He was right there, and as she whirled to take the doorknob in her hand, to slam the door behind her,  his hand closed about her wrist. Skin, hot to the touch, far hotter than any human could survive having, locked her wrist in an iron embrace, lifting the arm above her head. He stepped into her, forcing her to step back, pinning her body between his form and the wall with only a scant space between them. The wash of the heat from his skin bled out, his entire body inflamed. He was the center of the scents, the pheromones of arousal surrounding them both and filling the bathroom, such a small room, just as they had filled kitchen.<br/><br/>He leaned up, his tongue licking into the wound that she had made herself on her hand. It was a deep and heavy stroke, potentially painful, as it touched the expose flesh. However the coarse skin of his tongue sealed the wound, stopping the slight flow of blood. He shivered as he tasted her, moving even closer, pressing her breasts to his chest, her nipples pushed against the heated flesh.<br/><br/>His hips moved, his head parted her lips without entering, poised at that one moment where he could take her, or her him. Engorged and ready, he waited. She had created him, he would be as she desired him to be, sating her hunger for pleasure as she needed. He was smooth, prepared to enter and fill her, prepared to fulfill her every wish. The heat from this contact seemed even more intense, as if he could burn her desire in filling her.<br/><br/>He leaned forward, his mouth an inch from her ear and he began to whisper.<br/><br/><em>I am Rosuriel, Servant of Asmodeus, King of lust. I am Rosuriel the right hand of Carnivean, lord of obscenity. I have tasted of Queens and Empresses, sated the lust of the holy and the devout. All that I have, all that I know is now yours Tegan.  </em><br/><br/>The words hung there, waiting for her to accept them, to take him into her. At that moment the promises of attention from a creature as old as time itself, the knowledge of ages of experience, was offered to her. Not to a queen, not to a magus, but to Tegan, the woman who had summoned him from an abyss. He stood ready, tempting her with his body. He barely moved and yet she could feel him slide atop her entrance, his crown damp by her arousal.<br/><em><br/>Take it from me.</em><br/>