Page 70 of The Succubi's Choice

Without even breaking a stride, he rolls a condom down on himself, not even taking off his suit pants.

It’s been too long, after only one encounter after being starved, and she fists up her injured hand, feeling the charm surge up inside of it. It throbs, as Rich runs his hand down his length once, twice, twitching.

“Oh,” Miri says, and reaches out, grabbing him over the condom, feeling him twitch in her hand.

But gentle, before she can wrap her head around what’s happening, Olivia takes her hand away, holding it like a suitor of old. “Are you ready?” She asks, her voice deep and rich and somehow the entire world.

When she nods, Rich lifts her up with a surprisingly strong grip and settles her right on his dick, thrusting inside her with one swift motion, and she gasps.

She arches her back, and Olivia is there to catch her, bracing her in place, harsh wool against over sensitive skin. “We got you,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of Miri’s hair behind her ear. “We got you, it’s okay.”

Miri struggles to get her breath under control, seeing sparks beneath her eyelids, and slowly, ever so slowly, Rich thrusts inside of her, bouncing her, and it’s everything she wants. Everything in that little moment, with someone pressed against her back and another in her front and a dick large and hot inside her. She moans, and Olivia kisses her, teasing out the sound, and every bit of her feels like it’s on fire and…

Olivia breaks the kiss, before pressing a kiss onto Miri’s injured hand, and Miri chokes back a sob when her charm wants so, so much, to go into her, to make her eyes turn gold and and and…

Before she can do anything, before she can lose control, Olivia drops her hand, stroking the peak of Miri’s breasts instead. “You’re quite a find,” she whispers, her eyes on Miri’s chest instead of her face.

As if this isn’t way more for Miri’s benefit than it is hers, and, her hand shaking, she reaches out with her uninjured hand, gripping at the hem of Olivia’s power suit, pulling it up, before Olivia carefully smooths it back down.

“No, no, no, you don’t get to do that,” she whispers, her voice a low purr, and Miri lets her hands fall away. “I’m not the one who gets undressed.”

She nods, not trusting her voice, fisting her injured hand again, then slamming her hand against the couch, something, anything, to avoid charming her. Olivia kisses her again, and it’s so much, so much, and —

A cool hand closes over her injured one, and, gasping, she wrenches her head to look, her hair falling over her face.

As if it is nothing, Not-Thomas holds her hand, still idly chatting with the person next to him, and she twists her hand so her palm is against his. Her charm sparks, into his hand, as if just looking for a place to discharge and —

She shudders, orgasming, her eyes falling shut as Rich pounds against her, and her head lolls back against his shoulder, and moments later, he follows her, panting.

It’s like she’s floating, all the energy she’s absorbed floods her system, like she’s barely tethered to the world. Like this is how she’s supposed to be.

She gets another lingering kiss from Olivia, like she’s precious, and they even help her adjust her dress, a level of care she doesn’t know if she’s ever received before, their hands gentle on her over sensitized skin.

“You’re a delight,” Olivia whispers to her, smoothing down her hair. She spots Miri’s hand, still clasped in Not-Thomas’s, and her lips twist into a soft smile. “Enjoy tonight.”

And with that, with only a formal nod to Not-Thomas, the two of them leave.

The Archdemon’s conversation partner gives her the same knowing smile. “First time at one of these parties?”

She doesn’t know if she can talk yet, so she nods.

Casual, very casual, Not-Thomas drapes his arm over her shoulders, just like he did the first time, and just like that time, the contact is a shock and an immediate comfort.

With another nod, the conversation partner bows out, leaving the two of them alone and she takes a moment to breath.

“You already look better,” he says, quiet so only she can hear. “You look more like how a succubi should.”

She swallows, still entirely unsure of where her skin ends and the air begins. “How do you mean?”

“You actually have color in your face,” he say, light. “And you’re not sparking around.” He lifts her hand, still in his. “Think you needed that more than anything.”

“Thank you,” she blurts out, and it’s a hair too raw for the two of them, and she can see him move away from the intimacy of the statement. “That was...it was difficult. Out of control.”

He releases her hand, shows her his palm, which is unharmed, despite what must’ve been an odd amount of energy coursing through it. “Figured it was better you charm me than someone else, can’t influence my behavior,” he says, a hint of coldness behind his words. “Not sure why anyone would think otherwise.”

In the center of the room, the woman tied by the ropes is being fucked, slowly, by a man with a vibrator, and she cries out, a high, clear, and happy sound, and for a brief second all conversation in the room falls silent in response.

The arm over her shoulder is comfortable, and, instinctive, she leans against him, like they are two normal people. At an orgy.

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