Pushing Rope (The Q Collection) Read online

  PUSHING ROPE

  Jennie Kew

  WOODEN KEY PRESS

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  Copyright © 2017 by Jennie Kew Published by Wooden Key Press Cover design by Addendum Designs Interior design by Pronoun Edited by Hot Tree Editing Distribution by Pronoun

  ISBN: 9781537860015

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Pushing Rope

  Acknowledgements

  Meet the Author

  What’s Next

  More by Jennie Kew

  Pushing Rope

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

  Especially if that woman happens to be an ancient Greek water spirit with a wicked jealousy streak and the ability to curse her lovers with their worst nightmares. Take me for example, Asmodeus: archdemon of lust, prince of lechery, king of carnal desires… I’m not even sure what she thinks I did to deserve my fate, all I know is my peep don’t work and there’s only one woman in the world who can fix it, and after three long, dry, sexless months she’d better fix it soon, or you can bet your ass there’ll be hell to pay!

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  For the ELE girls.

  PUSHING ROPE

  SUCKING ON MY CIGARILLO AND staring into space, my valet’s voice is a nagging tickle inside my eardrums. And as much as I would like to drown him out—or simply drown him—I cannot.

  “You even listening to me?”

  “What?”

  Jonathon slowly rolls his shoulders, the irritation sluicing off him in waves. He’s fun to annoy. “I said, would you like me to refresh your bath? The water has gone cold.”

  Shifting my gaze to the surface of the water, I watch my flaccid cock as it bobs around between my legs like a neglected bath toy. I heave a sigh and nod at the stool beside the tub. “The only thing that needs refreshing is my brandy glass.”

  Cigarillo clamped between my teeth, I brace my hands on either side of the bath and haul my ass out of the tub. Water runs down my body in cool rivulets that track over the rigid muscle of my chest and stomach. As it trickles down my thighs and drips off the end of my useless knob, I remember how much I used to loathe the stuff.

  Water, such a contradictory substance. Able to give life as easily as it takes it, it is sickeningly pure and yet terrifyingly dark. It’s also my father’s weapon of choice. Want to cleanse the weak of evil? Water. Want to dedicate your soul to a higher purpose? Water. Need to wipe out the whole of human existence except your BFF and his menagerie? Water.

  I feared and hated the stuff.

  Until I met Nadia, my lovely little naiad.

  Not that I’d known what she was when I met her—half-dead, stuck at the bottom of an empty well and reeking of filth. I only found her because I’d stopped to take a piss and freaked out when I saw her haunted expression leering up at me like a spectre from my past. Unsure of her origins, I was tempted to leave her down there, but there was something about her, something that called to me, so I fished her out. When she begged me for water, I was tempted to drop her back down the hole she came from, but then that feeling, that something urged me on. I scooped her up, putrescence and all, then carried her to the edge of the nearest stream and tossed her in. I figured if she drowned, so be it, at least she’d have her precious water, but I’d be fucked if I was getting any closer to it than I had to.

  What happened next was… unexpected.

  The little ragamuffin I’d pitched into the stream came up looking more like a freaking angel than the horror movie reject I’d pulled out of the ground, the water restoring her lost vitality until she’d practically glowed with life. She had a slim yet soft body that dipped and swelled in all the right places, creamy skin and long honey-brown hair that reached down below the gentle curve of her ass. Her small, firm breasts were tipped with the most delicate rosy nipples I’d ever seen, but it was her eyes that caught and held my attention. Eyes of such a pure, crystalline blue they reminded me of Heaven. And that something I’d felt earlier suddenly had a name.

  Home.

  As I watched her splash about in the stream, I was entranced by her beauty, ensnared by her aura of sensuality. Before I knew it, I stood hip deep in water with a goddess in my arms, her tongue down my throat and my cock so engorged it still amazes me I didn’t pass out from the lack of blood to my brain.

  Nadia was so grateful for my assistance, she fucked me stupid for three days straight.

  And water got crossed off the list of things that scare the shit out of me.

  Fast-forward a few centuries and she’s still my go-to booty call. It’s the eyes. I get lost in the fathomless depths of her eyes, get a glimpse of my old life before I followed my brother Lucifer and took a swan dive into damnation. Before I became… this.

  Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m Asmodeus, a prince of Hell, the archdemon of lust, a paragon of lasciviousness and desire. I am literally sex on legs.

  What’s so bad about being me, right?

  Well, there’s the truth curse Lucifer saddled me with so I could never lie to him, and then there’s the bum leg that requires the use of a walking cane because hey, that fall from grace was a fucking long way down and didn’t come with airbags.

  And, oh yeah, I can’t get an erection to save my life, so… there’s that.

  Asmodeus, the prince of lust, has erectile dysfunction.

  Now there’s a headline for you. Suffice to say it’s problematic. Without sex to curb my lust for flesh, my desires will turn dark, will become less carnal, more carnivorous. And personally I’d rather eat a woman out, not, you know, eat her.

  And who do I have to thank for this little predicament?

  Nadia.

  My little water witch has done something to me, but I’m fucked if I know what. Or why. But I know it’s her. Naiads are notoriously jealous creatures.

  The last time I saw her, I spent a whole week seeing to her every whim, fulfilling her every wish. Fucking her every which way she wanted, and what she wanted… faaark. Let’s just say it’s a rare woman who can teach me new tricks in the bedroom.

  On any other day, just the thought of Nadia and her wicked sexual appetites would have my cock springing to attention and my fingers hitting the speed dial, but not now. Not today.

  Not for three fucking months.

  “Your brandy, my lord.”

  Swirling the aged amber liquid in the glass, I savour its fragrance. Ordinarily the rich, sweet scent would help calm my busy mind, would ease the onslaught of agitated thoughts marching through my head, but not this time. I throw it down in one swift swallow, then drop my cigar stub inside the glass and listen to it die with a hiss. The buzz of the alcohol is short-lived and does little to alleviate my irritation. Jonathon’s eyes narrow but he says nothing, taking the glass from my outstretched hand with practiced patience.

  He returns with a towel and dries my body with an expert touch, then slides a silken robe over me and ties it about my waist. I heave a sigh, neither action piquing my interest as it should. When he removes his glasses and stares into my eyes, the corner of my mouth twitches. I really should stop him, but as his lips graze over mine and his tongue flicks inside my mouth, teasing, tempting, I moan in surrender. I lean into him, feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton of his shirt. My hand finds his nape, pulls him tighter against me.
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  I’d forgotten how sweet he tastes, or perhaps that’s the brandy.

  Angling him back against the bathroom wall, I press the full length of my body against his and deepen our kiss. Like all his incubi brethren, Jonathon is lean and hard. He is strength and sex and wantonness, designed to draw his lovers to him and then drive them out of their minds with lust. But I am Asmodeus, the grand poobah of getting it on… when I can get it up. If anyone is to be driven out of their minds tonight, it will not be me.

  But Jonathon is determined to try.

  His clever fingers slip under my robe and juggle my balls in the most delicious way, and when he licks my throat and nips at my jaw, my pulse races with excitement. My body is humming with pleasure, delighting in the feel of my valet’s firm yet gentle caress. My cock should be as hard as granite—but it’s not. The stupid, stubborn, godforsaken mockery of my manhood remains limp and lifeless, and I am flooded once more with frustration.

  Easing away from Jonathon, I try to mask my disappointment.

  He frowns and replaces his glasses. “Perhaps a visit to a human doctor is warranted. Try some of those little blue pills their males are so fond of.”

  I point to my walking cane. “I don’t think so.”

  “I hear Gluttony has in his possession a foie gras that is particularly fine.” When I raise my brow at him, he explains with an undertone of glee. “It’s made from the livers of French chefs, fattened on their own signature dishes until their organs exploded. Your brother’s valet describes it as ‘rich and buttery with a just a hint of sweet irony.’ Should I make a call?”

  I grind my teeth together. “No, thank you, Jonathon. I’m not there yet.”

  He tsks at me as I take my cane and hobble toward the door, and then he says something for which I would kill a lesser man. “There is one other possibility. Dare I suggest the mighty Asmodeus, patron saint of man-whores everywhere… is in love?”

  I turn and shove the point of my cane into the solid wall of his chest. “I am not some lowly incubus who can only get it up for his beloved.” Chastened by his hurt expression, I mumble, “No offence, Jonathon.”

  His hurt turns to pique as he grips the point of my cane and shoves it back at me, almost knocking me on my ass. “As an incubus who will be balls deep in his beloved within the hour, while you languish in Limpdicktopia for the foreseeable future, no offence taken, my lord.”

  My mouth twists into a half-smile. “Touché.”

  Jonathon drops his gaze and stares at me over the rim of his glasses. “Asmodeus, perhaps Ava and I could join you this evening. Perhaps the company of a female would—”

  I hold up my hand to silence him. “I have been in the company of dozens of females since my… malady first struck, and while their attentions have been more than pleasurable, not a single one of them made me rise to the occasion, as it were. And as you yourself have witnessed, male attention has fared no better.” I yank the door open and step through to my bedroom. “I thank you for your concern, old friend, but I fear there is only one person who can help me now, and the little minx isn’t answering her goddamn phone.”

  “Who’s a little minx?”

  “Nadia?” Lumbering farther into my room, I spy my lady peeling off her dress.

  She finger-waves at me. “Surprise!”

  Jonathon coughs discreetly by my side to hide his laughter. “If there’ll be nothing else, my lord…?”

  I wave him off without another word and zero my focus on the one woman in the world guaranteed to get my dick back on the active duty roster.

  And I have its first assignment planned already. More to the point, its first ass….

  My gaze drifts over my lover, and I drink her in, trying to read her mood, her movements. She’s lying on my bed now, belly down and naked—always naked—with her chin propped in her hands. The fall of her hair frames her face like a honey-coloured curtain, highlighting the creaminess of her skin, the rosiness of her lips, the deep, heavenly hue of her eyes. I long to touch her, to soothe the godforsaken ache welling inside me, crush the ancient darkness threatening to consume me, but I’m a stubborn sonofabitch.

  I want her to suffer as I have suffered.

  Then she crooks her finger at me, and like a sex-starved simpleton, I am tempted to obey. But if she thinks for an instant she can reel me in as easily as all that, and after what she’s done?

  I don’t think so, lover.

  Instead I take a seat on the old leather couch that faces my bed, grab another cigarillo from the pack on the table beside me and light it, then blow smoke rings at her and tap my hand on the vacant seat. Her seductive smile broadens, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly.

  “My bedroom, pet. My rules.”

  A flash of arousal flares in her eyes, colours her cheeks. Blinking slowly, she slips from the bed and stands before me, her proud chin lifted, meeting my challenge. She steps forward, but I’m not going to make it that easy for her. For three fucking months she has tormented me from afar, sucked my life force dry. She has no idea how close I came to giving Jonathon the order, telling him to call my brother, Gluttony, and raiding his vile pantry. Without sex I have slowly starved, and it’s taking every ounce of what will power remains not to throw her over my knee and spank a confession out of her. But she’ll get her comeuppance.

  Payback’s a bitch.

  “Crawl.”

  The order is spat from my lips, and I watch with satisfaction as her breasts rise and fall with her quick intake of breath. Her tongue flicks over her lips, and I watch the movement like a hawk, longing for the time when she’ll wrap those soft pink pillows around my blue balls and blow fresh life into my deflated cock.

  “Yes, my lord.” Her sweet submission is music to my ears.

  She gets down on her hands and knees and moves across the room. It’s only a few paces from the bed to the couch, but she’s determined to make me wait. As she crawls across the floor ever so slowly, I watch the elegant sway of her body, admire her lovely figure. The nubile young naiad I pulled from that empty well all those centuries ago is long gone. Her narrow waist has grown a little softer and a lot less narrow, her slender hips have grown plump with a womanly flare they lacked in her youth, and those pert little breasts with the sweet pink nipples have ripened and grown heavy. My mouth waters as I watch them swing back and forth and back and forth as she crosses the room.

  I used to think she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  But now?

  There aren’t enough words on God’s green Earth to describe how perfect my Nadia is.

  Her body is so lush, so soft, so fuckable, and as she reaches my feet and stares up at me, I am gripped by an all-encompassing need to pleasure her, to kiss her and hold her and fuck her senseless.

  But I can’t.

  Not until she reverses whatever the fuck it is she did to me.

  And tells me why she did it.

  Barely controlling the anger firing through my veins, I take a deep pull on my cigar and lean back on the couch, spreading my arms wide across the top of the cushions. Nadia watches me, her face a picture of caution as she gets to her feet and settles herself on the couch to my right. But as pissed off as I am, I would never hurt her. I promised her a long time ago, after tracking down and slaughtering the assholes responsible for dropping her down that cesspool of a well, that I would always protect her. Even from me.

  Especially from me.

  I never wanted my darkness to taint her light.

  Tentative fingers reach out and stroke along my thigh, tug the silk of my robe higher to reveal my damaged leg. To all outward appearances I look like any ordinary man, and by ordinary I mean I look like every month of a freaking firemen’s calendar rolled into one, then sprayed down with an extra dose of awesome.

  Except for that fucking leg.

  My deformed, knobbly kneed, grotesque leg.

  But Nadia doesn’t care. Unlike my previous lovers, serious and casual alike, she has never shi
ed away from me. Never treated me as anything less than a whole man, dignified and strong. Her gentle hand caresses my ruined knee, soothes the phantom aches that plague me still, even after all this time, before she leans down and grazes her soft lips over the puckered flesh of my scars. The unexpected intimacy makes me shiver, and even more surprising, my heart stutters in my chest.

  I didn’t even know that thing was still switched on.

  I drop my hand to stroke her hair and encourage her lips to travel higher, to latch around my cock. Like that was ever going to work. I’ve never been able to make this woman do anything she didn’t want to. Not that she didn’t normally enjoy sucking my cock. Normally she couldn’t get enough of it, worked it with those sweet, firm lips and that warm, pliant tongue until I was so dazed with lust I couldn’t walk, with or without my cane.

  Of course, maybe now that it wasn’t working properly….

  But whose fault was that?

  I scowled. “Nadia?”

  She runs the tip of her tongue from my bulbous kneecap to the crease of my leg, making me tremble in delight. “Yes, my lord?” Her voice drips with sensual promises.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  She sits back on her haunches and looks up at me, taps her slender finger against her chin. “Hmm, I don’t think so. I’m naked, you’re practically naked, my pussy is hot and wet, and your cock is….” She pulls my robe open, but I refuse to look down, keeping my gaze fixed on her pretty face.

  Brow raised and lips flat, I ask, “My cock is…?”

  Her smile dissolves. “Glorious,” she says, her voice awestruck.

  Wait, what?

  That wasn’t the response I’d expected. Eyes narrowed, I drop my head and look down at my deflated dick. Only it’s not looking so deflated anymore.

  “What the fuck? When did that happen?”

  “Hello, handsome.” Her fingers are cool, and I suck in a breath as she wraps them around my rock-hard erection. The next thing I know she’s swinging herself into my lap, her legs straddling mine and her pussy perfectly positioned to glide along my cock. She rocks her hips and my head falls back. I moan. Loudly.