by Folia Deux
“Beg me,” he says softly. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t breathe,” I sob, needing nothing more than the oblivion he can give me. My whole body is zinging with pleasure, a constant, relentless tingle. He hooks one finger into the ring at the end of the dildo and moves it in time with his own slow, rhythmic thrusts, stopping every few times to rub my own juices over his cock as it disappears into my tight ass. I am being stimulated in every possible place, the dildo shaped just right to hit me in my G-spot, leaving me panting.
Soren grunts as his fist clenches in the sheets beside my body. His shoulder muscles tremble with tension. My body is squeezing his cock, creating a friction that could be deadly if I weren’t so vulnerable and needy. He is taking a huge risk, fucking my ass, taking himself to the very edge of pleasure. His jaw is ridged as he grits his teeth and moans, trying to retain control as he buries himself inside me. He sees me staring at his face, and with a heat in his eyes that I cannot translate, he allows my legs to slide over his shoulders and leans down. He captures my mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue taking possession of mine as he pumps his hips in short, devastating thrusts before going deep once more.
It’s too much. I’m so full of him, unable to escape him. His fingers rub my clit while keeping the dildo inside, while keeping his cock balls-deep in my ass, while grinding against me, sending me swirling over the edge and into space. I scream with the orgasm, as the pleasure shatters me. I scream his name, shouting to the universe that he has owned me, that he’s the one who brought me down.
As my vision flashes and sparks, as my pussy spasms around the dildo, Soren pulls out of me. He rises up on his knees, kneeling between my legs. He takes his cock in his hand and pumps furiously, his fingers sliding easily along its brutal length. While my heart slows and stutters, while the air becomes too heavy to breathe, while I die, Soren howls with pleasure as his cock pulses. The pearly liquid jets from him, landing on my belly and breasts. Even as my eyes fall shut, I see his fiercely beautiful face caught in that pained grimace of ecstasy. His skin glows with all the energy he has stolen from me.
It’s the last thing I’m aware of as my mind goes dark.
Epilogue
I jerk awake to the sound of handcuffs clinking. Wincing, I wiggle my wrists, amazed that I can do so at all … considering that I’m dead.
Wait.
I’m not dead. With my eyes closed, I take inventory, realizing that I am drawing air into my lungs. My body aches, inside and out, but it is still mine. I inhale. I smell … soapy. Clean. My trembling fingers slide over my belly. Smooth, not sticky. I’m alive and … Soren cleaned me up. I’m also still naked. And in bed. But my wrists are free, despite the unmistakable rattle of handcuffs a moment ago.
What the hell.
Next to me, there’s a whimper. My head pivots around to find Jace, his wrists handcuffed to the railing of his bed. He’s naked. He’s also gagged.
There is absolute fear in his eyes.
I stare into them, a ravenous hunger coiling within. I am weak. My head spinning. Lucky I am not dead.
Then I see something that tells me luck has absolutely nothing to do with it.
Someone has written something on Jace’s bare chest. In Greek, the language of my people.
I read it, and then look up at Jace, this man who would have torn me apart, who left ugly bruises on my skin, and I smile. The fear in his eyes dims a bit, especially when I lean over and lick at his hip, my tongue sliding slowly toward his dick, which begins to swell. He moans softly through the gag.
“It’s all right,” I whisper to him, dragging myself over until my breasts caress his thighs. I stroke his cock as it rises for me. His head falls back, and his hips buck. “I’m going to give you what you asked for.”
Slowly, painfully, I pull myself closer to him. I can barely hold my head up, but I manage to tighten my grip on his now-rigid cock. Jace is smiling through the gag now, ready for what I’m offering him.
The surge of his desire pulses through me, giving me enough strength to push myself up with my arms. I look down at the message written on Jace’s chest. One Jace himself can’t read.
But I can translate it easily.
Mercy is for the weak.
There are so many things I could take from those words, written boldly, almost angrily, across Jace’s chest. Soren has done the one thing he said he wouldn’t do. And not only has he left me alive … he has left me a meal.
A fierce joy explodes through my chest. I have no idea where Soren is or what he’s going to do next, but somehow, for some reason … he couldn’t allow himself to destroy me. He couldn’t even allow himself to leave me weak and vulnerable for Jace to find. Instead, he chose to present Jace as an offering. I don’t know what Soren is up to, but it sends energy pulsing through my limbs.
Jace, annoyed that I’m ignoring him, shoves his hips upward, nearly throwing me off him. He inclines his head, like he’s ordering me to go down on him.
I give him my best smile. “Do you want me to suck your cock, Jace?”
He nods eagerly.
“Do you want to come in my mouth?”
Again, he nods.
“Well then,” I whisper, sliding down along his body. “Enjoy.”
TAKEN BY THE INCUBUS
By Folia Deux
Chapter One
I slide my finger along the neckline of my low-cut dress as my gaze skims over the crowded, bustling open-air marketplace. Spice vendors, weavers, women pushing fruit carts, little children selling scraggly bouquets of flowers to gullible tourists. This is not my usual kind of haunt. It took months of slinking around clubs and bars to fuck my way back to health after Soren stole nearly everything from me, and now I’m in Morocco because I’m on the hunt.
In all my existence, I’ve never been this obsessed. Before I met Soren, I drifted from city to city all over the world, sometimes settling in for a while, sometimes stopping for only a night. I chose my prey and gave them moments of blinding pleasure before silencing their hearts forever. That is what a succubus does, and I am only what I was made to be.
A predator. A hunter.
Until Soren came along, I had never experienced the other side of things, the thrill of being chased, the terror and ecstasy of being caught. Soren knows this game--he’s an incubus, and a powerful one. A beautiful one. A perfectly made creature, whose body is a weapon, whom I do not understand.
I am hunting him. Not because I want to destroy him, though.
I want to know. He could have killed me that night a few months ago. My legs were open, my body his slave. His cock was deep inside me. He drained me mercilessly, and I had thought the sight of him coming--his gorgeously tawny skin glowing with the energy he had siphoned from me--would be the last thing I ever saw.
But he left me alive. Not only that, he left me a gift, a well-chosen victim who I drained completely, which was enough to allow me to walk away from what Soren had done. So now I will find him and demand some answers.
I chuckle as I exit the alley to mill through the dusty marketplace. Who am I kidding? I simply want to see his face again.
I sense him here. The first time we met, I bested him, but our sexual battle allowed him to stalk me, because he could sense the energy I had thieved. And now, after our second war, one in which he gave me pleasure like I’ve never known, he walked away with me on his skin, with me inside him. Once I was strong enough, I followed it here, to Tangier, this exotic city by the sea.
In fact, I followed it right to this spice and fruit market. I peer at the peddlers, one sitting at a loom and weaving a colorful tapestry, the buttery yellow thread sliding through his gnarled fingers, another holding a tray of sweet, minty tea, offering cups to thirsty tourists while he watches me with narrow, hungry eyes. Somehow, even with a scarf slung over my hair and shoulders, I draw attention. Probably because of the dress, which reveals my smooth, bare legs. But I want eyes on me. I want to draw their sexu
al need right out of them. It’s the most basic kind of nourishment. I breathe deep, searching for the one scent, the one energy signature I want to feel across my skin and deep inside of me.
It’s just up ahead. Unmistakable in its masculinity, in its sexual promise. “Soren,” I whisper, my footsteps speeding as I weave through the market, past the mounds of long yellow squash that resemble thick, veined hard-ons and vats of olives that make my mouth water for salt and sweat. My body tingles with need and anticipation. My cunt spasms as I think of him naked in front of me. My eyes scan the square, searching for his dark hair, his tawny skin, his tall, lean body, always dressed impeccably.
I can sense him. He is so close that my nipples are puckered and hard, stimulated as the scant fabric of my dress brushes over them. He is so close that I ache. But I can’t see him. The only thing that catches my eye is a man leaning against the wall near the dark alley ahead of me. He is wearing a white suit miraculously unmarred by the dust of the market. His head is down, and he wears a white fedora, its elegantly curved brim hiding everything but his square jaw and sensuous lips.
All the women--and some of the men--who pass him do double-takes, their eyes traveling up his muscular body to that face, that mouth. I slowly draw closer, watching him standing perfectly still, like he’s completely content to stare at the ground in front of him while everybody else fucks him with their eyes. Sex drips from his every pore. I can feel his seductive energy winding through the marketplace, reaching, sliding up the shapely legs of a waitress in a nearby café and stroking her pussy until her skin flushes and she clutches the countertop, encircling the waist of a pretty tourist with a backpack and drawing her toward him while her clueless boyfriend haggles with a peddler over the price of a woven rug. The girl bites her lip as she drifts toward the man in white, her pert nipples tenting the fabric of her t-shirt.
This man in white, he is not Soren. But I know exactly what he is. I am beset with emotions, disappointment tangled with curiosity. Intrigue twined around fear. I had thought I was hunting Soren, but have I been sensing the man in white instead? Because he is an incubus, no doubt in my mind.
As soon as that knowledge cements itself in my thoughts, the man in white raises his head. His skin is pale as creamy ivory, smooth-shaven, laid over a bone structure both delicate and brutal. He has the face of a warrior angel. His eyes are the brightest blue. And they are riveted on me.
He tilts his head. The invisible tendril of influence that he’d used to tether the tourist snaps as all his energy reaches for me. I feel his concentration like the stroke of a hand on my thigh, slipping up, looking for my secret desires. “Where did you come from?” he asks, holding his hand out to me.
I am a succubus, but also a woman. And this incubus is fearfully powerful. I take his hand, my palm meeting his, sending zaps of painfully pleasurable electricity up my arm and straight to my core. “Heaven or hell, depending on who you talk to.”
His sapphire eyes glitter with a cold kind of challenge. His grip on my hand tightens, and he draws me toward him. “I know what you are,” he says, sliding his arm around my waist. He smells of the spices of the marketplace, the musky depth of cumin, a hint of astringent lemon that warns me of his hard edges as his nose grazes the skin of my throat.
My fingers curl over his shoulders. He presses me against his body and moves his hips just slightly, allowing me to feel the steely length of his cock beneath his pants and jacket. My pussy clenches and floods with warmth. “I know what you are, too,” I whisper.
“Do you like to play with fire?” he murmurs, nudging the strap of my dress aside and planting a cool kiss near my collarbone.
The chilly press of his mouth to my skin makes me pause. Do I? Isn’t that what I came here for? I may not have found Soren, but I’ve found another incubus, and judging by the way he’s pulling me toward the alley, he’s interested in taking me on. By all rights, I should be either running or reaching for his cock, terrified or eager to accept the challenge.
Instead, I feel this odd sort of hesitation. “I’m not sure.”
He raises his head and looks at me with surprise etched on his handsome alabaster features. But then his expression turns calculating. His fingers trace the column of my throat and skim over my lips. “My name is Kieran, and I will tell you what is going to happen. I am going to take you to my villa. I am going to strip you down and tie you up.” He leans over me, his lips brushing against my ear and sending delicious shivers down my spine. “And then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. I’m going to slide my cock down your throat. Into your tight little pussy. Into your perfect ass. And you’re going to scream for me. You’re going to beg for more.”
Every word caresses my skin like a fingertip, a promise of ecstasy that I know he can offer. As an incubus, more than any other creature, he knows how to give pleasure. He knows how to make his victims grateful for their own demise. By all rights, I should be slick with need and ready to beg. But somehow, I’m not.
Because he isn’t Soren.
As soon as the thought hits me, I can’t push it away. Kieran’s hand clutches mine, and he pulls me into the alley, leading me up the cobbled street through a medina, old houses with open windows and rooftops from which the ocean can be seen in nearly every direction. I let him tow me along, wondering if this will work to my advantage. Can I beat this incubus at his own game if somewhere deep inside me, I’m wishing he were someone else?
Or will it make him even more dangerous? I was drawn to this marketplace by what I thought was Soren’s essence … but was it Kieran’s energy that pulled me in?
“Do you know an incubus by the name of Soren?” I ask as we emerge onto a palm-lined drive, the vastness of the green-blue ocean off to our left.
He lets out a huff of laughter. “Did you really just ask me to talk about another man, my lovely succubus?” His blue eyes skate over my body. “Tell me your name.”
“Mala,” I say quickly. I am irritated that he has not answered my question.
Because you miss Soren.
I clench my teeth. Maybe this is exactly what I need. I will fuck this incubus into his grave, and I will know that it is not Soren who has power over me. It is just the power of the incubus, not the power of one man. Kieran will plunge his cock into me, and I will know that all these months of dreaming of Soren’s powerful body thrusting between my legs was only because of what he is … not because of who he is.
I move closer to Kieran, snaking my arm through his as he tugs me toward an arched entrance to a grand villa. “Mala,” I say again. “Remember it so you can moan it aloud while you come inside me.”
He chuckles. “I’m going to do many things to you, Mala, but I’m not stupid enough to do that.” We step through the archway and follow the stone walkway to the villa, its open first floor richly appointed with low couches and lush cushions, a broad staircase leading up to a second floor with wide terraces that shade the entrance to the home.
As he strides across the columned space, I inhale the lingering musk of other females, their desperate desire for Kieran lacing the air. How he kills and manages to stay in the same place without garnering suspicion is beyond me, but as I catch the shadows of servants darting through doorways, I realize he has helpers.
My gaze traces Kieran’s broad back as I follow him up the stairs, getting used to the current of power that emanates from his skin. He has no fear, only confidence as we arrive at the massive bedroom, a four-poster bed with curtains and colorful scarves tied to each post, a tray next to the bed piled with candied fruits, olives, and cheese … this place is set up for human prey.
But Kieran seems delighted that he’s caught me instead. Probably because draining me of my power will sustain him for a long time, will increase his ability to slide in and out of the ether at will, to allow him to go anywhere in the world with a thought, to be invisible on a whim.
He’ll have to kill me first, though.
And I’m very h
ard to kill.
I saunter toward him as he removes his hat and runs his hand through his red-gold hair. It falls over his forehead, the perfect frame for those devastating blue eyes. “You have me,” I say to him, “but it’ll take a lot more than your gorgeous face to have me screaming your name.”
He grins. Then he steps forward quickly and rips my dress off my shoulder, his other arm wrapping like steel around my waist and lifting me from the ground like I weigh nothing. His teeth close over the junction of my neck and shoulder, his tongue probing that sensitive spot as he backs me up to the bed. My legs wrap around him, coiling over the rock-hard contours of his waist and back. He is made of muscle and sex and power and I can’t feel anything but anticipation as he shreds my dress, tearing the fabric as if it were paper. He dumps me onto the feathery soft mattress, atop the silky sheets. He stares at my bare breasts as he strips off his jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair. Then he picks up the scarf I was wearing around my hair and rips it down the middle, making two long strips.
With quick, practiced movements, he loops one strip behind my knee and over my forearm, then repeats the action on my other side. I allow it, getting wetter by the moment as he brushes the damp silk thong between my legs. My dress is hanging from me in tatters, and he’s bound me in such a way that when I raise my arms, it pulls my legs wide, displaying me like a delicacy.
“You look beautiful this way, Mala,” he comments. “I love seeing a powerful creature playing at submission. It’s pure poetry.”
And I can tell by the strain of his cock against his pants that he’s telling the truth. It looks like it’s about to burst through the fabric. It fills me with the thrill of the hunt. “Are you planning to dominate me then, Kieran? I’d like to see you try.”
