[ That Booker doesn't shove the demon off immediately means something else has taken hold of his good sense. Instead he bucks up seeking friction and heat from the other body. Goddamn that feels good. ]

I'd say you're not torturing yourself at all. [ And he actually takes his hand off himself to touch the demon. He's warm and surprisingly scarred up, skin rough underneath Booker's own rough hands. ] You're taking exactly what you want.

[ Which seems to be Booker. A terrible idea. ] Your boss probably has my soul already. It's not fucking worth much.

[ He runs his tongue over his dry lips. ] Get me off and you can have it. I've got no use for it.