Kept: An Erotic Anthology (25 page)

“Who are you?” Her voice was small, her brows puckered.

“I am called Moth.” I was over her dream self, my lips almost on hers. The girl’s large dark eyes narrowed in confusion and she squirmed beneath me.

“What do you want?” She whimpered and the sound made me ache to ease her.

“I want what you want, Shiloh,” I whispered to her. “May I bring you pleasure?”

Although I’d waited until the phantom man had aroused her terribly, there was consternation in her eyes.

“But I don’t like women that way. How do you know my name?”

Because I watch you when you sleep. I walk in your dreams.
Telling her this would serve no purpose, although it was true. Often, her dreams were sexual, but at times they were reflections of what she had done that day. Some nights she dreamed of a man called Brad, but their relationship had no relation to sex. Their interactions amused me, though, and I was glad that someone filled the space in her life just as Fox did in my own. Her dreams were filled with concern for others and worry over tasks she’d left undone. The brightness and intelligence of her thoughts were fascinating and I watched her dreams by the hour some nights.

But only through the window. I had never before crossed the threshold.

I brushed my lips against hers and she gasped, the feeling from me more intense than any a dream lover could provide. So close. Her lips under mine were almost too tempting to bear. I could taste the desire upon her breath and forced myself to ignore the instinct to feed.

“You brought me here.” Although it had been unintentional, on her part. “If you close your eyes, you can pretend I am whomever you desire. The secret will be ours.”

When no response was forthcoming, I trailed my fingertips over the spectre of her translucent dream body and her eyes fell shut. Permission?

Men rarely refused me anything in their dreams.

In fascination, my fingers bumped over her ribs, upward to her breasts. She shuddered beneath me and the urge to fasten my mouth down on hers became overwhelming. I cupped her breast with one hand and lowered myself to lie alongside her, our naked flesh sliding together in a way even dream men did not feel. Smooth. Warm. How could a dream girl smell so exquisite?

I toyed with her nipples for an age, circling and pinching them until she mewled and writhed.

“What do you desire?”

“Please!” she begged.

I drew my hand down, toward her sex. Her hips rose to meet me, attempting to rush me to what she wanted.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” I circled a lazy finger over her slit.

“Please, please, yes!” She sobbed, and for a moment I almost pitied her. Her arousal was more intense than most humans felt and I wondered if it was the fact that she was virginal, or that she was more attracted to the female form than she realized.

A stirring.

Warder.

My lips fastened over hers for the barest moment and the taste of her flooded my mouth. Although I had no hunger, the sexual power lanced down into my belly, spreading warmth throughout my body.

“I must go. I will return for you.”

“Please, no! Don’t leave me like this. I’ll die.” In her dream she wept, and guilt flooded through me. To have fed, even a little, and not bring her satisfaction was cruel.

“Touch yourself. I will come again, when the Warder thinks I’ve forgotten.”

Reluctantly, I withdrew from her dream, frustration high. Stupid for a warder to come now. Sanctimonious, stone-faced pricks. Sitting atop buildings passing judgement was easily done when one needn’t feed. However, they rarely troubled me. Possibly because I didn’t tread as heavily as my brother incubi and I was harder to find. Or because Warders only protected human females.

My body felt cold, like a dwelling long left empty.

I looked back to the girl, who rolled to her stomach and fidgeted a moment before I felt her wake.

My mark was on her lips.

Mine.

***

I woke up stupid horny and realized, to my embarrassment, that I was touching myself. How old was I anyway? Twenty-two going on puberty?

Teenage boys had nothing on my libido.

A glance at the clock told me it was three-thirty. Four more hours to sleep! I untangled my bedding and draped it back over myself, but the touch of the high thread count sheet on my skin made a memory flicker. Hunky dream man again? Brad was pretty sure that my recurrent dream Romeo was actually Darius from the HR department. Tall, fit and yummy, I figured Darius was more likely to be interested in Brad than in little old me.

I was too wound up to go right back to sleep. Who was I kidding? I closed my eyes and thought about Darius, but my go-to wank fodder fell flat for me. Maybe I was more tired than I thought.

Black eyes, black hair, pale skin that smelled of spice. The dream came back to me in a rush. A woman? Since when did I have sex dreams about women? Part of my mind went into instant rebellion... but she’d been sexy and soft and her touches so sensual compared to what I imagined being with a man would be like.

This dream girl wasn’t based on someone I knew. I thought back and remembered a hint of black wing behind her. Such a vivid dream, but not real. The thought that I’d never meet her in real life disappointed me, for some reason. When she’d touched me I hadn’t been scared, unlike when I’d tried going on dates. Disaster. All I’d been able to think about was the fact that the men had dicks and that they’d be expecting to use them later. Not with me.

Dicks gave me the willies.

I snorted at myself and rolled my eyes, and I was tempted to text Brad the joke.

He and I had talked my sexuality to death, really. The general consensus was that I’d waited too long to start dating, and so now I had perpetual cold feet about going any farther than a kiss at the front door of my condo when I said good night. No guy ever got a second date, because I wasn’t ready for second base. Sure I dreamt about it, but it wasn’t the same as having someone in my personal space, actually touching me.

I thought of my phantom woman again, determined to get things done so I could go back to sleep. A faint scent of spice hung in the air.

Morning came far too quickly. I dragged myself through my morning rituals, feeling more tired than usual. Crazy dreams led to keeping crazy hours. I needed to quit drinking so much tea.

The commute into work seemed to take forever, and even the e-book I’d been eager to finish yesterday couldn’t hold my attention. I felt off-kilter, as though the world had started somersaulting through the universe rather than spinning in polite circles.

Visions of the woman kept popping into my head at the worst times. Memories of the dream turned into fantasies where she played the starring role. I could only vaguely remember her scent now, but the feeling of her hands on me had barely faded.

After I over-microwaved my Lean Cuisine, I sat staring out the window, poking at my meal with my fork.

“What did that ravioli ever do to you?” Brad’s rumbling laugh drew me out of my distraction.

“Hey, handsome!”

“Ooh, someone didn’t sleep well. You’ve got dark circles again.”

Self-consciously, I touched the skin under my eye, then glared at him. “You really know how to charm a girl.”

“Even if I was straight I’d have no chance in hell of getting into your pants, sweetheart. I’m not that worried about hurting your feelings.” He glanced around, his gorgeous face the perfect match for his
GQ
hair. Nothing ever ruffled the man. “Your porn habit is getting out of hand. Do we need to stage an intervention?”

“What? You and Nate are going to stage an intervention? It would be so sad, you two there all by your lonesomes. I know you’d never rat me out to my parents.” I jammed a burnt ravioli into my mouth and chewed. “That’s not why I couldn’t sleep though.”

“Oh? Now I’m interested.” He lowered himself into the chair across from me. Luckily it was free, not that my social calendar was full. “What had you up all night? Hot date?”

“Shut up.” I kicked his shin under the table and he winced, then laughed.

“What? It could happen, if you let it. You’re hot.”

“I am not, you big dork.
You’re
hot. That doesn’t automatically make
me
hot by association.”

He shook his head in exasperation, letting me win our perpetual battle for that moment. “What was it then? More crazy sex dreams?”

“Yeah...”

“Yeah? What was it this time?” Brad thoroughly approved of crazy sex dreams, since that was all the action I saw.

“It was a girl with wings.”

“A girl?” Brad whistled. “Honey, I know you don’t want to hear an
I told you so
, but...”

Of course his mind would jump there. That was Brad’s big theory about me—that I was so far in the closet that I didn’t even know I was a lesbian, which was why I didn’t want to let men have sex with me. It wasn’t true, though. Men were hot, as long as they kept their distance.

“Even in my dream her being a woman was weird. But she wasn’t even human, so I’m claiming that loophole and calling it my own.”

Two girls from our office took the seats partway down the table from us and waved at Brad, who waved back with sarcastic indifference. When he’d come out at work he’d been mobbed by what he referred to as fag hags. They all wanted to be his BFF and ask him for decorating or fashion advice. Not only was Brad not good at that shit, but he had no interest in being the office’s gay mascot.

“Mmhmm. You keep on believin’, sweetie pie, and I’ll keep on waiting for the call.”

“Here. Eat this and stop talking. You’re giving me a headache.” I shoved my little tray of burnt pasta at him and he ate all of it in about a minute flat. The man had a hollow leg.

When he’d finished, he slumped back in his chair. “But you hit it off?”

“Oh, fuck you, Brad. It was a figment of my imagination. Probably something I saw on TV at some point.”

“Yeah, but if the attraction was there, there’s hope.”

“That I won’t end up being your kids’ spinster auntie?”

“That you won’t be alone all the time when I’m not around. For some people that’s fine, but you’re too social to enjoy that much alone time. You should get a cat or something.”

I twisted my hair back from my face and used an elastic to tie it into a messy bun. “And be a slave to an animal? I like my freedom too much to be a slave.”

*

All night I lingered, waiting, but the Warder sat like a big gray boulder, watching her window. In my imagination she was asleep, but unhappy because I didn’t go to her. At times I could taste her on the air, enough for me to entertain thoughts of diving for her window when his head was turned. My wings creaked behind me, opening, folding, wanting to take to the night sky. Even from this distance, the wind brought tendrils of her energy to me.

The Warder had taken notice as soon as I’d entered her dwelling. Warders rarely bothered succubi. They were more troubled by the incubi who impregnated chosen women with the seed we collected. The fact that there were rules we were required to follow, and that we had been created by the same maker as the Warders, made no impression upon them. No matter what they thought, I refused to believe that my kind was evil.

Like any other creature, we did what we were designed to do. Although then, in my case, possibly not. My interest in the girl didn’t fit our purpose, but I had to see her again. Just once more.

“What do you do here, daemon?”

I had heard him coming. I let him come, knowing we’d have to have this discussion sooner or later.

“I’m no daemon, Warder. My name is Moth.” I rose and stretched.

“Between the spice of your scent and the wings, you’re not fooling anyone, let alone me.”

I shrugged, unwilling to engage him in a debate about whether or not I was evil. “And you are called?”

He paused a moment, like he was unsure of whether to entrust information to me. “Silence.”

“Pretty name for a Warder of your... stature.” I eyed the bulge barely concealed by his loincloth. It might be an impressive sight at full mast. “What do you want of me?” For a moment I wondered if feeding from Warders was forbidden.

I walked to him, hips swaying, using all of my charm to get his attention. Eyes narrowed, shoulders thrown back, I knew the effect it had on human men. It would have the same effect on him. Predictably, his eyes were drawn to my cleavage, the hardness of my nipples against the thin fabric of my gown.

“Why bother me? Don’t you Warders only harry incubi? I hardly qualify as one.”

His eyes on my body told me that he knew as much.

“Why her?” His voice was hard. Although I’d practically urged him to look, he had somehow managed to get past my attempt at seduction. He appeared faintly revolted.

“You know why.”

“But she’s female. What can you need from her?”

“Let me into her dwelling and you can watch.”

His stony brow furrowed. “She’s uncommonly good, Moth. Why sully her with your perversions? Why not leave her to her natural life’s path?”

“Why do you only watch over human females you deem good, and those you have no plans to mate with? And why do you think of sexual congress as perversion? My kind only tries to help propagate those your kind protects. Our cause is the same.”

“You corrupt them. I protect them. I fail to see how we are alike.”

“I bring them pleasure. Pleasure isn’t evil when all involved are willing.”

“Deception and trickery do not count as willingness.”

We stared at each other with equally cold expressions. Impasse.

“Leave this girl alone. It’s bad enough the males of your species are always attempting to corrupt women. There is no reason for you to do so.”

I realized that in his eyes I was more wicked than the incubi, as though I had control over the lust Shiloh inspired in me. Frustration burned within and I glared.

“Enjoy coupling with the brick and mortar you so love. Perhaps it will spawn small dwellings to fill your rooftop with the sounds of their giggling and play.”