From the moment he’d entered his Change, he had been a means to a very pleasurable end for his lovers. He was as much a conquest to them as they were a food source to him. They were temporary fixtures, nameless faces and one-night stands that left him cold. He gave them what they wanted and they left needing nothing else from him. He took from them what he needed. Without him, they would find other lovers. Without them, parasitic thing that he was, he would die.
The years had hammered home the hard facts of his reality. He could rail against the injustice of a lonely life, but to what end? Nothing would change. That meant that whatever fantasies he might privately harbor involving Bailey, they were just that. Fantasy.
“Griff.” Cool fingertips fluttered against the pulse in his neck. “Please.”
That single appeal cracked the foundations of walls he’d long thought a permanent part of his makeup. He closed his eyes. Don’t let it be structurally irreparable.
Then he silently uttered a plea of his own.
Please.
Chapter Six
The way Bailey’s stomach gently flipped said the elevator had stopped. Finally. Griff’s apartment lay on the other side of those doors. She willed them to open. He could end her pain once they were inside. Of course, death could too. Not going down that road.
Refrigerated air hit her overheated skin. She sighed. Relief. “Feels good in here.”
“You need it colder?”
“Not right now.” A small moan rolled through her chest. “I can’t believe I danced on the bar. The bar, Griff.”
“It’s the nature of what you are working to draw viable partners to you. The sex on the air can impair your judgment, make you a little...overenthusiastic.” His fingers twitched. “You were pretty amazing, though. I had no idea you knew how to move like that.”
Heat suffused her cheeks. “Neither did I.”
He carrier her through the apartment and settled her on the unmade bed, his deft fingers divesting her of her shorts. “Commando? Sexy.”
Struggling to keep him in focus, she attempted a smile. “You’re a sucker for ass. That’s all.”
The pained look that flashed across his face made no sense, but she was too far gone to dig into the man’s little mysteries. Her nipples ached. The wet heat of her sex burned. Muscles in her abs cramped and released in tiny, torturous contractions. Her legs scissored uncontrollably.
“Two seconds, baby.” Clothes hit the floor with a soft thump. The mattress dipped as he crawled up. “What do you need?”
She didn’t think before answering. “You.”
Griff froze. “What do you need from me?”
It was so clear, this distance he kept between them. Boundaries. Seemingly unbreakable boundaries. He continued to redefine them with hard lines and harder words every time she exposed any emotional vulnerability. How could she explain that it wasn’t just his body she was interested in? Bodies were a dime a dozen on the dance floor. But he, he was different.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Screw it. “Just you, Griff.”
Instead of words, his response came in the form of hot lips moving over the sensitive skin inside her knee. Heated breath blew over the path his tactile tongue traced. Progress took him up the inside of her thigh.
A shuddering sigh escaped her when his mouth reached her core. “That’ll work just fine.”
He chuckled. “It’s somewhere to start anyway. We haven’t been able to really enjoy the dance until now.”
Foreplay. They hadn’t had that luxury tonight. As bad as she was hurting now, she didn’t know how long she’d last. Anything was better than nothing, though.
He traced the juncture of her thighs, exploring and tasting. Then he flicked her clit.
Her hips rocked forward at the same time she cried out.
Griff wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her in place. “You’re so prime, baby.” He nibbled, licked and sucked until she pled for release.
Bowing off the bed, she blindly reached for his head and wound her fingers through his hair. She ground against his mouth as he worked her. His tongue delved deep before moving up to lazily circle that bundle of nerves. A deft pull from his lips would send her over the edge. She moved beneath his hands, encouraging, guiding, silently pleading.
He slid a finger inside her and crooked it, stroking her G-spot with deft movements.
Bailey bit her lip to silence her cries. Pleasure built in intense waves, pulsing through her with every heartbeat. She let go of his hair to fist the sheets. The pressure in her pelvis was too much. “Griff.” His name was an invocation uttered with raw desperation.
Then he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked.
Silence be damned. She screamed as the orgasm crashed through her. Control lost, she reveled in the almost electric shocks that traveled through her body as his teeth grazed the tiny bud, the way his heavy breaths skated across skin slicked with arousal, how thoroughly she fractured in his embrace.
Safe. She was safe here in his arms. He wouldn’t let her die.
Bailey lay boneless as Griff brought her down from the precipice. The pain wasn’t completely resolved, but she also wasn’t as desperate as she’d been. Momentarily sated, she smiled when he prowled up her body and paused over her.
He arched a brow. “Better?”
She considered his face. His studied indifference was too perfect. There was something behind the facade, something he didn’t want her to see. The longer she stared, the more aloof his gaze grew.
“You’re thinking too hard, Bailey.”
She lifted one shoulder. The urge to pull the traditional female “What are you thinking?” thing ate at her. No way was she that woman—never had been, never would be. Still, she wanted him to see her as more than this, this approximation of a bed partner caught between obligation and desire.
“Would you have ever chosen me?” The blurted question was out and irretrievable before she had the chance to stop herself. Great. I’m like an emotional Taser. Take him down with one shot, sit on his chest while he pisses himself and then ask the hard questions while he’s scrambled. Her impulse-driven, emotionally needy, come-across-as-desperate-why-don’t-you speech center should be surgically removed.
He looked away. Rolling to his side, he grabbed the remote for the room’s lights and absently draped one heavy leg across her nearest thigh. “The pain any better?”
Physically? “Some.” Otherwise? I think we’re just getting started ripping me apart.
The muscles in his jaw and throat worked. “You’ve got to feed, baby. When I come, you’ve got to let your walls down and pull on my body’s prana.”
“I assume the ‘when I come’ means we aren’t done.” She fought the urge to haul the covers up to her neck. “And what’s prana, and how am I supposed to feed off of it?”
“We’re not done until you’ve survived your Change. And prana is literally the body’s life force.”
We’re not done until you’ve survived your Change. Well, hell. If that didn’t kick her out of the emotional bog sucking her down, nothing would. The clear expiration date on this little affair was undefined yet imminent. She blinked rapidly. Drawing a breath hurt. Creating distance this very second became critical. But how? Focus on the prana issue. “You’re telling me that, to survive, I have to screw men and suck on their life force.”
Griff closed his eyes. His nostrils pinched and lips thinned. Whatever he’d been about to say got locked down hard and fast. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were flat. “Members of our demon class lose prana every day. It’s what makes us sexually irresistible to the norms. They see us as young and vital and sexual. Until the Change, prana burns off slowly enough that the body can regenerate it without consequence. Then the pre-Change crash happens, and all your body functions get out of sync. Or
gasm will rejuvenate and realign you, but it’s temporary—like eating lunch and expecting to not be hungry come dinner.”
She swiveled toward Griff, eyes wide. “You’re comparing my need to suck the life force out of someone to a freaking pizza buffet?”
He glared at her. “Your prana is dangerously low, which is why you currently feel so bad. The energy that keeps your body in sync and your organs functioning is dwindling. If you don’t feed, you’re going to go from feeling like death to praying for it. The feeling will continue until your heart stops. Then it’s game over.”
Chills wracked her even though she was burning up. “I can’t drain men of their...whatever.”
“Prana, Bailey. And yes, you can. Why do you think you danced on the bar? That’s not your speed. Your body’s attracting the prana of potential lovers with the intent of feeding off the strongest. Even if you don’t want to survive by the time this is all over, your body’s going to do what it has to do to pull through.” Griff flopped onto his back, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he stared at the ceiling. “Trust me.”
She tried to focus on something, anything, other than Griff, but every path led right back to him. If she was honest with herself, it had always been him. She could have worked any number of places, could have made more money at a different bar before Desire became the city’s hotspot. But she hadn’t even considered it. When she’d met Griff, that had been it. She felt then just as she felt now—that she’d found her center.
Absently running a hand over her hip, the sensitive pads of her fingers traced the unfamiliar tattoo. Not tattoo. Marker. Hesitation stilled her fingers and made her movements sluggish. She looked down and studied the dark circle that bled through raised and angry skin. This was bigger than her past and had everything to do with her future. Continuing to deny the truth was pointless.
She was a succubus.
* * *
Griff slid a hand behind his thigh and pinched himself hard enough to bruise. He had to stay focused. Getting Bailey to repeated physical release and encouraging her to let herself go and feed was the priority tonight. He’d see that through and then he’d cut her free and walk away.
The unfamiliar ache in his chest came back. He absently ran a hand over the smooth skin of his pecs, considering. An untold number of unremarkable nights flashed through his mind, every bed partner faceless and interchangeable. Over the past three years, the only thing his one-night stands had in common was that he’d wished each of the women in his bed were someone else.
Bailey.
She’d asked if he would he have chosen her. He had. A thousand times. But his species, being what they were, had prevented him from inviting her into his life because he couldn’t have invited her into his bed. Incubi didn’t differentiate between “good touch” and “bad touch.” Their touch went straight from bad to deadly. More than one woman had lost her life when he’d waited too long to feed, devolving into a frenzied bed partner with no stop button, pulling more prana from her than she could regenerate. Bailey would have been relegated to a single, unsatisfying experience, then forced to watch him take a different woman every night thereafter. She deserved more than that.
But isn’t that what you’re doing now? You’re just couching it on her Change.
Rolling onto his back, he hooked his arm over his head and stared at the ceiling.
Can’t even be honest with myself. Truth, then. Helping her through this hadn’t been an entirely altruistic move. He needed the opportunity to get her out of his system, get past this...this...thing he had for her and finally move on.
The mattress shifted. He glanced over to find Bailey sitting on the side of the bed. “Problem?”
“This whole thing is a problem.” Bitterness tinged her words, acrid and unnatural.
Hands fisted in frustration, Griff didn’t know whether to reach out to her, speak but not reach out, or hang back and wait. Dammit. Offering comfort wasn’t a skill listed on his personal or professional résumé. Maybe he should just suggest they play a quick game of Twister—keep things simple. The body parts you had to move were labeled. They’d touch because it was inevitable, and things would go from there. Nowhere in the rules or in the spin of the wheel did the game require players to put their hearts out there only to have them crushed when people crashed. And they always crashed.
Her chin dipped forward. “How long does it take?”
“Huh?”
“The Change. How long?” Her arms snaked around her middle.
“Oh. Should be over by tomorrow. But you have to feed. Otherwise? This is pointless.”
Her fingernails dug deep into bare skin when she flinched. “Is it that simple to you?”
“It’s life or death. Doesn’t get much simpler.” Silence met his frank assessment. His brow creased. Her fingernails were buried so deep in her skin he was afraid she was going to draw blood. He reached for her. She visibly sagged, startling him into a hasty retreat before he touched her. Her shoulders hunched in a torpid, defeated way that left Griff struggling to form an apology. “Look, I’m not trying to be an ass.”
An indelicate snort preceded a minute shake of her head. “You regularly inspire the troops with these brilliant speeches?”
Irritation pricked his pride, swift and sharp. “Cut me a little slack here. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just realize shooting the messenger isn’t going to get you out of this.” He rubbed his forehead. “You’ve got to at least try to feed.”
“Why do I have to have sex to feed?”
“Not just sex. You have to orgasm and so does your partner. Your have to free your instinct to find and feed from your partner’s prana.” The image of her in a stranger’s arms made his next words terse. “You have to let go and find a certain level of release to initially loose the instinct to feed during your Change. After that? It’s not a conscious decision. Your body will do it naturally during orgasm.”
She turned her head just enough to rest her chin on her shoulder. Her eyes focused on some invisible spot in the distance between them. “So that’s it, huh? Let go so what I am can take over.”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you feed every time you come?”
“It isn’t something you can control.”
“So you do.”
The words were soft, not accusatory, but he still felt their impact like well-placed blows. “I told you before—your body will do what it has to in order to survive. It’s how we’re programmed.”
Her gaze jumped to his. “I’m more than this, Griff. I might be a... It might be what I am. It’ll never be who I am, though. Never.”
He’d thought the same thing. Early on, anyway. Rolling, he swung his legs over the edge and planted his feet on the floor before lacing his hands behind his neck. Time and experience, the most merciless of teachers, had proved both ruthless and thorough in his education. It had been experience that ultimately broke him, though. The cost had been learning to survive without missing living, and he had.
Until now.
Chapter Seven
Whatever turned Bailey into the Happy Humper was winding up, the increasingly familiar need just beginning to stir. Cramps were still mild, so she had time.
“To do what?” she whispered, staring at Griff’s back.
He glanced over his shoulder, nostrils flaring. “It’s happening again?”
She nodded.
He turned away, head falling forward, hands dangling between his knees.
Somewhere in the apartment a clock ticked, eating up the silence one second at a time. The air conditioner kicked on with a soft rush that drowned out time’s passage with innocuous white noise.
He wordlessly stood and rested his palms against the wall. Shoulders rapidly rising and fal
ling with every sharp breath, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the wall. “This isn’t going the way it was supposed to. I can’t do this.”
Bailey hadn’t taken her eyes off that long, strong back as he stood. Now she couldn’t look away, and she wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“That’s what?” he asked, voice flat, almost resigned.
“You’re sorry you got into this.” The way her voice wavered infuriated her.
She should have known, should have suspected it would end up here. He was clearly sorry he’d made the effort with her. This was the worst part of every affair. With Griff, though? The waiting was killing her. Any moment now, he would turn and look her over with such abject disappointment she’d never recover.
Moving in a nearly blind haze of mortification, she reached for her shorts with a trembling hand. Gotta get out of here. If she hurried, she could probably make it to the elevator before the first tear fell. What she wouldn’t give for three wishes. The first would make her scathingly witty when pissed off, binding her penchant to cry when angry. The second would deal with scrubbing away her humiliation over this whole debacle. The third—
A hot, hard hand closed over her upper arm. “Bailey, listen.”
Panic pulled a total drive-by and yanked her out of the driver’s seat before racing off with her sanity. She rounded on him, blindly striking out.
Griff caught her fist and jerked her around. Folding her arm behind her and pressing her against the wall seemed fluid and effortless. The heavy weight of his body pinned her. His hips pressed into her ass, the heavy weight of his cock a heated brand his satin pants only emphasized.
He didn’t loosen his hold when he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Bailey’s heart thrashed about in her chest like a wounded bird. She couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t break his hold, couldn’t think. Words wouldn’t come. The best she managed was a single shake of her head.
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