Page 46 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

I swallowed hard as Devlin undid the button of his jeans, the slow, deliberate pull of his zipper filling the silence between us. The tip of his cock pulsed, straining against the fabric of his boxers, a damp patch forming where his body betrayed just how aroused he really was. He traced a finger over the patch of precum, exhaling softly, before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxers. With a slow, measured movement, he shimmied them down, the rigid outline of his dick resisting against the last barrier of fabric before finally breaking free. Atleasteight inches of throbbing, veiny ridges that caused my core to flutter in anticipation.

Devlin wrapped his fingers around the base of his length, his grip firm and deliberate, as he slowly ran his hand upward, circling his velvety tip and collecting the fresh bead of precum in his palm. A low, gritty groan rumbled from his chest as he slicked his hand back down, his breath shuddering at the contact.

My body responded instinctively, my pussy slickening in anticipation, a desperate ache pooling inside me. Every slow, controlled stroke sent a pulse of warmth through me, my skin flushed, my thighs pressing together as if that alone could ease the growing need.

His movements started slow, each one measured, as though he was drawing out the moment, savoring the sensation.

What was he picturing? Mina’s hands instead of his own? Or maybe... her lips?

A sharp wave of heat crashed over me at the thought, my mouth welling with saliva as an entirely new realization struck me. I hadn’t written a scene where Mina went down on Kieran. And, yeah, I wastotallygoing to add that in the next draft.

Because I wanted to know—needed to know—what Devlin tasted like.

Devlin’s pace quickened, his grip tightening, the rhythmic motion of his hand sending a fresh wave of heat through my body. Another low, breathy moan slipped past his lips, and it took everything in me not to mirror his movements, not to slide my own hand beneath the waistband of my jeans and relieve the unbearable ache building inside me.

His balls tensed, his body coiling tighter, the raw edge of his pleasure tangible, and I found myself torn between two warring desires. I was desperate for him to reach his peak, to finish so that I could escape to my room, wait until he was asleep, and play this memory over and over until I found release, and never wanting this moment to end. Because if just watching him like this had me close to coming undone, I couldn’t imagine how much more intense it would be when we reached the next scenes.

The ones that were anything but solo.

“Jen,” he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure, my name breaking free from his lips.

My heart stopped.

The moment Devlin’s orgasm broke, his body tensed, every muscle flexing. His cum spooled from his tip in thick ropes over his taut, heaving abs as he thrust his hips, meeting the rhythm of his hand.

And in the echo of his pleasure, all I could hear was my name.

Not Mina’s.

Mine.

My entire body locked up, frozen in place, torn between the mesmerizing sight before me, his face slack with pleasure, lips parted, chest rising and falling in the aftermath, and the thought that maybe, just maybe... he had been picturing me.

As if realizing what he had just said, Devlin’s eyes flew open. His golden gaze snapped to mine, and then I saw it.Regret.

His expression flickered, apologetic... unsure... like he wished he could take it back.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

The weight of the moment shattered, leaving behind only the crushing realization that I was not in the right frame of mind to handle rejection right now.

Plastering a neutral, absolutely-not-freaking-out-at-all smile onto my face, I sprang to my feet—perhaps a bit too eagerly—knocking my knee against the wooden corner of the armrest in the process. I hissed in pain, but I barely stopped, already blustering my way toward the coffee table, grabbing for my notebooks.

“That was, um, great,” I said, the words tumbling too quickly, half-mumbled as I scrambled to maintain some semblance of composure. Without meeting Devlin’s gaze, I nudged the box of tissues toward him with the corner of my notebook, my face burning. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Devlin—his neck and cheeks flaming red—open his mouth like he was about to say something. “Really great,” I cut in before he could get a word out. “I’ve got a lot to work on”—I spun on my heel, practically fleeing toward the stairs—“so I, um, better get to it while it’s fresh in my mind. Not gonna write itself, y’know.”

A humiliating giggle slipped out before I could stop it, and then I bolted. As fast as my legs would carry me, I rushed up the stairs, calling a hasty, “Thank you!” over my shoulder before disappearing into my room like the coward I was.

***

Three hours later, I had yet to put pen to paper.

No matter how hard I willed myself to focus and write about Kieran, my mind kept circling back to Devlin. The way his hand moved in slow, deliberate strokes. The way his breathing became uneven when pleasure overtook him. The way he had moaned my name.

The image was seared into my brain. So, really, I didn’t feel too bad about not writing the scene right away—because, if nothing else, I now had plenty of inspiration that I didn’t think I would ever be able to forget.

I had replayed the scene so many times in my head that my succubus side managed to crack an eye open, stretching sleepily inside me. Suddenly, the ache low in my stomach became unbearable. The need for release was overwhelming, curling through me with sharp, insistent hunger.

Devlin had gone to bed about two and a half hours ago, lingering outside my door just long enough to mumble a quiet goodnight before slinking into his own room. He had to be asleep by now.

---