REMEMBER: Comment on both entries and you get your name in the pot twice for a signed copy of Hotter than Hell. Pulling the name at 1PM Eastern tomorrow.

The incubus Daunuan loves his job: seduce a lot of mortals, bring their souls to Hell, party at the best interdimensional pub this side of the Astral Plane. But when the King of Lust makes him an offer he can’t refuse, Daun has to give up all the tricks of his trade to properly befriend—and bed—Virginia Reed, a woman who’s meant for Heaven.

If he can get her to love him for the incubus he really is, and if he can avoid the rogue demons that are hell-bent on destroying him for reasons unknown, Daun will become the First Principal of Lust, second in line to the King. But Daun learns that love is more than a four-letter word, and that maybe, just maybe, demons really do have feelings after all…

~~~~~~~~
“Kessler has outdone herself by giving readers a glorious book three of her deliciously sinful series, Hell on Earth. Daunuan’s sexy supernatural antics make sparks fly, and if you’re not careful you’ll singe your fingers as the pages speed by. It’s packed with quirky characters, a spicy, fast-paced plot and witty dialogue. Be prepared for a demonic treat that’s hotter than hell.”

— Romantic Times, 4.5 stars Top Pick

“Jackie Kessler is firmly on my list of favorite authors. Hotter Than Hell is edgy and filled with hot temptation—in the form of an incubus so sexy, daring, and delicious that you’ll be offering him your own soul. Fast paced and clever, Kessler’s writing shines.”
— Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author

Hotter than Hell
(c) Jackie Keesler, 2008

CHAPTER 1: COITUS INTERRUPTUS

Anyone in my position would’ve thought the buzzing in my head was anticipation. Five minutes to go, then the client would be eating from my hand. Literally. I had the grapes ready and waiting in the ice bucket, chilling. She liked it when I let the cluster dangle over her lips—she’d poke her tongue out, sinewy and slick against the ripe fruit, darting pink flesh over purple. Sweetness on sweetness, both begging to be sucked. Plucked. My blood pounded through me, boom boom, boom boom, sending happy signals to my brain and my balls, getting my body primed. T-minus five minutes, and counting. Small talk until then—light touches here, knowing smiles there, lying about her job and mine. Thinking about sex. Killing time.

So it sort of wasn’t my fault that I didn’t sense the demon approaching.

The client had moved some things around in the bedroom since my last visit. Now her wedding photo was missing (“Getting it reframed”) and the threadbare pink comforter had been replaced with one that was red and advertised sin. We sprawled on the bed, clothing still on, intentions thick in the air. She was decked out in a white silk sheath and pearls and lacy thigh-highs. I was a study of blacks. A bit cliché, but Tall, Dark and Handsome was all the rage. She liked it, and I aimed to please.

“I got a new perfume,” my client said. “Envy Me.”

“I’d prefer to ravish you.”

Her smile pulled into a grin—white teeth flashing in a lipstick sea of red. “The perfume, I mean. It’s Gucci.” She leaned forward, offering me her neck as she pressed her breasts against my chest, rubbed. Looking for a quick feel through the silk. My kind of woman. She purred, “Like it, baby?”

Inhaling deeply, I took in the peony and jasmine and other scents blending together with her eager sweat, her underlying smell of female in heat. “Nice,” I lied. Me, I preferred the musk of her sex alone, without the cloying flowery scent over it. “You smell good enough to eat.” No lie there.

“Yeah?” She was playful, almost kittenish. “You going to…eat me?”

Heh. Sex kittenish. “Oh yeah, doll. Eat you alive.” Among other things.

“My big bad wolf.”

That made me chuckle. Brushing her hair away from her face, I said, “You my little red riding hood?”

“Depends, baby. You want me to ride you?”

I smiled, wistful. “Like you would not believe.”

My head buzzed, hummed as she oozed sex, her body practically begging me to climb on top of her. Soon, doll. Soon. She jiggled against me once more, reached her hand out toward my thigh—stroked once, lushly, then pulled back. She knew the dance by now: only teasing at first, quick-fingered taunts. Nothing overt. Not yet.

Seduction, after all, had its rules. Date Number One had been all about getting her to kiss me. Number Two had been pleasing her like no other man or woman ever had before. Three had been making her want me more than anything else. (One thing about us Seducers: we always put our clients’ desires ahead of our own. If not for the rules, I would’ve fucked her silly after I introduced myself.)

Here we were at Date Number Four: D-Day, the Big One. My Turn. Otherwise known as The Payoff. It set my blood to boil just thinking about it.

But first things first: I had to get her revving, ready steady go on the first real touch. Thus a five-minute warm-up of sexual tension. Seduction 101. Child’s play. And never mind how that single stroke of hers on my leg had rippled up my back, settled into my stomach. I shifted; the front of my pants was too damn tight.

Sometimes the rules really sucked.

“Don,” she said, her voice a low purr that went straight to my crotch. That’s all she said: my name, or her version of my name. That’s all she needed to say. Her hand again, now on my stomach. I wagged a no-no-no with my finger as I grinned, thinking about how she’d taste like candy. Thinking about how she’d call my name.

Mmm. Shivers.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She dropped her gaze to my fly, where she saw just how much I was thinking about her. Her desire filled the air, thick and pungent, as she begged me to come on, baby, let’s get started already.

But damn, how I wanted to. Oh, the things I wanted to do. Would do. Four minutes—no, less now. Three and counting. I said her name, put just the right amount of foreplay into my voice.

She looked up at me through her makeup-crusted lashes, slowly ran her tongue over her fuck-me lips. Bedroom eyes; blowjob mouth. Intoxicating. Boom boom, boom boom.

“Now, baby,” she said, her voice a throaty growl. The woman was giving way to the animal, to the instinct that tingled deep inside her. Giving way to lust. And all with no nudging from me. Sweet. She said again: “Now.” Insistent. Demanding.

A hum again, this time strong enough to make me sit up. Frowning, I felt the buzz resonate through me, pitched high in warning. No, this wasn’t just anticipation. This was—

—her mouth on mine, her tongue jabbing through my lips and running against my teeth. My momentary caution faded into bemused surprise. She usually wasn’t so direct, but who gave a damn? Screw the countdown to bliss. She was ready. Steady.

Go.

Heat rolled over me, bathed me in fire from head to toe. I opened my mouth to hers, pushed that heat into her. She said “Mmmmmm,” melted into the kiss like chocolate over flame. I washed my hands over the silk of her body, and the buzzing in my head sputtered, died.

Oh, doll, how I’m going to make you scream…

She groaned against me, and my tongue lapped up the sound. I left her mouth to kiss up her jaw, now playing by the lobe of her ear. She squirmed against me, all soft and delicious, delectable, making contented sounds that told me I hit one of her sweet spots. Her hand clenched on my shoulder, then pushed. With a hungry “Rrrrr” she rolled me onto my back, straddled my hips. The hem of her dress rode up, exposing the fullness of her upper thighs, the flash of white satin panties.

Boom boom.

“This is different,” I murmured, my hands on her waist.

“You’re always so good to me, baby.” Her voice was thick with need, her eyes dark and brimming. Leaning down, she poured herself over me to whisper in my ear, “I want to ride you. Now.”

Maybe I ditched the countdown, but other rules had to stay in place. Clients first, even on D-day. That was ever the rule. So I ignored the ache in my groin and said, “Ladies first, doll.”

“Don…”

“Maybe I’ll take the grapes, run them over your naked body. Nibble them off your skin.”

“I don’t want grapes. I want you.”

“You got me.”

“No I don’t. You never let me do you, bring you there.” She gyrated over my crotch, a slow dry hump that did maddening things to me. “It’s always been about me.”

“I’m a giving sort of guy,” I said, my voice husky.

“Your turn, baby,” she said, punctuating her promise with wet kisses down my neck. Her fingers played by my crotch, and over the buzzing in my head and the pounding of my heart, I heard her unzip my fly. “I’m going to love you so fine,” she said, “you’re going to sing my name. I’m going to make you explode.”

Down she kissed, down my chest, my stomach, my—

Wa-hoo.

Okay, maybe the customer was always right…

In the midst of mind-blowing pleasure, a deafening crash, followed by a man’s shout: “What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”

Uh oh.

Louder than the man’s words, the buzzing screamed its warning in my head.

Shit.

Getting interrupted in the middle of sex is bad enough. Worse is when the cause of coitus interruptus is a demon.

Now available online and in bookstores everywhere.