Page 77 of The Succubi's Choice

“Huh,” he says, in a very un-all-powerful demon statement. “I’ve never made the effort to go to his house, perhaps I should.”

“It’s very pleasant,” she comments, watching the cut of his jaw and the movements each breath makes. “For succubi, at least. Probably not for humans. Bit too warm for that.”

This time he does look over at her, his eyes glinting red, but otherwise looking like any other man in a bed does. “I lived in the Sahara, once. A bit of heat on in a room in America won’t bother me.”

“How’d you not get sunburned?”

“Not in this body,” he says, the hint of a smile along his face. “And sunburns are easy to heal.”

And that sounds nice, but she doesn’t have much of anything to follow that up, so she just lets her eyes unfocus, almost relax, if not for the ever-present throbbing in her arm.

“I have no idea how I’ll get away with this,” she says, soft, and his face turns solemn at her words. “If they find out, they’ll be...”

His eyes track down to her arm. “They shouldn’t find out,” he says, almost delicate.

“Unless you can brainwash an entire department, they almost certainly have me watched, and they’ll not be happy, and...”

He leans in close to her, and presses a soft kiss on her forehead, and she falls silent.

The room is quiet, so quiet she can’t believe she didn’t notice it earlier, just the sound of the two of them breathing, barely, and the quiet fold of fabric when they do. No inevitable sound of the floor beneath them, no creak of the building, no sound from the soft light bulbs. No sound of air conditioning, or heating, or anything.

“Why?” She asks, when she can’t handle the dearth of it for a second longer.

“Why what?” He asks, and he’s so close she can feel him breathe.

“Why any of this?”

“It’s more comfortable than a closet,” he says, almost wistful. “And being downstairs, being in all of that, it can be tiring.”

“For someone who doesn’t partake, I can imagine.” Even for her, where she one hundred percent benefits and is probably the most well provided for she’s ever been in her life, the idea of going back downstairs sets something off in the back of her mind, some sort of hesitation. Like going back down there would be too much, would get her sick.

Like a child in a candy store, where too much of a good thing would lead to a massively upset stomach.

“But why me?”

He looks at her, really looks at her, the look of someone both fond of the asker and yet disappointed with the question. Like they had hoped they wouldn’t have asked.

But she refuses to fidget under the look.

And this time, he relents before she does, and he sighs, the fabric of his shirt moving with the motion in a way that draws her eye.

“You knew about me and Thomas the first time you spoke to him, and you were kind,” he says, slow, like he’s searching for words that he could put in place that were both true and yet protective. “You charmed him, but did not harm him, and most...do not act that way.”

“And then you thought you would threaten me?” She asks, poking him in the arm, and the fabric of his shirt is soft and warm.

He rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t think too hard about it.” He’s close, he’s so close to her, just inches away, still on the bed that envelops them both, and…

And it’s nice. Nice.

Something she doesn’t normally get. That she feels guilty of when she’s too near people, that she’s going to hurt them. That just being so close, so near to touching, but not...

She presses up, kissing him, and his lips part, slow, before he pulls away, his eyes shut.

“You don’t get anything from me, Miri,” he says, his voice rasping along the edges. “Not when it’s me, your charm doesn’t work.”

“Right,” she says, drawing back, a stinging in her throat. “You don’t do this. Sorry.”

He blinks up at her, before leaning over and touching the side of her face, gentle, ever so gentle, as if she will break apart. “That’s not what I meant.” With each word, his voice works itself back to confidence. “You can’t expect to get sustenance from me.”

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