access to a washroom earlier to make herself presentable for supper, and she never felt better as she washed herself clean, slathered on oils and rosewater, and sprayed puffs of perfume. Now she’s being offered a warm bed as well.

How could she resist?

“Fair. Thank you for your extended hospitality. I was afraid I overstayed my welcome.”

“But of course.”

The final course arrived. Though the food has been delightful, Fortune could only think of cleaning herself up and heading to bed, and the alcohol in her bloodstream is starting to affect her senses.

For the mignardise, they were each served a single macaron with chocolate cream, and a cherry on top.

“Goodness,” Fortune mumbles. She takes the cookie and sips her port. “I can smell it on you, you even left a similar perfume in the guest washroom I’ve been given access to, and it’s been a prominent flavor profile throughout this supper. I get it, you love cherries.”

Raphael laughs heartily. “Indeed, I do my dear. To answer your question from earlier, I assure you that our similar tastes are entirely coincidental. Who wouldn’t be fond of such a fruit? So sweet and tart, the contrast is delightful. Such a lovely aroma too. Don’t even get me started on the symbolism they carry. Ah, I could devour a whole basket in one sitting...”

He pauses to pluck the cherry on top of his macaron, and devours it with a single bite, his lips puckering around the flesh and leaving the stem between his fingers. Fortune watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Subtly, he tilts his wrist to her direction, pointing the end of the stalk at her.

Raphael purrs.

“You remind me of one. That’s why I call you cherry.”

This dinner certainly had its twists and turns. Now it would seem the cambion would love to devour her too.

No! Don’t fall for his seduction! Fortune, stop! Change the subject!

“Ugh, it’s strange to hear you use that nickname, with how my daddy did too.”

“That’s entirely coincidental as well. It suits you, so it doesn’t come as a surprise. Would you like me to refrain from it?”

“I have a feeling that my decision won’t matter.”

Fortune proceeds to eat her own cherry, trying her best to ignore the hellfire eyes trained on her lips.

“I’m happy to hear that my old tree still bears good fruit,” she comments. “My parents, how are… nevermind.”

Raphael raises his eyebrow. “You were saying something?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to part with knowledge as freely and as I recklessly did. When fortune favors me again I’ll find out for myself.”

Raphael raises his glass. “It’s in your name. But when it runs out, you know who to run to, do you?”

Fortune gives him a grim nod, and clinks her glass with his.

“Dining with you was quite the entertaining experience my dear,” Raphael purrs. “We should do it more often.”

“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or horrified that you went out of your way to prepare this for me. And we did have a bit of a spat. But, I had a good time. Perhaps we’ll do this again soon.”

“Well, far be it for me to disappoint.”

And with that, the meal is over. Servants brought in washbasins for them to wash their hands. As soon as both were clean, they stood up from their seats. A halfling woman enters the dining room. She introduces herself to her master’s guest.

“Korrilla Hearthflame, at your service.”

“Korrilla here will show you your quarters. I will be retiring for the night.”

The tiefling nods at Raphael, and turns around to follow the halfling. Before she can make it halfway through the dining room doors, a clawed hand paws at her shoulder.

“Ah, there is one thing I forgot. Korrilla, a little bit of privacy?”

“Of course.”

While the halfling woman waits outside the door, Raphael brushes the hair out of Fortune’s back, his breath kissing her nape and shoulders.

“What are you-”

“There is a certain manner of knowledge I am willing to part with.”

Heart pounding through her ribcage, Fortune felt desire mingle with the trepidation, the meal, and the drinks in her gut, creating a heavy and warm feeling inside her.

It must be the port. It’s just the port, get a hold of yourself Fortune, she scolds herself.

Her voice came out a few octaves higher than what she’s comfortable with. “And what might that be?”

“Carnal knowledge, my dear.”

Fortune gulps. Her worst fears and darkest fantasies are on the brink of coming true.

The cambion’s hands found its way to her hips, his fingers massaging circles into the flesh through the fabric of her gown. She made no attempts to move, or to rebuke him, so Raphael leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. The tiefling’s breath seizes in her throat as the cambion’s tickles her skin.

��It’s been a while since someone managed to sit through all twelve courses with me. Impressive. I want to reward you. If you seek it, my bedchamber is down the hall, adjacent to yours.”

“W-what makes you think I desire such a thing from you?”

“My dear Fortune…” Raphael purrs. “You’re a prolific actress, fooling all of those nobles into thinking you’re a simple-minded tart who was thoroughly impressed with their wealth and power, but not good enough to convince me that you’re disinterested in me.”

“Now who’s flattering himself?”

“Oh my dear, I can see through your ruse,” he continues, the bridge of his aquiline nose brushing against the tiefling’s pointed ear in a nuzzle, and she holds back a shudder. “I can tell you were feigning interest at the start of the meal, but your fascination turned out to be more genuine than expected, didn’t it?”

The devil runs his tongue at the shell of her ear, and the tiefling does all she can to hold back a gasp of pleasure.

“Your honeyed words and that tongue of yours will only lead me to further ruin, I know it.”

“And yet, you don't resist my advances at all. You don't resist me. I smell all that pent-up lust on you, my dear. How long has it been?”

Raphael punctuates his question by pressing a searing kiss on the spot where the tiefling’s neck and ear meet. A moan escaped her lips, her breath hitched in her throat.

“Shut up, devil.”

“Ha. And you’re still acting like such a tease… But we both know that you do want this.”

Raphael suckles the sensitive skin and draws another sound from Fortune’s lips, this time, a high keening sound of desire. He buries his face in her hair and whispers to her once again.

“You want me.”

Upon uttering those words, he pulls away.

Fortune spins around to face him, but Raphael is gone.

Save for the thin ray of moonlight streaming through the gap between the curtains, there was no other source of light in the dark room. Cautiously, Fortune steps inside, and closes the door behind her with a quiet click.

Orbs of hellfire float in the dark, at the farthest end of a king-sized bed, through the wispy canopy curtains.

The orbs shift. A clawed hand takes a glass at the bedside table.

“I knew you would come.”

The tiefling thinks back to the events that led to this.

That damned devil!

Incensed and inflamed from Raphael’s teasing seduction, Fortune’s hands closed into fists. As if their dinner wasn’t torturous enough, he had to leave her burning and blushing like a maiden of sixteen summers.

The dining hall doors opened once more, and Korrilla greeted her.

“Shall we, Miss Fortune?”

Wordlessly, Fortune nodded and followed, her face flushed. She struggled with her composure, both due to the alcohol, and those damned lips.

Korilla led her with a knowing smile. The halfling thought to herself, I wonder how long will she last?

The women arrived at the guest bedchamber, which Korrilla unlocked for Fortune. The halfling lit up the fireplace and the candles with a flick of her wrist. With a motion of her arms, the pillows were puffed, and the duvet was straightened.

Raphael’s warlock.

Fortune wonders how many of them are there, and what benefits they receive from their master, aside from power.

“A nightgown is provided in the wardrobe for you, Miss Fortune,” Korrilla informed her, interrupting her train of thought.

She cut her rumination short and turned to the halfling.

“Thank you, Korrilla.”

“Anytime. If you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to ring the bell by your bedside. Good night.”

“Good night.”

And with that, Fortune is left alone in the spacious room.

A chamber pot and a wooden tub were among the room’s amenities. Muscle memory kicking in, Fortune performed her ablutions, following her old routine back when she shared an abode with her parents. At the end of it, she sunk into the wooden tub, she used her own magic to keep it hot to her liking. Being a tiefling heightened her tolerance to heat and yet…

Her mind wandered back to the feel of Raphael’s lips upon her skin. It was deceptively soft, and unbearably warm, even for her. Lust swirled in the pool of her mind, and flowed to the rest of her body. She sighed, and she sank her whole being into the water.

It was quiet. Dark. Just like her prison in the hells.

She had accepted her lot, allowing herself to fail to fulfill her contract’ after Kairon’s betrayal. She had expected to lose herself in the River Styx, and be reborn as a lemure, but a different kind of torture awaited her.

Hope came in the form of an illithid nautiloid. It broke her free of that prison. But now it would seem that she’s fated to become one of those tentacled monsters, or worse.

With a gasp, Fortune’s head emerged from the water. She wiped the water from her face and blinked a few times. After a few more minutes of quiet, she stepped out of the tub. The tiefling stood in front of a mirror, bare and wet. Her cherry skin glistened in the warm firelight from the hearth, and the moonlight that streams from outside.

She imagined Raphael behind her, rubbing her shoulders, then her arms, before fondling her pert breasts and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

With haste, she dried herself up and threw on a nightgown, shaking the thoughts away.

Underneath all that pleasure, all devils are is pain. But she was fond of a little pain…

As she laid awake in bed, the heat began to creep up her face and spread to her body. Her attempts to get her mind off of the cambion are failing.

I won’t do it. I won’t go. I won’t be seduced-

If there was anything she learned from previous experience, opportunities can disappear as fast as they come, and good things can be taken away in a blink of an eye.

Damn it all.

Marching to the vanity, Fortune did her hair and makeup with haste, making herself look as alluring as possible. She slathered herself with rose essence, and blended the fragrances with notes of vanilla and cherry. Taking a deep breath, she steps out of her room, and treads with light feet down the hall, until she reaches the grand doors that lead to Raphael’s bedchamber. She knocked three times, and called out to him.

“Raphael?”

As if on cue, the clock struck twelve. The chimes rang, and drowned out Fortune’s voice.

The devil’s hour. How appropriate.

The tiefling sighed in exasperation, and tried again. Before she can even knock, a dulcet, sensual voice called out from inside the chamber.

“Come in.”

And now, she’s here.

“What do you need, little cherry?”

“Right now I want you. But I doubt you can give me what I really want, Raphael.”

“Is that so?”

The devil punctuates his question with a low, sinister chuckle.

With a snap of Raphael’s fingers, the fireplace roars to life, providing the room with ample illumination.

There on the king bed, the devil lounges with a glass in his hand, his other arm draped languidly over the headboard. Raphael is unclothed, and his member is already at full mast.

A handsome devil, he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, and apparently richly endowed. Fortune’s eyes widen, the fire pooling in her belly growing hotter at the scene before her. Anxious exhilaration and panic mire Fortune’s desire.

Would such a thing even fit in any of my holes?

“Ah, But I know I can give you what you need. I give comfort when I can, and you seem to be in dire need. Come now... no need to play hard to get. You've put up a fight against your own desires long enough.”

Fortune remains planted in place, and Raphael huffs in mild irritation.

“Tsk, did you interrupt my nightcap just to stand there and talk, little cherry?”

“You’re the first one of my infernal kin who I’ll be spending the night with. I haven’t laid with anyone in many summers either. I- I feel like a virgin again.” Shyly, she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Raphael could feel the embarrassment emanating from her. A lascivious grin spreads across his mouth.

“Then I promise to defile you like one. I’ll bring the harlot out of you.”

Gooseflesh ripples through Fortune’s skin from his words alone. Her nipples pebble and strain against the immaculate white fabric of her nightgown.

“Let’s see how long you’d last in my bedchambers. Now, come.”

Raphael’s voice is firm, and commanding. Dominant.

With a determined, fiery gaze, Fortune crawls on top of him. She hikes up the length of her garments and straddles him, sitting on his crotch. Her bare bottom presses against his hardness. Fortune gasps as she brushes against him; he’s a furnace. Warmth radiates from every part of his body, but the heat of his groin is searing. Its contrast with the cool night air left her shivering with excitement.

Delicate fingers brush against the cambion’s lightly stubbled jaw, his skin delightful and sultry to the touch. Raphael indulged his new lover, letting her study him with glittering curiosity in her eyes. In return, he commits her features to his memory. Fortune shifts her hips and her womanhood brush against his girth, already glistening with her juices. He lets out a sinful groan of approval.

“I haven’t even kissed or touched you yet, and you’re already soaking, my cherry. My, my.”

“And you’re already hard as stone,” Fortune gasps. “Were you sitting there with your cock in your hand and pleasuring yourself to the thought of me while you waited?”

A clawed thumb presses against her plush lower lip, and plays with the golden ring that adorns it. Without the need to command her, she opens her mouth to accept Raphael’s digit, and sucks on it like a babe, her tongue coating him with saliva. Satisfied, he slides it out and spreads the wetness on her lips- a promise of what’s to come.

“Such filth coming out of that lovely mouth. The harlot is making her appearance earlier than I thought.”

All he got in response was a tempting smile against his thumb.

Finding himself lost in the deep void of her eyes once more, his hellfire ones seek to consume every part of her.

One of his large hands clamps the back of her head and loses itself in the dark waves of her hair. The other draws her closer, grabbing her by her shapely behind Their faces mere inches away from each other, Fortune wants to merge with him. Eyes fluttering shut, the tiefling lets him pull her into a kiss, her warm lips pressing against burning ones.

With barely constrained hunger, Raphael probes the cavern of her mouth with his tongue to taste her, earning him soft gasps and moans as their lips danced and slid against each other. Fortune tastes the liquor on his lips, warm cognac with muddled cherries sweet on her tongue.

Of course.

The sound that rumbles from Raphael’s chest is music to her ears. The infernal heat that radiates from his skin warms up the gold ring that adorned her mouth. She takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent. All her senses are engaged and it almost overwhelms her. A whimper slips out of her when he pulls away, but a gasp of pleasure quickly follows as Raphael buries his face on her neck, his nose tickled by her locks as he assails her neck with searing kisses. Sharp teeth graze against Fortune’s neck, at that sweet spot right under her ear, and she lets out a particularly licentious, high-pitched moan.

Clawed thumbs found its way to her pebbled nipples as he continued to assault her neck’s sensitive flesh, pressing and caressing them. Large hands pull at the string and Fortune’s nightgown comes loose. Then, it rips the fabric apart with ease, demonstrating the cambion’s fiendish strength. Chest bare, Raphael’s gaze falls upon her maroon nipples.

Raphael pauses to make a raunchy remark as he gropes one breast. “Like cherries waiting to be devoured. Ah, they’re begging to be sucked…”

He thumbs at her nipples again, rolling them, squeezing them, and pulling them as he continued pressing kisses on her delicate throat. Fortune then finds herself being pushed back against the bed. Raphael looms over her, his size and the span of his wings intimidating, and gives her a hungry look that convinces her that he’s about to devour her as he promised.

Raphael kneads her breasts, and he laps up her nipples, alternating between the two hardened, cherry red nubs. He lets go, and his mouth latches on to her left breast, sucking like a babe, while his fingers tend to the other. The contrast of Raphael’s hot mouth and fingertips with the cool night air made Fortune’s head spin with desire.

“Ahh, Raphael…“

Wantonly, she spreads her thighs apart, and she grabs his hand to lead it in between. However, he slaps her hand lightly like a governess catching a child stealing cookies from a jar.

“Oh! Now who’s the tease?” Fortune whimpers.

There’s a subtle shift in Raphael’s demeanor. He stops his ministrations, and squeezes Fortune’s jaw. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to capture her attention.

“My dear, in my bedchambers, I am the one who leads,” he purrs, and he ends that sentence with a lick to her cheek.

“And what if I don’t want to follow, huh? What would you do?”

A wicked grin greets Fortune as he pulls back.

“Then I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

Without giving her any time to prepare, Raphael grabs her by the hair. With his size and strength, he manhandles the little tiefling, and presses her face down on the mattress with her ass up in the air.

She cries out in protest, tail thrashing. “Wait! I’m not ready yet.”

“Stay.”

The command is enough for her to stay put.

Raphael retrieves something from the bedside, and he dangles it in front of the tiefling’s face. Fortune’s eyes widen at the string of heavy beads. It has a ring in the end to prevent it from being lost in the user’s body. She quivers in excitement, thighs rubbing together.

“I- I haven’t used anything like that before,” Fortune stammers. “I’ve never had anything inside-”

“Shhhhh.”

Raphael soothes her, pressing his warm palm against her lower back. “Hm. An anal virgin,” he purrs. He pauses to chuckle. “I’ll enjoy breaking you, indeed. Do you want this, Fortune? Will you accept me in all of your entrances?”

Slowly, she nods.

“Good.”

Fortune flinches as he spreads her cheeks apart, then gasps in relief as she feels a cool salve pour on her back entrance. Raphael spreads the wetness with his thumb. then plunges it in with caution to avoid tearing the sensitive flesh with his claw, testing the tight ring of muscle a few times.

A low, strained moan rips from the tiefling’s lungs at the foreign intrusion, unused to the pressure, but pleasurable nonetheless. Her lover’s free hand paws at her ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh, and follows with a slap of his palm. The impact makes Fortune gasp, and she squirms against his hand. An angry, maroon handprint blossoms on her skin.

“Make yourself comfortable. Relax yourself. Open up for me… take all the time you need, love.”

Not needing to be told twice, Fortune relents. She lets herself relax, and his fingers slide in with ease, the salve lubricating her where she needs it the most. Then, he withdraws them. The beads, coated with lubrication and warmed up by Raphael’s body heat, push into her one by one, stretching her. Pain and pleasure blooms in that region, making the tiefling groan and gasp. In between the intrusions, Raphael kneads or slaps her flesh, sometimes both, one followed by the other.

Soft cries and moans left Fortune’s lips. Raphael grabs her by the throat, forcing her head up, and muffles them with kisses. Then, he whispers in her ear.

“I will know your body thoroughly. I’ll defile you, and you will enjoy every moment.”

When she doesn’t say anything, Raphael gives the toy an abrupt, cruel tug. Fortune chokes back a sob. She nods a few times, desire raging in her and threatening to burn through the bedsheets.

“Yes, Raphael!”

He lets her go and resumes with his ministrations.

To Fortune’s relief and pleasure, Raphael took his time, teasing her every time a new bead was added. Occasionally, he gives her a slight tug, and watches with depraved enjoyment as the tight hole quivers and stretches. After he inserts the last bead, Raphael cleans his hand up with a snap of his fingers, using prestidigitation to take the mess away. Then, she finds herself face to face with the devil once again.

As he flipped Fortune over, Raphael took note of her burning cheeks, cherry skin darkening as she blushed. With a chuckle, he kisses the apple of her cheek, and presses his lips against her mouth in a brief kiss.

“Now,” he starts, positioning his face between her breasts. “Let me taste you, cherry.”

Fortune throws her head back in pleasure as Raphael starts making good use of his tongue, teeth, and lips. Slowly, he made his way down her body, planting kisses and nibbles along the way, until he reached her dripping snatch. Teasingly, he presses more kisses to the surrounding area, leaving marks on her inner thighs.

A hot tongue playing with the engorged nub sent her crying and thrashing, but large hands held her down by her forearms.

“Ah! Raphael!”

That damned tongue showers her with attention, going in circles on her clitoris. Occasionally, Raphael pauses to give her a peck, before continuing to assault the sensitive bundle of nerves. He pushes Fortune’s legs up for better access, nearly folding her in half. With her legs in the air, Fortune thanks her lucky stars for her flexibility. The new position gave Raphael access to her mouth, breasts, and labia.

A whimper left her mouth as he stopped giving her attention, which was quickly drowned out as he went to kiss her. She tasted herself on his tongue, and with lustful abandon, she leaned into it. He moves on to her breasts, giving her nipples some attention again, then moves back to her clitoris.

The lewd sounds of slurping echoed in the bedchamber, accompanied by Fortune’s sinful little noises, and Raphael’s approving moans. Pressure begins to build in Fortune’s core. She grabs at the cambion’s horns for dear life, and her tail curls itself around one of Raphael’s biceps. Eyes screwed shut and face etched with desire, she can feel her release draw closer, and she lets her lover know.

“Raphael, I’m going to- I-”

Raphael stops, hellfire eyes looking into her obsidian ones.

“Oh? What’s that my dear? I can’t hear you…”

“Ah, you bloody tease! I’m close,” Fortune cries, still holding onto his horns.

“Where are your manners? Say please…” Raphael punctuates his command with a soft kiss to her mound, her dark hair tickling his nose and chin.

“Gods, please, Raphael, let me come.”

“Beg for it, my sweet cherry.”

“Raphael! I’m begging you, please let me come!”

Without warning, Raphael plunges two fingers in her, the wetness making his claws slide without consequence against her flesh. He reaches for a spongy, delightful spot inside of her, and begins to stroke in a come hither motion. The cambion sucks on her engorged nub before his devilish tongue stroked her in circles again. The added stimulation of his digits made a cry of pleasure ring through the bedchambers as Fortune snaps, her release finally coming. She chants Raphael’s name as she comes, convulsing around his clawed fingers.

Even as the tiefling rides out her orgasm, Raphael doesn’t stop, continuing with his cruel ministrations. Fortune squirms, pushing his horns in an attempt to motion him to stop, but his free hand pushes her hips down, trapping her in place.

“Shit, too much, Raphael, please it’s too much-”

But the cambion did not heed her cries and babbles. Instead, without giving her reprieve, he adds a third finger, and Fortune screams. Another orgasm seizes her, and this time, she saw stars. Another cry of his name rings through the cambion’s bedchambers.

“Raphael!”

Upon uttering his name, she swore she felt him smile against her. Satisfied with his handiwork, Raphael finally withdraws his fingers, and shoves them in Fortune’s mouth. The devil groans in approval as her tongue cleans them up. Then, he leans in to kiss her forehead, damp from sweat. Fortune, still dazed, lets go of his horns and pulls him into an embrace.

“You devils, so good with your tongues,” she whispers, hands running through his hair. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Winded already? The night is still young, and this is just the beginning,” he croons.

“I still have some fight left in me.”

“Good. I have more in store for you, cherry.”

With a torrid kiss full of tongue and teeth, Raphael seals his promise of pain and pleasure.

The tiefling was right. Raphael had been tending to himself while he waited for her to succumb to his charms. There is nothing else that would bring him pleasure right now except for dominating that infuriating and delightful vixen. And dominate her, he did. The devil enjoyed feeling her writhe and snap under his tongue and his touch.

Now it’s his turn to seek his pleasure.

A moan bubbles from the tiefling’s lips as she feels something heavy and white-hot brush against her thigh. Raphael is positively leaking with pre-come, some of it staining the fabric of the mattress.

“It’s dripping,” Fortune moans, pushing her thigh against his erectness. She leans in to whisper in his ear. “I want to taste it…”

A devilish smirk is all she got in response.

Raphael pulls back to sit with his back against the headboard, wings fluttering as he makes himself comfortable, and he beckons to his tiefling lover. Fortune crawls over, tail lashing back and forth in anticipation. Pressing her lips on heated, infernal flesh, Fortune peppers his thigh with kisses, a faithful bitch sniffing out her master.

She reaches for Raphael’s length, but he tuts at her and shakes his head.

“Manners, my dear. What do you say to get what you want?”

Begrudgingly, Fortune withdraws her hand. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me taste you.”

“You can do better than that.”

“Raphael, please, let me serve you. I need to taste your cock on my tongue…”

“That’s better,” Raphael purrs, stroking her cheek. “You know, your past occupation as a painter gave me the impression that you’re good with your hands, and being a merchant gave me the impression that you’re adept with that mouth.” As he said so, Raphael brushes his thumb against her lips, and cups her chin.

“Now, be good, and let’s test my theory.”

Taking this as a challenge, Fortune delves in.

Her small hand gives Raphael a firm grasp. He is heavy in her hand, with a few prominent veins. She runs her tongue from the base towards the tip, savoring her lover’s dribbling juices that pooled at the angry red head, and maintaining eye contact throughout.

Deceptively gentle, Raphael cups her face, then follows with a cruel, firm smack. Any semblance of gentlemanly behavior is out the window. He holds his length, glides it against Fortune’s face, smearing precome and spit over her cheeks, then slaps it against her plush, adorned lip. The crude, obscene action only made Fortune want more.

Watching Raphael shed his aristocratic demeanor in favor of something darker excited her. This isn’t Raphael the noble and his refined sensibilities, this is Raphael the devil: seductive, sensual, and sinful.

Fortune thinks to herself, Just how debased are we going to be tonight?

The tiefling’s thoughts left her as she sucked on the head, flitting her tongue along the sensitive underside. A debauched groan resounds in the bedchamber, and Raphael leans his head back, eyes shutting in pleasure.

Breathing heavily now, he opens his eyes and watches as Fortune takes him, her lips sealing around his length, and taking in all that she could without gagging. She begins to bob her head in a steady rhythm, mimicking the soft waves of the sea. The ring on her lip adds extra sensation, and Raphael takes delight from the feeling.

“Impressive,” he sighs. More sweet, filthy little nothings stream from his lips, praising Fortune for her ministrations. “I was right about you-”

His praise is cut short as Fortune shoves him down her hot, quivering throat, tears pooling around her eyes as he bottoms out in her mouth. Eyebrows furrowing together, Raphael’s expression turns into that of strained pleasure.

“-you and your mouth, so skilled at taking all of me,” he rasps, chest heaving as his breath quickens.

Now it’s Raphael’s turn to grab her by the horns, and he proceeds to thrust in her mouth. Fortune’s makeup ran down in streaks as her eyes continued to water from taking all of him. Even with their obsidian coloration, the devil could see those eyes rolling to the back of her head as she accepted his thrusts, growing rougher by the minute.

He withdraws to give her an opportunity to breathe, and she sucks in sweet, sweet air, its coolness shocking her lungs. Fortune grabs Raphael’s pulsing length, and slaps it against her pert breasts as she recovers. His tail curls around her forearm like a serpent. With an impish, bold grin, she rubs the head against one of her hardened nipples.

“You vixen,” Raphael chuckles, voice low with ardor. “You never fail to entertain me… I think I’m growing fond of you, Fortune.”

“Really now? Getting attached already?” Fortune replies, and she follows with a kiss to his member’s blushing, angry head.

“If you keep pleasuring me in such a manner, I might.”

A sensual, primal noise comes out of Raphael’s crooked mouth as Fortune fondles his scrotum with her free hand. She dives in, licking them as she stroked his length with her other hand, thumb caressing the head. Then, she encloses her mouth around them, tugs at them with her lips, and releases with a wet pop. She rubs her thighs together in excitement as she does her best to take the heavy bags of skin in her mouth, and she succeeds. Her tongue toys with him and she continues to stroke him.

“So eager to please… I should lock you up, keep you as my consort,” he rasps.

The devil’s hips began to twitch, and so did his wings, in conjunction to Fortune’s strokes. His tail tightens around her arm. Sharp nails scratch her scalp as Raphael tangles his hand in her dark waves. He pulls at her mass of hair, and Fortune takes this as a signal to release him. He shoves his length into her mouth again, thrusting into her with reckless abandon, cursing and sputtering filth that he wouldn’t be caught using outside his bedchambers.

“Wanton little wench… Fortune, you terrible thing, don’t you dare stop!”

Half-lidded obsidian eyes brimming with tears and desire look into Raphael’s. The vision of Fortune’s expression, the droplets of tears sitting on her eyelashes, and the streak of kohl running down her cheek enthralled him.

“Keep that mouth open, I’m going to come.”

Fortune does as she told and more. Her tongue flits rapidly against his sensitive underside once more as he stroked himself. The devil comes with a groan, and his infernal seed spurts into her mouth, painting her tongue white.

“Take all of it. Waste not a single drop,” Raphael gruffly commands, hips and wings twitching as he rides out his orgasm.

Fortune endeavored to take all of his salty lust, eyes watering again as she swallowed. She cleans him up in the process, and puts his softening member in her mouth to keep it warm. With a tenderness uncharacteristic of a devil, Raphael strokes her head, smoothing out her waves, while he rests his own against the headboard.

It didn’t take long before Raphael began to harden again, growing inside Fortune’s warm, wet mouth. She gives him a few experimental sucks, then he stops her.

“Come here.”

Not to be told twice, Fortune heeds his command. Raphael handles her with ease, making her straddle him. After brushing stray locks of hair from her face, Raphael cups her cheek, nose briefly touching with hers before he kisses her. This time, it’s unrushed and sensuous.

Strong arms wrap around Fortune’s waist as their tongues slide against each other, their taste mingling. This seems to spur the cambion on, and the relaxed atmosphere is replaced with sexual tension again.

“Hard again already. Was I that good?” Fortune mumbles into his mouth, and he grins against hers.

“You’re impressive, little cherry, I’ll give you that.”

“Hah, just ‘impressive’? You were practically begging me to stay with you forever because of how well I serviced you.”

The devil gives her a cocky look. “Me? Beg? My dear, when I’m done with you, you’ll be the one begging.” Raphael grabs her by the hips as he said so, the tip of his length brushing against his lover’s folds. He grabs it and deliberately spreads her wetness around with his head, then teasingly rubbing it against her bundle of nerves nestled in dark hair.

“Prove it, then.”

Excruciatingly slow, Raphael pulled Fortune down, watching as he disappeared inside of her.

Fortune keens, eyes shut and head thrown back. The stretch of his girth is delightful, making the tiefling wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, hand brushing against his leathery wings. Intending to tease her, Raphael keeps his thrusts slow and shallow. This gave her time to adjust to him, and when she did, Fortune rode him in waves, with the same motion she used while servicing him with her mouth. She finds a steady rhythm, and he watches as she bounces, his hot puffs of breath kissing her neck and breasts.

The tiefling cups the devil’s face, her unhurried, sensuous pace allowing for time for small intimacies such as this. She caresses his face’s harsh, angular planes, her thumb stroking his eyebrow, and the devil is taken aback by the gesture. He found himself leaning into the touch, lips pressing against her smooth palm, and his much larger hand squeezing hers.

Something foreign stirs in his devilish heart.

Something tender.

Raphael loathes it.

WIth no time to react, Fortune yelps as he thrusts inside her with a cruel harshness, the sharp bones of his hips slapping against soft skin. Eyes wide open in shock, her world spins as he manhandles her to lie on her back.

A long, drawn out cry courtesy of the tiefling echoes in the bedchambers as Raphael pumps in and out of her body at a punishing pace. There was no concern or care in his movements, and Fortune braced herself by grabbing his horns once again.

“Oh gods, Raphael-”

“The gods can’t hear you here,” he growls, heart pounding against his ribcage. “Take it, Fortune, take all of it!”

Just what in the bloody hells was that? Raphael asks himself internally, confused and unwilling to accept the unfamiliar warmth that Fortune’s gestures planted in his chest. He was to seduce her, debase her, and manipulate her to his will. That’s Raphael’s intention at the start.

Shoving the thoughts aside, he focuses on his own pleasure. He raises Fortune’s hips, her legs in the air, and he hooks her ankle at his shoulder. The deeper penetration made her cry and writhe. His head was brushing at that pleasurable, raw spot inside of her, and she saw stars.

“Raphael, yes!”

The tension grows, and Fortune finds herself close to release again. She reaches between her legs, and strokes the bundle of nerves in circles as Raphael thrusted in her with desperation. The beads inside her intensify the sensations, her tail coils itself around his toned thigh, and she screams his name as she comes undone.

With Fortune spasming around him, Raphael follows shortly after, another primal groan rumbling from his chest as she milked him. Infernal seed floods inside her, breeding her thoroughly. As he rides out his release, his arms are wrapped around Fortune’s thighs. He presses his cheek against her leg, breathing heavily, muttering her name in between thrusts. Once he was done, he brought the tiefling’s legs down, giving her back some rest. His wings flapped cold air around them, giving Fortune’s overheated skin some relief.

Raphael slides out of her, and he spreads her legs apart, watching as his seed flows out of Fortune’s red nether lips, covered with her own creamy release. Raphael thinks back to dessert, and laughs. He collapses on top of her in a heap, wings spread out on the king-sized bed. He buries his face in the crook of her neck.

Breathing deeply, Fortune allows herself to rest, mind blank from the pleasure. Behind her closed eyes, there are no worries, nothing to fret about, a rare occurrence for the scheming overthinker. There is only bliss, a lover in her arms, and silence.

However, the silence did not last long.

“We still have one more area of exploration left, cherry.”

Burning palms cup at her bottom, and a warm mouth sucks at her collarbone. All the muscles in her body relaxed, Fortune allows Raphael to continue with his ministrations. Slowly, he rises, kneeling over her, and he flips her over.

Now prone, the tiefling’s back is exposed to him. Raphael claims her by planting kisses on her neck and shoulders, making sure to mark her with several love bites. She stirs and writhes underneath his cruel and thrilling touch. He trails down her back, until he reaches her tail, which he caresses and strokes with both hands.

A low, sensual moan bubbles from Fortune’s chest as she feels the devil’s hands on her derriere, kneading at her cheeks and spreading them open. He finds the forgotten flask of salve at the bedside, and pours at her entrance, lubricating the delicate tissue well. Then, he tugs at the metal ring that connects to the beads inside.

“Ah! Gently, please…” Fortune begs, grabbing on to a pillow for dear life.

To her relief, Raphael obliges, teasing her, leisurely bringing out the first one with a soft pop. Then, another one follows, and the tiefling learns to push as he pulls. Watching her quiver and stretch and hearing her sweet moans of pain and pleasure makes Raphael’s manhood twitch. The depraved thought of being the first to sodomize her made his blood rush despite already coming twice.

An amused grin dances upon his lips as he pulls out the last bead. Even with all that preparation, and the size of the beads, she still remains tight. He pours more of the salve, some of it on her, and the rest on his length. He coats it with the cold concoction, and gives himself a few strokes. Raphael slides the head against the puckered hole, and he can sense some panic rising from his lover. Fortune’s shoulders tenses as he rubs against her.

“Easy, easy. Breathe deeply.”

Surrendering to him, Fortune allowed herself to relax, and did as she was told. A long, strained cry rips from her throat as his tip enters her, much bigger than the beaded toy. Sweat pours from her brow, and she wears a pained expression on her face.

“Wait, Raphael, stop, please,” she cries, panic swelling once again.

Her lover withdraws, pressing soothing kisses on her back. As much as he wants to take her now, Raphael knew better than to risk injuring her now. He prefers it if his lover experiences pain and pleasure. So, in patient silence, he waits until Fortune initiates.

And she does. She still wants this.

“Let’s try again,” she whispers. “I think I’m ready. But please, use more of the salve.”

With a grin, Raphael obliges her. At this point, he practically douses her with the lubricant.

“You’ll feel good soon enough, little cherry. Open up for me,” Raphael purrs. Soothingly, he kisses her head.

Fortune wails as his head pushes through, the ample lubrication allowing him to slide inside with ease. With half of his length buried into her, Raphael musters all of his will to stop himself from thrusting with wild abandon, his hands gripping her hips so hard that his claws dug into her skin. Before he can do any damage, he lets go and claws at the bed sheets instead, caging her petite form underneath him. Granting the tiefling mercy, the devil keeps his thrusts to a snail’s pace, and he receives his own form of torture in the process. Occasionally, he withdraws himself entirely, before gradually sliding inside again. A bead of sweat rolls from Raphael’s forehead, down to the tip of his nose, and falls on Fortune’s back.

“So bloody tight,” he growls into her ear. “Fortune, my dear, I can’t promise to remain at this pace for long.”

“P-please,” she begs. “Just a few more minutes of mercy…”

The patience pays off. The pained moans Fortune gave him slowly turned into those of pleasure. Soft “yes’s” leave her lips, and Raphael takes it as a cue to pick up the pace. His hand reaches for the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between her folds, and he circles and rubs it as he thrusts. She leans back into his chest, biting her lip at the wonderful and new kind of sensations she’s experiencing.

A laugh rumbles from Raphael, reverberating through Fortune’s back. “Finally enjoying yourself, my dear?”

She nods several times, tongue unable to form words. This prompts Raphael to laugh some more, amused by her reaction. One of his hands snakes around her jaw, and forces her head up, making her look into his eyes. A vile, lecherous grin greets Fortune as Rapahel takes in her dazed, wanton expression.

The words came tumbling out of the tiefling’s mouth, barely coherent. “Ah, Raphael, so good, so damn good… Deeper, faster, please, please…”

“Sinful little harlot. I knew you’d enjoy this depravity,” he purrs, and he presses a kiss on her damp forehead. Pushing down with the full weight of his hips, Raphael pushes himself in, to the hilt. Exquisite agony floods Fortune’s senses as he stretches and fills her.

From there, Raphael moves at a brutal pace. Inhibitions long gone, Fortune moaned without any shame as her lover pounded against her, skin slapping against skin. Raphael feels her tail coil around his torso, and he assails her back and shoulders with kisses. Teeth scrape at the sweet spot near Fortune’s ears again, and she cries out her lover’s name. Reaching behind her, she grabs fistfuls of his hair as he assaulted her neck. As her thighs begin to quiver, a tell-tale sign that she’s near the end, he begins to whisper in her ear.

“My dear cherry,” he snarls. “I’ll give you the things you desire, and more. Painter’s supplies, noble clients, adoration, power- you name it, I’ll give it all to you. You’ll get all that you deserve. For a price.”

The cambion assaults that delightful spot with kisses again, and his free hand plays with a nipple, pulling and twisting with his fingers, bringing her closer to release.

“Say that you’re mine. Say it! Say it, Fortune!”

Senses overwhelmed, white hot heat floods her body, and Fortune comes one last time. Raphael’s name is a desperate prayer that she uttered over and over as her body seized, convulsing around him.

Mind addled from the unspeakable pleasure, Fortune keens.

“I’m yours!”

Raphael’s own high seizes him at last, and he roars as he spends himself inside the tiefling. The last of his seed for tonight fills her, and he slumps forward, panting. Exhausted and barely conscious, Fortune finds herself being handled by her lover. Her cheek presses against his chest, and she is pulled in a hellish embrace. She doesn’t stir as his clawed forefinger strokes that patch of sensitive skin on her neck that he previously assaulted with a flurry of kisses, and brands her with hellfire. She doesn’t resist as he kisses her, deep and possessive.

The last thing the tiefling hears before she succumbs to slumber is the devil’s low, seductive voice.

“Mine.”

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