Diary of an Incubus

by Diary of an Incubus (lit)

  “Just in case you do disappear, let’s make enough memories to keep me warm at night.”

  With those words I rose slowly to my feet and took his hand. He moved with such elegance as I led him up the stairs. Everything about him was just as I had described in the books. That one part I knew was all me, because Vincent had never described himself. Everything about him was as I said it was. I had made him who I wanted him to be, who I imagined he was … and here he stood.

  When we reached the bedroom I released his hand and turned back to face him.

  “I’m sure my body isn’t what you remember,” I said.

  I let my robe fall to the floor. I knew that the balcony doors were still open, could feel the breeze against my skin. But nothing could cool the fire burning inside of me. Nothing but the touch of his hands and the feel of his body. Maybe once I’d had my fill of Vincent I could grow cold again. But now I burned and this fire demanded a sacrifice of flesh to be appeased.

  I watched his face as his gaze roamed up and down my body and it thrilled me.

  “You have only improved,” he assured me.

  Boy was that ever the right answer. I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he brought his lips to mine. I pressed my breasts against his chest and gasped at the contact. When he moved to hold me tighter the hair on his chest brushed against my nipples, bringing them to almost painful points. I ran my hands inside his shirt and pulled it back and over his shoulders. He removed the garment from his wrists and tossed it onto the floor.

  Vincent’s hands were the first to ever touch me and after all these years they were still the most gentle. I unbuttoned his pants, eagerly anticipating what came next. He buried his face against my throat and nipped gently at my skin as I ran my hand inside his pants. He growled, a low deep sound that vibrated against my throat. He was just as big and hard as I remembered. I curled my fingers around his shaft and squeezed.

  “I want this,” I said and my voice had grown deeper with desire. “I want it now.”

  I didn’t have to ask twice. Vincent shed his pants and shoes quicker than I had imagined possible and as he advanced toward me I sort of fell onto the bed. I slid up toward the headboard where I sat almost upright against the pillows. He placed one hand against the back of my head.

  “Look at me. I am not some fantasy you dreamed up. I am flesh and blood.”

  With his other hand he took his shaft and rubbed the head against my clit. I moaned and spread my legs wider to accommodate him. He moved his face closer, just short of kissing me and whispered against my lips, “Tell me again that you want me. That you want this.”

  “I want this,” I said. I reached down and put my hand against his hip, urging him forward. “And I want you.”

  He began to press himself inside of me, but it wasn’t easy.

  “So tight,” he whispered as he held me against him. He moved slowly, deeper and deeper.

  “I want more,” I panted.

  “Easy.” He stroked my hair as he held me tighter. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I pulled back to look at his face before devouring his lips once more. “Then don’t, but give me what I want … Vincent.”

  When I called his name I felt a chill run through him, a very fine tremor that excited me as well. I had acknowledged further that he was the man I had dreamt of so long ago. He thrust inside of me as far as he could go and still I couldn’t take all of him. He pinned me against the headboard, knocking the pillows onto the floor in the process. I wrapped my legs around him and he held me in place with his body.

  Slowly, with maddening precision he began to move. He ground his hips against me and with every move he managed to brush against my clit. I put my hands on his shoulders for leverage and moved up and down to meet his thrusts.

  “Yes,” he growled. “There are so many things I would do to you, if only I thought you could take it.”

  I moved faster.

  “Try me.”

  “Not yet, my Jewel, not yet.”

  My Jewel. That’s what he’d called me that night.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  He slammed into me and I screamed, but not with pain.

  “How did you know?”

  He looked into my eyes then and I had my answer, though I wasn’t ready to fully accept it. Matt was wrong about him. I couldn’t explain how, but this man really was my Vincent. No one could have known what he’d just said. I had never told anyone about my dream or what was shared between us.

  I put my hands against his chest and pushed gently. He moved to accommodate my request and we fell back against the mattress. I leaned forward, grazing over his chest with lips and teeth and tongue. He moved to touch me and I grabbed his wrists, pinning his hands down to the bed.

  “Not so fast,” I whispered. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

  He was so big and hard that I couldn’t lean back completely, so I put my weight against his hands for leverage. I began to move my hips in slow, grinding circles and to my delight I brought a moan from his perfect lips. I moved faster and faster until my hands and his arms were slick with sweat and I couldn’t get a grip on him any more. With his hands free he moved them to my hips and urged me even faster. Hair clung to his face and neck, his body now drenched by passion and effort. I could feel my hair clinging to my back as I moved.

  He rose suddenly taking me in has arms with my legs still wrapped around him. Our bodies were still pressed together, face to face. Something in his eyes tugged at my heart. He kissed me gently, still moving slowly. I had wanted to have sex with him, but I hadn’t expected that we would make love. Wave after wave of orgasm began to wash over me. I clung to him, all the while screaming his name. He continued to move, seeking his own release and I couldn’t stop coming. Every move he made seemed to bring me again. It was wonderful. I’d never experienced anything like it and at the same time I felt helpless. The last thing I remember before closing my eyes was a feeling of complete surrender.

  I awoke to the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth at the foot of my bed. The old house I had renovated had a fireplace in almost every room. That was one of the things I loved about it. I wiggled one foot and the movement took way more effort than it should have. I was resting on my stomach and I felt like I’d been given a tranquilizer. I blinked a few times before Vincent came into focus. He was standing beside the bed, smiling down at me and looking utterly refreshed.

  “I’m surprised to see you awake,” he said. “Sex like that takes a lot out of a person.”

  I smiled weakly and he sat down beside me. I felt his fingertips tracing over the tattoo on my lower back. It is an intricate Chinese dragon. Its tail comes to a point just above the curve of my left hipbone and its head curls up and over my right side.

  “Why don’t you tell me about this now?” he asked softly.

  “It’s going to sound kind of cheesy.”

  “Let me guess. You got drunk, had sex with a sailor and got his name tattooed on your back. Then, you got the dragon to cover up the name.”

  I laughed. “No. Not even close.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “You know how in mythology dragons always guard a treasure?”

  “Mmhm.” He continued to trace the pattern on my back.

  “Well, I figured that since my name was Jewel … you know what, this is cheesy. I can’t even say it.”

  “You thought he could be your protector,” he said.

  “Yes. I thought he could be my protector.” I turned on my side to face him and found that he wasn’t laughing at my story, but seemed genuinely interested. “I got him when I was twenty two.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “What makes you think he has a name?” He raised an eyebrow and I said, “Alright, I named him Vincent. Are you happy now? You finally know the whole cheesy story behind my tattoo.”

  “It isn’t cheesy, it’s interesting.”

  His thighs were so beauti
ful. Every part of Vincent was perfectly sculpted, but if I had to pick a favorite part I would say his thighs. Especially the very top part where they connected to his hips. I traced this lovely curve with my fingertips as I said, “Thank you.”

  “I was just about to get in the shower. Would you like to join me?”

  “You may have to help me walk.”

  He laughed softly as he rose to his feet and reached for me. With considerable effort I pushed myself up and took his hands.

  “How is it you’ve got so much energy?”

  “I am an incubus,” he said simply. “I drew strength from your desire.”

  Okay, that creeped me out a little. Vincent pulled me to him and I rested easily against his chest. His arms didn’t just have a feeling of familiarity, they felt like home.

  “You know in your heart what I am,” he whispered. “You will learn to accept it. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. You’re tired but this is not a trick of your imagination. Do not question your sanity further.”

  “How can I not? Do you realize how weird this is?”

  “I can imagine. I’ve been wanting to contact you for months now, but I wasn’t sure how much you could take.”

  “You never answered me before. What exactly do you want from me?”

  “For now … I’d like to know you.” He placed a gentle kiss against my forehead. “I mean you no harm, Jewel.”

  After holding me this way for several minutes he asked, “How did you know my story? Was it through your dreams?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. He didn’t know about the journals! I thought he was trying to get me to confess, but he really didn’t know. Oh, shit. As outlandish as it seemed, I knew this was really Vincent. That meant I had to come clean. I felt bad enough about what I’d done, even if it had won me the success that I’d been looking for, that didn’t make it right. He deserved the truth.

  “I knew some things through my dreams,” I said. “But not all of it.”

  “Before you go further, Jewel there’s something you should know.”

  Shit. There was more to this twisted mess?

  “I’ve been tracing your lineage.”

  “You’ve been stalking my family tree?”

  “No, no, just listen. When you were able to reach out to me the way you did … well, there had to be a reason for that. I could target anyone I wanted, to enter their dreams. But you should not have been able to target me. The only way you could have done that was if we had some sort of connection.”

  The journals. Oh, my God. I needed to tell him.

  “So, I began to trace your heritage. As it turns out … your mother’s line is descended from Emily’s sister.”

  I had to sit back down. “Emily? The Emily, the one …”

  “The one I was in love with,” he finished. “The one you look so much like. You haven’t been reincarnated or anything like that. You’re definitely you and I want you to know that I know that. I’m not here because of who you look like … I’m here because of you. I just need to figure all this mess out.”

  “Why?”

  “To put it bluntly, you and I are potentially in a lot of deep shit.”

  I just sat there, blinking at him. I didn’t know what to say. What was he talking about deep shit?

  “You must have been able to get into my head through the connection I had to your ancestors. And now that you’ve written my story … let’s just say that there are those who are not happy about it.”

  “Who?”

  “I know that this is all very new to you, but have you ever heard of the vampire council? The real one? I know that authors have speculated about them in science fiction and fantasy books for years, but they are real, Jewel. And they are very pissed off.”

  “Oh, my God. They’re the ones who wanted them destroyed,” I moaned. “Fucking shit.”

  He knelt in front of me. “Wanted what destroyed?”

  “Your journals, Vincent. I’ve got your journals.”

  “My … what?”

  This time my voice shook as I said, “I’ve got your journals.”

  He stood and ran a hand through his hair which was still drenched with sweat.

  “But I left them …”

  “At the Masterson’s estate in London.”

  Chapter Eight

  He stared at me for a moment, openmouthed. I took a deep breath and told him the whole story.

  “But why of all places would your uncle go to an estate sale there?”

  “Tracing our family tree is a hobby of his. He must have known we were related. I wouldn’t put it past him to have planned his whole vacation around the possibility of meeting some of our relatives from London.”

  “So he got there and found out they were dead?”

  “I don’t know. He never mentioned it and before now it never really mattered.”

  Vincent began to pace beside my bed and I couldn’t help but admire the way the muscles in long legs flexed when he moved.

  “Well, certainly don’t ask him now,” he said. “We don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

  “You’re not upset?” I asked hesitantly.

  “This may come as a shock to you, but vampires do not think about things the same way humans do.” There was no sarcasm in his voice. It was a simple straight forward statement of fact. “What I told you before about being a little bit angry was true. But not for the reasons you might think.” Vincent knelt in front of me again and rested his hands on my knees. “You reminded me of my humanity. I wasn’t angry that you’d used my story, I was relieved to see it again … to be reminded what it was like. Thanks to you other people know and care about my brother and Emily and in a round about way, me.”

  I reached to touch his face and he leaned into my touch.

  “Our problems have nothing to do with my feelings and everything to do with those journals.”

  I sighed. “This is all too much for one night. Let’s at least get clean before you start telling me what kind of trouble we’re in.”

  A few minutes later he helped me to get back in the tub. I couldn’t stand up long enough for a shower, even with his help. I rested back in the water and almost fell asleep in the few minutes it took for him to join me. Even the knowledge that we were in some sort of danger couldn’t chase away the feeling of complete lethargy that had settled over me.

  “I hope I haven’t drained you too much,” he said, lowering himself into the water. “I got a little carried away.”

  He sat on the opposite end of the tub from me and took my feet in his hands. He began to massage them slowly and I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  “Vincent, I want you to know that I never would have taken your stories if it wasn’t a last resort. I thought they were fiction. There was no author listed, no dates or times, not a living soul to trace it to. And I was in such a tight spot ….”

  “You don’t need to explain yourself further. You told me before that you were desperate. I believe you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” he answered, smiling.

  “You really don’t think like humans do.”

  “Your reasoning seems practical to me. Not knowing that things like vampires existed, of course you thought it was fiction. You know what I think?”

  “What?” I could feel myself drifting off the more he rubbed my feet and I had to pull away from him in order to hear his answer.

  “I think I wrote those journals for you. At the time I wrote them it was like therapy, like a weight off my chest. They were there when you needed them and in print when I needed to see them again. Nothing happens by chance, there’s no such thing.”

  “So, what do you call this?” I asked, gesturing at the two of us.

  “Destiny.”

  Something else had been bothering me and if I was going to accept all of this, it was something I needed to know.

  “Why did you withdraw from me? Why did you try to pull away when you c
ould sense our connection? I’ve wondered for years now if I was crazy. I drove off my last boyfriend because .…”

  “Because of me, I know. Matthew, right?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “The way he looked at you,” he said with a shrug. “And the way he looked at me when I looked at you the way he did.”

  I laughed. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

  Vincent moved to my end of the tub and stretched his arms toward me. I rested my head against his chest and he started to stroke my hair.

  “You were so frightened the first time,” he said softly. “I hadn’t realized at first that you were a virgin. But you wanted me, you wanted to go further. Being what I am, I could not refuse. I wanted to return, but I didn’t want to frighten you.”

  “So you withheld yourself all these years because you didn’t want to traumatize me?”

  “I put shields in place after that night. I hadn’t realized what you were going through without me until recently, when you started tearing through my defenses.”

  “How did I do that?”

  I pulled back to look at him when he answered. I had no idea that I could do something like that.

  “With the sheer force of your will,” he said. “You wanted me that much.”

  I felt myself blushing and pressed my face back against his chest.

  “That probably seemed desperate.”

  “Not at all. It was my fault. I never should have left you to wonder when all these years you could have known.”

  It was at this time he moved his left arm to prop against the rim of the tub and I noticed his scar. Vincent has a small cross-shaped burn scar on the underside of his left forearm. I remembered reading about how he’d received the mark and reached over to trace it with my fingertips. It was further proof, as if I needed it at this point.

  “A priest really attacked you in your sleep?”

  He shrugged. “He looked like a priest anyway. I didn’t exactly get to ask questions.”