Page 92 of The Succubi's Choice

“Yes, but...do that. I want to know.”

A beat, and then he nods. “I can stop you from doing anything.”

“I mean, that also works, but so do words.” She gets another smile, brief in its brilliance, before he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him and into a bruising kiss.

She gasps, against him, her charm sparking from her injured arm and into the air, useless, before she grabs his face and kisses back, with just as much force.

He half stumbles back, the back of his knees hitting the bed, and he sits down, abrupt, still holding her against him, and this is where she can shine.

She straddles his thighs, ghosting her hand over his belt buckle. At his nod, she slowly, ever so slowly, undoes the buckle, the leather supple in her hand.

He’s already hard, she can see him straining through his jeans, and she presses her hand against the bulge there. He exhales, slow, deliberate, but doesn’t stop her.

“You can touch me, too,” she whispers, even though they’re alone, even though she very much doubts that anyone could overhear them.

He lifts his hand to her face, gently stroking down her chin, like she will break in a million pieces if he isn’t careful. After a brief glance at her face, he lets his hand fall to her shoulder, to the single strap of her top, playing with it.

Still over the thin fabric of her tank top, he skims his hand over her breasts, and there’s a quick intake of breath from him as he does so.

He’s so slow, so achingly slow, with every motion and every small touch, she feels her stomach tighten at waiting.

It’s a different sort of waiting than she usually does, all physical touch and none of her normal hunger. Less base need and more selfish, actual want.

She’s never actually had sex with another being like her before. Someone she couldn’t feed from, couldn’t gather up their energy inside her, and she’s aching for it. For just the touch, for the experience, for him.

Where only a short while ago she was terrified.

“What,” he whispers, licking his lips, leaving them shining. “Your face changed. What?”

His thighs between hers, she has no answer, not like this, so she kisses him again, and his mouth is ready, hungry. She curls her fingers up the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, and he goes with it, willing, his shoulders flexing as he tosses it aside.

His skin is pale, so pale it’s almost translucent, with a smattering of his dusty brown hair across his chest, and when she smooths her hand over the hairs, they’re rough, curlier than the hair on his head.

And she can’t harm him. They could do this a million times, and as long as he’s in control, she would not harm him.

It takes her breath away, and he braces himself on the bed, shirtless and beltless, his eyes wide while she’s looking up at him.

“What do you want me to do?” He whispers, not touching her, but they’re so close, and her mouth is dry when looking down with him, and speaking is impossible.

Hands shaking ever so slightly, she undoes his fly, pulling out his cock. He’s large, and he hisses when she runs her hand up him, arcing his neck back.

She kneels by the side of the bed, and his eyes go large, staring down at her.

“Everything looks different,” he says, voice low, “with a different set of eyes. Different things are noticed, different things seen.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but she places a small kiss on the crown of his dick, breaking his voice off with another small breath, so she takes his entire cock in her mouth in one swift movement.

He’s completely silent, completely still, his eyes large, and she peers up at him through her eyelashes as she bobs up and down. He’s beautiful, so still like this, so unreal.

Finally, after a long moment, he sighs, something with relief, something with tension, and she slows her motions, pulling off of him and licking him from root to tip. He groans, loud, and it’s almost embarrassing. Like she’s broken him in half by this simplest of motions and is staring at the crevice and seeing what’s really him.

“This isn’t fair,” he says, haltingly, and he plays with the strap of her shirt again, his eyes wide. “You’re still fully clothed.”

She sits back, releasing his dick, and he gasps at the lack of touch, like the breath is taken from him. With a smile, because this is a game she’s used to playing, she climbs back on top of him and raises her top over her head, letting her breasts free.

There’s a split second, where his eyes darken and his features sharpen, before he grabs her tits, both hands, almost rough. “God,” he says, and it’s wrong coming from his mouth, from the mouth of a demon, but she wishes he would say it again. “You’re lovely.”

It’s not the usual compliment she gets while shirtless straddling a naked man after sucking his dick, but she leans over him and presses him into the mattress with a kiss. He goes willingly, yielding to her touch, a small groan in the back of his throat, pulling deep at her instincts and making her hands frantic against him.

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