Page 16 of Wicked Bonds
When she comes, it’s with a cry that reverberates through both dream and reality. The energy surge hits me like a drug, and I have to fight to keep my own voice from echoing hers. For a second I almost get sucked too deep. She’s got this undertow to her, like drowning in an ocean of honey, and I have to force myself to keep my grip.
She’s beautiful, sweat slicking her skin, mouth open around a wordless shout. I want to see her like this again. But I’m greedy and nights here are far too short, so I keep going. I run my thumb over her clit, slow and mean, and watch her buckle.
I let her ride the wave down, then it’s over and she’s limp, boneless, and I can finally detach, sliding back into the waking world like a diver surfacing from dark water.
Well done, Rose Smith.
Galanthis, the insufferable cat, is in the doorway with a look of feline judgment. Cats hate incubi, and I give him a one-fingered salute. Her taste is inside me, smoky, with a touch of sugar. It sticks to my bones in a way I haven’t felt in years. I want more. Not just the sex, but her, the way she’d burn herself alive for the right cause. Most of the witches here are pampered, spoiled legacies. Nothing like this creature, this feral, raw thing. She reminds me of me.
Too bad she’s my student.
The Serpentine Academy is fully aware of what I am. Of what I do. They don’t care. Things are different in the supernatural world and the witches know you don’t expect monsters to play nice. They certainly don’t themselves. The Crescent Moon Coven are not people I’d want to cross, and that’s coming from a demon.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders, and glance at Galanthis, who is now staring at me with undisguised contempt. “Jealous much?” I say. He flicks his tail and looks away.
Most nights I’d check in on a few regulars, like the senior in 210 who dreams exclusively of eating her friends (literally), or the witch in 116 with a chronic merman fetish, but tonight I’m full. Strangely, oddly, satisfyingly full.
What an interesting turn of events.
Eight
Rose
If there’s anything more embarrassing than waking up to the sound of your own orgasm after a dream where you’re being tongued by a dude you’ve just met—your professor, no less—it’s waking up to the sound of someone clapping for it.
My skin is slick, my heart racing, and my brain helpfully replays the highlight reel of hands on my throat, lips on my skin, Soren’s mouth and tongue, and… oh God… Lucien sitting there watching. Even if it was just a dream, it’s still mortifying.
I jerk upright as the clapping continues. My eyes adjust to the light and there he is, Soren, lounging in my desk chair like he owns the place.
“Get out,” I sputter. My body double-crosses me though, still tingling, still wanting, still responding to the dreamed sensation of his mouth on me. Some dark part of me wants him to stay. Wants to know if reality would feel as good as the dream.
How fucked up is that?
“Technically, I was never in,” he says, examining his nails. “Well, not physically.”
The implications hit me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. That wasn’t just a dream. He was there, in my head.
And the worst part? Part of me wants him to do it again.
The thought of it makes me want to scream. Or grab him. Or both.
“What is wrong with you?”
He shrugs. “I’m an incubus. It’s what I do.” He says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “You’re lucky. Most girls only get a cameo, not a full feature.”
I grit my teeth, grab the closest thing, a large heavy book, and throw it at him. He catches it, easy, and sets it on my desk without breaking eye contact.
“If you ever pull that shit again, I will burn the balls right off of you,” I say, voice trembling but steady. “I’m not here to be your midnight snack.”
“You say that now,” he says, and his smile goes from lazy to hungry. He glances deliberately at my chest, then at my face. “I congratulate you on your initiative. Most girls wait for me to start the action, but you were already dreaming of me, sweetheart.”
My cheeks are burning. “Is this part of the curriculum? Sexual harassment 101?”
Unfazed he steps in, closer, and the air shifts, as if he brought a draft in with him. He smells like everything carnal and forbidden. “If you prefer private tutoring, I can make the time.”
“I prefer you out of my room.”Thisfucker. I don’t know how they do things at this academy, but this is not the way. Not at all.
He grins. “I could leave. Or I could help you with an encore performance.” He gestures casually toward me. “Most witches beg for that.”
