Page 11 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

Kev bursts. A delectably salty sweet like honey and peanut butter fills my mouth and throat, but I keep sucking, draining every drop as he bites his lip to keep from shouting through his climax.

Fullness.Full.Properly full for the first time in weeks. My stomach and soul feel instantly better, even though I know I’ll need to feed again soon. When I’ve been so hungry for so long, fullness is fleeting, but I admit... just one hit from this man makes the hunger pangs I felt only moments ago turn into a distant memory.

Legs feeling oddly shaky, I get to my feet, only to find myself airborne, yanked up by the hips as hungry lips smash down onto the sensitive spot above my collarbone. “Wh—”

I don’t even get to finish before my back hits the hot wooden wall and Kev’s fingers are between my legs, pulling my swimsuit to the side. “Fuck, Marina. Where’d you learn that?” he demands between biting kisses along my throat, kisses that deliver just the kind of tingling, nipping pressure I crave.

“Practice.” It’s true. I gasp when two fingers plunge inside my hot sheath, already soaking—always, endlessly soaking, always ready to feed.

“You made me hard again. In seconds.” Kev’s eyes narrow, studying me.

I pull his head back to mine as his fingers plunder, thumb on my clit, fingers stroking in and out pointedly. He knows anatomy, or he’s had a long line of satisfied women behind him—or both.

For a second, there’s the faintest touch of jealousy, one I never have with my lovers. I’m usually glad they have someone else to go to because I certainly don’t want them.

Only...

“So wet for me, baby. And your pussy feels... God, I’ve never felt anything like it.”

I’m distracted for a second, unsettled and hoping he’s only paying me idle compliments. The inside of meisdifferent. My vaginal walls are covered in a thousand microscopic suckers, with some bigger ones in strategic locations. They’re so densely packed that most men would just notice an extra soft, succulent texture.

Kev seems to press the limits of ignorance, lining up two fingertips with the large central disc that sits directly underneath my clit. Pressing on it through the thin, wet membranes is like teasing my clit and my insides all at once.With a harsh cry, I feel my sucker trying to close around his fingertips and suck him in.

“Pussy like your mouth, girl.” Kev rests his head to mine as he pins me to the wall, fingering me without pause. “Sucks me right in.”

“I’m always hungry for cock.”

“You sure you’re not looking for a husband?”

It’s said with a playful laugh, no stress, no pressure. This man must have a good sense of humor.

I lick my lips when I smile between kisses, still tasting that sweet combination that reminds me of peanut butter and honey.

It’s my turn to gaze at the Adonis in front of me with narrowed eyes.

All men have a unique flavor to me. Succubi will probably tell you the same. I don’t know what my distant demonic cousins taste, but to me, all men taste like different vintages of spirit, from fine wine to a fifty-cent beer. My last lover of note, a benefit that became a friend, was fae royalty. He tasted like the finest, smoothest whiskey.

Only one other man has tasted like food—a traditional dessert served in those brief glimpses of arctic summer—sweet cream with berries. He was the only one who ever sated me, the only one who curbed my reckless appetite.

For two years, he was all I tasted, all I needed. I fed less and yet felt much fuller.

Over two centuries have passed, and I’ve never been able to find a meal that filled me the way he did.

I’ll never find anyone like him again...

“Want to wait until we get home?” Kev’s voice, a sweet, low rumble against my breast, breaks my reverie.

I blink and push away sad, sweet memories, memories I have no right to claim.

“I can’t wait,” I whisper, because I’m greedy and I need to feed. It’s a shame to waste a perfectly good erection, and besides, his fingers are still playing with my sweet spot, teasing his fingers in and out of it, pushing into my clit through the underside. He might make me come before I make him come, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Professional pride and all.

“Then just relax and come for me, angel,” he hisses, head bending back to rest on my breast. “I might have to put you down soon.”

“I’m surprised you’ve held me up this long.”You’re just a normal human.

“You don’t weigh much. With those curves, baby... I thought there might be more to lift, but there’s not.” He winks at me. “You hollow?”

He’s eerily close to the truth. Rusalkas are vertebrates, but we’re marine creatures, and we’re more cartilage than hard bone. It makes us incredibly flexible—and I’m going to show him that right now.

---