**Chapter 9 – Charlie POV**
The storage room door had barely clicked shut behind us before Alastor had me bent over a stack of old crates, dress rucked up around my waist again. My cheek pressed against rough wood as he drove into me from behind with single-minded force, each thrust punching a fresh gasp from my lungs. I was still sore from the bedroom and the earlier quick encounter, yet my body welcomed him greedily, walls fluttering and clenching with every deep stroke. Pleasure coiled tight and immediate, slick sounds filling the cramped space as his previous loads were pushed out around his thicker cock.
He thought I hated it. The grip on my hips was bruising, tentacles pinning my wrists while another vibrated harshly against my clit. Static crackled wildly, stronger than ever, sending jolts that made my toes curl and my vision spark. I came within moments, biting my lip bloody to muffle the loud moan, but it slipped free anyway—raw, needy, unmistakably ecstatic. My orgasm milked him hard, fresh waves of arousal flooding around him as my legs shook.
"Still performing," he snarled above me, radio voice glitching with anger. He didn't slow, pounding harder as if my climax offended him. The misunderstanding tore at me even as another peak built fast on the heels of the first. I was enjoying this far too much, the guilt about Vaggie twisting everything into something darkly addictive. His power pressed down on me like a physical weight, unchained and immense, making the shelves rattle without him even trying.
A surprise flash cut through the static: for three full seconds his shadow on the wall shifted into something else—pale skin, messy brown hair, amber eyes wide with panic as claws tore through a chest that wasn't his. A young voice, unmistakably his yet completely different, whispered "Dad… tell him I'm sorry" before the radio filter slammed back into place. The vision vanished, but it left me reeling even as my second orgasm ripped through me, harder than the first, squirting messily down my thighs.
Alastor stiffened, misreading my shocked whimper as disgust. He finished with a growl, flooding me again until I felt bloated with his release. When he pulled out, thick strands dripped onto the floor. He straightened my dress with clinical precision, smile sharp. "Enough intermission. Our guests await their princess."
I could barely walk straight as he escorted me back to the lobby on his arm. Every step made more of him leak out, soaking my inner thighs. The hotel had filled while we were gone. At least fifteen new sinners milled about—some curious, some skeptical, a few already arguing. Angel Dust was giving an impromptu lap dance on the couch for tips. Sir Pentious had claimed a corner booth and was sketching blueprints for something called "the Perfect Redemption Machine." Husk served drinks with a permanent scowl. Niffty zoomed between tables, cackling as she dusted cobwebs that reformed instantly.
Vaggie met us halfway across the room. Her eye widened at my state—disheveled hair, flushed skin, the unmistakable scent clinging to me. Hurt flashed raw across her face before she locked it down. "Charlie. A word. Now."
Alastor's static spiked, antlers cracking as they grew. "The princess is occupied fulfilling our bargain. Unless you'd like to test how thoroughly the chains have been removed from my soul?"
Before the situation could explode, a massive tremor shook the building. A new threat—larger than the earlier gang—slammed against the exterior wards. Dozens of demons armed with hellfire launchers and stolen exorcist blades poured into the street, drawn by the earlier power display like moths to a flame. One of them, a towering bull demon, bellowed, "The Radio Freak's gone soft guarding this redemption scam! Take the hotel!"
Alastor's eyes met mine for a split second. I saw the love buried under layers of misread rejection, the hyper-intelligent spark calculating a dozen outcomes at once. Then he strode outside alone, power exploding outward in a dome of violet static that lit up the entire block. What followed was a symphony of chaos: shadows twisting into wolf-like shapes that howled with eerie accuracy, mimicry replaying the attackers' own voices to sow confusion, green sigils forming intricate barriers that looked suspiciously like protective runes from another life.
I watched from the doorway, body still throbbing, guilt and desire warring inside me as Vaggie stood rigid at my side. Alastor dismantled the mob with terrifying efficiency, stronger than ever, free in a way that both thrilled and scared me. When the last enemy fell, he returned coated in ash, smile intact but eyes stormy.
"Another successful broadcast," he announced to the stunned guests. "Now, who's ready for orientation?"
He offered me his hand again. I took it, feeling the residual static jump between us like electricity seeking ground. My heart ached with everything I needed to say—that I had come harder for him than I ever had in my life, that the guilt was real but so was the pleasure, that something inside him had fundamentally changed the day he knocked on our door.
For now the words stayed trapped. The hotel was officially open. The deal marched forward. And with every new arrival watching us, the weight of my conflicting feelings grew heavier than the power that now protected us all.