Succubus On Top (33 page)

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Authors: Richelle Mead

BOOK: Succubus On Top
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A slow, dangerous smile spread over my face.
“What?” he asked.
“I don't think the show's over yet.”
I sat back on the bed, then slid myself up so I was propped up against the pillows in full view. Watching him and his every reaction, I moved my hands up to my breasts, feeling them. But these were not the touches that came with a sensual undressing. These were caresses of a different sort. A more urgent sort.
I want to see you in the throes of orgasm,
Seth had written in his missive.
I want to see your whole body writhing, your lips open as you drink in your own pleasure. Only yours, no one else's. Just you, completely given up to ecstasy.
I stroked my breasts, cupping them, feeling their softness and curving shape. My fingers moved and stroked my nipples, teasing them further, moving in lazy circles. I ran my thumbs over them, reveling in their sensitivity. When my breasts were finally taut and aching, I let my hands travel down over my smooth and flat stomach, examining and lingering on every part until I reached my thighs. Parting them ever so slightly, I slipped two fingers between the waiting lips so I could stroke that throbbing knot of nerves, moaning without even realizing it. Something about Seth watching aroused me more than I'd expected. I was dripping with wetness, aching and scorching.
I slid my fingers over and over that burning, swelling spot, stoking the rapidly growing need. Arching my body, hearing the soft cries escaping from me, all I could think about was Seth's eyes on me. Doing this for him, was in many ways, more genuine than actual sex with Bastien-turned-Seth had been. This was as intimate as he and I could ever be. It wasn't exactly the same as the honest communication we kept talking about, but in a way, I was opening myself to him after all. Exposing myself without inhibition.
I kept expecting the succubus energy-need to pick up on this scam, but either the distance or the fact that I was doing this to myself continued to trick it. We'd found a loophole after all.
As my fingers continued to rub between my lips, bringing me closer and closer to that crest, I moved my other hand down and thrust a couple of fingers inside of me. This elicited a moan of yearning, and I opened my thighs further, letting Seth get a full view. Faster and harder both sets of fingers worked, touching everything, building and building up that delicious pleasure until I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. Like I was going to burst.
And then, I did.
Sparks and lightning shot through my body, radiating from my core outward until every part of me tingled with life. I cried out again, loudly, my body writhing against the sheets as spasms racked my muscles. What had started as an ostentatious show had become something more. Doing this for Seth—with Seth—had reawakened something sleeping inside of me. I had lost control; my own body had taken over.
When I finally calmed down, I lay back against the covers, my breathing shallow as I recovered myself. I could feel sweat all over me. And with that physical response, an emotional and almost spiritual one radiated through me as well. Like the experience had somehow lit a flame within me. One that hadn't died with the orgasm. One that had nearly gone cold once—long ago—but now shone fiercely.
A moment later, I heard Seth stand up. Gingerly, he moved to my side, just barely sitting on the bed. We stared at each other, neither of us speaking, our eyes conveying all we needed to each other. He reached out a hand, like he might stroke my cheek, then pulled back.
“I'm afraid to touch you,” he whispered.
“Yeah. It might . . . might be wise to hold back on that for a little longer. Just in case it kicks in.”
“I take back what I said earlier about the stripping.
This
was the best thing I've ever seen.” He crooked me a smile. “No, you're the best thing I've ever seen. Everything about you.”
I smiled back. “We might have found a workaround.”
“For you maybe. As it is, I'm, uh, feeling a little . . . uncomfortable right now. I'm glad you were able to get a release, at least.”
I suddenly sat up, energized. “Well, why can't you?”
His smile dropped. “What? Like in the bathroom?”
“No. Right here.”
“You're joking.”
“No.” I could feel my lips turning into a mischievous smirk. “Fair is fair. Quid pro quo. I did it for you, now it's your turn.”
“I . . . no.
No
. I can't do that.”
“Sure you can. There's nothing to it.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“No buts. You're the one going on about openness and sharing.”
“Whoa. That's not even the same.”
“It is.” I rolled over so that I was not quite in a pouncing position, but pretty close. I gave him a smoldering look. “How do you think I was able to do all that? I thought about you. I thought about you being over me while I spread my body for you. I opened up to you. I let you see everything. I wanted you to have that part of me. Nothing held back. And now I want to see the same.” I leaned close, starting to tug his shirt off. “I want to see you come. I want to see you give in to that desire. I want to see your face when you touch yourself and think about me.”
“And they say I'm good with words.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I can't believe you can have this effect on me.”
I pulled his Spam shirt over his head. “I'm waiting.”
Seth stared at me, then carefully and hesitantly began taking off his pants. He tossed them on the floor and moved on to his adorable flannel boxers. He paused there, clearly nervous, and then removed them in a quick motion before he could turn back. I looked him over admiringly, seeing him naked for the first time. As my gaze lingered between his legs, I had to work to keep a straight face. Bastien hadn't done him justice.
“This is going to be hard,” he observed.
“It already looks hard to me.”
“Stop making jokes.”
“Sorry. Just relax, that's the key.” I sat back away from him, putting some distance between us once again. “Drop the self-consciousness. Just give in to how you feel.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “Thanks, coach. Can you move over to your side—yeah. There. And then, the hand . . . yes, put it right there. Perfect.” He shook his head, an almost comic look of misery and eagerness on his face as his hand slowly moved down. “I need a good view of you to pull this off, I think, so I can keep my eyes off me. If I pay too much attention to what I'm doing, the absurdity will hit.”
“Well then,” I said, getting comfortable. “Don't look down.”
Please turn the page for an
exciting sneak peek of the third
Georgina Kincaid novel,
SUCCUBUS DREAMS!
 
 
I
wished the guy on top of me would hurry up because I was getting bored.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to finish anytime soon. Brad or Brian or whatever his name was thrust away, eyes squeezed shut with such concentration that you would have thought having sex was on par with brain surgery or lifting steel beams.
“Brett,” I panted. It was time to pull out the big guns.
He opened one eye. “Bryce.”
“Bryce.” I put on my most passionate, orgasmic face. “Please . . . please . . . don't stop.”
His other eye opened. Both went wide.
A minute later, it was all over.
“Sorry,” he gasped, rolling off me. He looked mortified. “I don't know . . . didn't mean . . .”
“It's all right, baby.” I felt only a little bad about using the
don't stop
trick on him. It didn't always work, but for some guys, planting that seed completely undid them. “It was amazing.”
And really, that wasn't entirely a lie. The sex itself had been mediocre, but the rush afterward . . . the feel of his life and his soul pouring into me . . . yeah. That was pretty amazing. It was what a succubus like me literally lived for.
He gave me a wary smile. The energy that flowed through me was no longer in him. Its loss had exhausted him, burned him out. He'd sleep soon and would probably continue sleeping a great deal over the next few days. His soul had been a good one, and I'd taken a lot of it—as well as his life itself. He'd now live a few years less, thanks to me.
I tried not to think about that as I hurriedly put on my clothes. He seemed surprised at my abrupt departure but was too worn out to fight it. I promised to call him—having no intention of doing so—and slipped out of the room as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
I'd barely cleared his front door before shape-shifting. I'd come to him as a tall, sable-haired woman but now once again wore my preferred shape, petite with hazel-green eyes and light brown hair that flirted with gold. Like most of my life, my features danced between states, never entirely settling on one.
I put Bryce out of my mind, just like I did with most men I slept with, and drove across town to what was rapidly becoming my second home. It was a tan, stucco condo, set into a community of other condos that tried desperately to be as hip as new construction in Seattle could manage. I parked my Passat out front, fished my key out of my purse, and let myself inside.
The condo was still and quiet, wrapped in darkness. A nearby clock informed me it was three in the morning. Walking toward the bedroom, I shape-shifted again, swapping my clothes for a red nightgown.
I froze in the bedroom doorway, surprised to feel my breath catch in my throat. You'd think after all this time, I would have gotten used to him, that he wouldn't affect me like this. But he did. Every time.
Seth lay sprawled in the bed, one arm tossed over his head. His breathing was deep and fitful, and the sheets lay in a tangle around his long, lean body. Moonlight muted the color of his hair, but in the sun, its light brown would pick up a russet glow. Seeing him, studying him, I felt my heart swell in my chest. I'd never expected to feel this way about anyone again, not after centuries of feeling so . . . empty. Bryce had meant nothing to me, but this man before me meant everything.
I slid into bed beside him, and his arms instantly went around me. I think it was instinctual. The connection between us was so deep that even while unconscious we couldn't stay away from each other.
I pressed my cheek to Seth's chest, and his skin warmed mine as I fell asleep. The guilt from Bryce faded, and soon, there was only Seth and my love for him.
I slipped almost immediately into a dream. Except, well, I wasn't actually
in
it, at least not in the active sense. I was watching myself, seeing the events unfold as though at a movie. Only, unlike a movie, I could
feel
every detail. The sights, the sounds . . . it was almost more vivid than real life.
The other Georgina was in a kitchen, one I didn't recognize. It was bright and modern, far larger than anything I could imagine a noncook like me needing. My dream-self stood at the sink, elbow deep in sudsy water that smelled like oranges. She was hand-washing dishes, which surprised my real self—but was doing a shoddy job, which did not surprise me. On the floor, an actual dishwasher lay in pieces, thus explaining the need for manual labor.
From another room, the sounds of “Sweet Home Alabama” carried to my ears. My dream-self hummed along as she washed, and in that surreal, dreamlike way, I could feel her happiness. She was content, filled with a joy so utterly perfect, I could barely comprehend it. Even with Seth, I'd rarely ever felt so happy—and I was pretty damned happy with him. I couldn't imagine what could make my dream-self feel this way, particularly while doing something as mundane as washing dishes.
I woke up.
To my surprise, it was full morning, bright and sunny. I'd had no sense of time passing. The dream had seemed to last only a minute, yet the nearby alarm clock told me six hours had passed. The loss of the happiness my dream-self had experienced made me ache.
Weirder than that, I felt . . . not right. It took me a moment to peg the problem: I was drained. The life energy a succubus needed to survive, the energy I'd stolen from Bryce, was almost gone. In fact, I had less now than I'd had before going to bed with him. It made no sense. A burst of life like that should have lasted a couple of weeks at least, yet I was nearly as wiped out as he'd been. I wasn't low enough to start losing my shape-shifting, but I'd need a new fix within a couple of days.
“What's wrong?”
Seth's sleepy voice came from beside me. I rolled over and found him propped on one elbow, watching me with a small, sweet smile.
I didn't want to explain what had happened. Doing so would mean elaborating on what I'd done with Bryce, and while Seth theoretically knew what I did to survive, ignorance really was bliss.
“Nothing,” I lied. I was a good liar.
He touched my cheek. “I missed you last night.”
“No, you didn't. You were busy with Cady and O'Neill.”
His smile turned wry, but even as it did, I could see his eyes start to take on the dreamy, inward look he got when he thought about the characters in his novels. I'd made kings and generals beg for my love in my long life, yet some days, even my charms couldn't compete with the people who lived in Seth's head.
Fortunately, today wasn't one of those days, and his attention focused back on me.
“Nah. They don't look as good in a nightgown. That's very Anne Sexton, by the way. Like ‘candy story cinnamon hearts.'”
Only Seth would use bipolar poets as compliments. I glanced down and ran an absentminded hand over the red silk. “This does look pretty good,” I admitted. “I might look better in this than I do naked.”
He scoffed. “No, Thetis. You do not.”
And then, in what was an astonishingly aggressive move for him, he flipped me onto my back and began kissing my neck.
“Hey,” I said, putting up a halfhearted struggle. “We don't have time for this. I have stuff to do. And I want breakfast.”
“Noted,” he mumbled, moving on to my mouth. I stopped my complaining. Seth was a wonderful kisser. He gave the kind of kisses that melted into your mouth and filled you with sweetness. They were like cotton candy.
But there was no real melting to be had, not for us. With a well-practiced sense of timing that you could probably set a watch to, he pulled away from the kiss and sat up, removing his hands as well. Still smiling, he looked down at me and my undignified sprawl.
I smiled back, squelching the small pang of regret that always came at these moments of retreat.
But that was the way it was with us, and honestly, we had a pretty good system going when one considered all the complications in our relationship. My friend Hugh once joked that all women steal men's souls if they're together long enough. In my case, it didn't taken years of bickering. A too-long kiss would suffice. Such was the life of a succubus. I didn't make the rules, and I had no way to stop the involuntary energy theft that came from intimate physical contact. I could, however, control whether that physical contact happened in the first place, and I made sure it didn't. I ached for Seth, but I wouldn't steal his life as I had Bryce's.
I sat as well, ready to get up, but Seth must have been feeling bold this morning. He wrapped his arms around my waist and shifted me onto his lap, pressing himself against my back so that his lightly stubbled face was buried in my neck and hair. I felt his body tremble with the intake of a heavy, deep breath. He exhaled it just as slowly, like he sought control of himself, and then strengthened his grip on me.
“Georgina,” he breathed against my skin.
I closed my eyes, and the playfulness was gone. A dark intensity wrapped around us, one that burned with both desire and a fear of what might come.
“Georgina,” he repeated. His voice was low, husky. I felt like melting again. “Do you know why they say succubi visit men in their sleep?”
“Why?” My own voice was small.
“Because I dream about you every night.” In most circumstances, that would have sounded trite, but from him, it was powerful and hungry.
I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut as a swirl of emotions danced within me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to make love to him. I wanted to scream. It was all too much sometimes. Too much emotion. Too much danger. Our increased flirtation and sexual taunting fed a complication that didn't need any more stoking.
Opening my eyes, I shifted so that I could see his face. We held each other's gazes, both of us wanting so much and unable to give or take it. Breaking the look first, I slipped regretfully from his embrace. “Come on. Let's go eat.”
Seth lived in easy walking distance to the assorted shops and restaurants adjacent to the University of Washington's campus. We got breakfast at a small café, and omelets and conversation soon replaced the earlier awkwardness. Afterward, we wandered idly up University Way, holding hands. I had errands to run, and he had writing to do, yet we were reluctant to part.
Seth suddenly stopped walking. “Georgina.”
“Hmm?”
His eyebrows rose as he stared off at something across the street. “John Cusack is standing over there.”
I followed his incredulous gaze to where a man very like Mr. Cusack did indeed stand, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a building. I sighed.
“That's not John Cusack. That's Jerome.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. I told you he looked like John Cusack.”
“Keyword:
looked.
That guy doesn't look like him. That guy is him.”
“Believe me, he's not.” Seeing Jerome's impatient expression, I let go of Seth's hand. “Be right back.”
I crossed the street, and as the distance closed between my boss and me, Jerome's aura washed over my body. All immortals have a unique signature, and a demon like him had an especially strong one. He felt like waves and waves of roiling heat, like when you open an oven and don't stand far enough back.
“Make it fast,” I told him. “You're ruining my romantic interlude.”
Jerome dropped the cigarette and put it out with his black Kenneth Cole oxford. He glanced disdainfully around. “This place? Come on, Georgie. This isn't romantic. This place isn't even a pit stop on the road to romance.”
I put an angry hand on one hip. “What do you want?”
“You.”
I blinked. “What?”
“We've got a meeting tonight. An all-staff meeting.”
“When you say all-staff, do you mean like
all
-staff?”
The last time Seattle's supervising archdemon had gathered everyone in the area together, it had been to inform us that our local imp wasn't “meeting expectations.” Jerome had let us all tell the imp good-bye and then banished the poor guy off to the fiery depths of hell. It was kind of sad, but then my friend Hugh had replaced him, so I'd gotten over it. I hoped this meeting wouldn't have a similar purpose.
Jerome gave me an annoyed look, one that said I was clearly wasting his time.
“When is it?”
“Seven. At Peter and Cody's. Don't be late. Your presence is essential.”
Shit. I hoped this wasn't actually
my
going-away party. I'd been on pretty good behavior lately. “What's this about?”

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