Dark Allure

by Imogen Sera

  "Sit down," she says. "I need to actually see you swallow it, and you're like two feet taller than me."

  I sit, and she sits next to me. She's up on her knees, because she's so small that it's the only way that we can be face to face. She holds the mushroom between her index finger and thumb and examines it, and then brings it to my mouth.

  I flick my tongue across her thumb when she pushes the mushroom into my mouth, and her eyes widen just slightly. It takes all of my restraint to not pull her onto my lap and lick every inch of her.

  "Let's make it a game. We'll take turns," she says.

  She swallows her mushroom and grins at me.

  "Basically truth or dare," she says. "Truth or truth?"

  I have no idea what she's talking about, but she doesn't seem to be waiting for a response, so I ignore it.

  "I'll go first," she says. "How long does it take to start working?"

  "It already is," I say.

  I brace myself as she looks me over. She's draped her against the back of the couch, her hand on her forehead and her legs spread wide. She doesn't just look relaxed, she looks like she's drunk.

  She's silent for a minute, and then a grin covers her face. I'm relaxed too, but not so out of it that I'm not worried.

  "It's my chance to learn state secrets. I should be strategic," she says with a little smile. "What's your...favorite color?" she asks, and her smirk makes me want to pull her against me and kiss it off of her.

  I'm relieved, but the telltale pulling sensation of the mushrooms compels me to answer. "I don't have a favorite color."

  She glowers at me. "That's cheating, you have to answer. Everyone has a favorite color."

  Her pretty mouth is fixed into a pout and her green eyes are sparkling. She's trying to look serious but failing horribly. I cross my arms to keep from reaching for her. "Green," I say finally.

  She rolls her pretty eyes in response. "Your turn, cheater," she says, but her smirk is still there.

  "How did you get here?"

  "Jumping right in, I guess," she says. She turns her face toward me, pressing her cheek against the cushion. "I was at home--well, not my home, but a client's home--"

  "Client?" I interrupt.

  "I watch people's houses when they're not staying in them. I had been there for a few months, and I woke up in the middle of the night and there was this noise. I don't know how to describe it. But I went outside to check for what it might be, and then I kind of..."

  She looks suddenly stricken, but I don't want to interrupt.

  "I thought I was dreaming or something," she says. "I followed the noise, and I ended up by the ocean, and then I slipped and fell in and...I think I just realized that I'm dead."

  "You're not dead."

  She frowns and shakes her head. "I don't feel dead, but none of this makes any sense otherwise. And I'm underground, which is fitting, and... I don't know. I don't think I believe you."

  "I can't lie," I remind her, and point to where the rest of the mushrooms are on the table.

  "Says you. I don't really have any reason to believe that the mushrooms work on you."

  She's so convinced that this is the afterlife that it takes me a minute to realize that she told the truth about coming here. That at the very least, she's not the one who got herself here. Maybe she still knows who did, maybe she planned it, but somehow I doubt that.

  "What did you know about this place before you came here?" I ask.

  "I'm trying to have an existential crisis, here," she says, but then looks up to meet my gaze. "Nothing. I told you I knew nothing. I still know pretty much nothing."

  "What are you here to do?"

  She puts her palms up. "Nothing? I have no idea. You're very bad at taking turns with questions, you know."

  And that's it, I suppose. The truth is that she knows nothing, so everything I've thought about this from the beginning is wrong. I suppose it's still possible that she's unwittingly being used, but if that's the case, I would have no idea where to begin. She's just here, and she's just confused and scared, and I've done nothing to help with any of that.

  "Why can't I go home?" she asks. She's folded her hands under her cheek as she lays against the back of the couch, and I think that I could get very used to the picture of her doing that here.

  "I don't know where to begin," I say. "We would need magic to pierce the veil that separates our worlds. There are occasionally Yremy who are gifted with magic, but it's rare and usually kept quiet. I don't know how else you could get home."

  She frowns. "Can you at least try and see if it's possible? If there's anyone to do it? You're supposed to be so important, right?"

  "I will," I say, and I mean it. "It's a little more complicated than that, though."

  "How so?"

  "I told you that our people lived side by side once," I say, and she nods. "There was a time after our worlds were separated that...well, it turns out that humans are the preferred diet of several races of the Yremy, and humans were being brought here in great number just to be eaten or enslaved. It continued for centuries, until they finally got a council together and threatened us if a single human crossed the veil."

  She nods again, and I again have to physically restrain myself from reaching for her.

  "You crossed, and the fact that it's been an entire day and we've had no consequences makes me think that nobody knows that you did. But I worry that returning you might make it known."

  "Are the consequences so bad?" she asks.

  "They're..." I pause. "Our world was built for us, when we no longer wished to live among the humans. It wouldn't exist without the structure of your world to support it."

  She nods.

  "And they figured out a way to break this world, or at least that's what we've been led to believe. I don't know that I necessarily believe them, but I do know that I can't take the risk."

  "So I'm stuck here?" she asks. "You said there's a council--it's a council of humans? Is there a way to contact them and I can tell them that I'm just here by accident?"

  I sigh. "They can be contacted, but I'm concerned about letting them know about your presence here at all."

  "So I'm stuck," she says.

  "For now. I have someone looking into things, and I will tell you what I learn."

  "Thanks," she says, looking very tired. "So it's really not your fault that I'm here? You didn't kidnap me?"

  I shake my head.

  She looks utterly defeated for a moment, her brow furrowing as she leans her head back against the cushion. "I was really hoping you did it so that you could just fix it."

  "I'm sorry," I say, my mind running with ways to make her happy again.

  She's done it herself, though, because she aims a little grin up at me. "I guess I forgive you for not kidnapping me. Anyway, I should use the mushroom time wisely," she says, and her little smirk that's been on her face most of the day is replaced by the most charming blush all over her cheeks. "Is there..." she trails off, twisting her hands together in front of her, and then takes a deep breath. "Is there a reason I have an overwhelming urge to sit on your face and use your horns as handles?"

  I manage to barely stifle a groan. My cock, which I've been trying very hard to ignore for the last several hours, surges to life and twitches against my leg. I can't tell if she wants me to reach for her, but she looks so distressed at asking her question that I think she really is just curious. For now. "I don't know," I manage. "It's affecting me, too."

  "I wondered if it was," she says. "It's kind of hard for me to think straight around you."

  "It's taking more effort than it should to restrain myself," I say.

  She nods. "Is that the reason that you said I'm yours?"

  "I say you're mine because you are." I frown. "I've gotten to where I am by listening to my instincts, Eve, and they tell me that you're mine."

  "But I just want to go home." Her voice is so small and her eyes are so big that I reach out to pull her onto my lap.
I'm mildly surprised that she doesn't protest at all, and that she even wraps her arms around my neck as I move her. It must be the relaxing effects of the mushrooms.

  "I will try to get you home," I promise. "You're mine, so caring for you is my responsibility. If the best way to do it is getting you home, I will."

  She smiles up at me and her chin is quivering, and I don't want her to cry again, so I pull her head against my chest.

  This is not what I expected from the mushrooms, and not what I expected from my day, but I can't deny that I'm pleased.

  Chapter 9

  Eve

  I'm in bed with Az. Which I'm totally calling him, because I'm terrible with names and I keep almost saying Az'anor or Az'rohal or Alcohol.

  After I almost cried on him while eating mushrooms, we went back down to the massive cavern. Namesti Square, he called it, even though it isn't remotely square. More like an oval. But he bought me street food for dinner, and I was surprised at how normal the food was. There were wild chickens wandering between stalls, and a lot of chicken on the menu, as well as beef and pork.

  I wonder if the animals are here from before the worlds split. It's such a strange thing to think.

  We walked together down the busy street, and he pointed out everything. There are places to buy the clothing sheets that everyone wears and to buy books and paper and pens and even a stall for pets. It was surprisingly fun, and there wasn't a single sign of someone who wanted to eat me.

  I should probably ask Az more about that, because if there are human-eating demons, I'd rather not meet one.

  But then we came back here, and I promptly fell asleep against the back of the couch. I don't think it's very late, but to be fair, it's been a long fucking day.

  And now I woke up in bed with Az. I'm not worried--I'm still dressed and so is he, and despite him admitting that he's just as horny as I am, I'm completely confident that he won't do anything that I don't want.

  And I don't really know what I want.

  As I lay here, I can't help but feel everything. His breath on the skin of my chest, the heavy weight of his arm across my midsection, his thick erection pressing against my thigh. I don't know why he affects me this way. I don't know why liquid heat unfurls inside of me every time I even see him.

  And laying here certainly isn't helping the situation. My nipples are hard and my body is screaming to be touched. Preferably by the massive purple guy--demon--next to me.

  His eyes are shut and his breath is even and I'm pretty sure he's asleep. Which is good, because it's saving me from moving my hip against his cock and tackling him. But I'm frustrated and I can barely think, and I can't help but wonder if getting laid would help.

  Or...

  I move my free hand down my body as slowly as I possibly can. If I'm going to do this, I really don't want to wake him. My breath catches in my throat as I pull the hem of the short dress up; my skin is so sensitive and aching to be touched that even my own fingers on my leg make me want to beg for more.

  I experiment with that, tracing my fingers up and along my inner thigh. Masturbating has been so efficient ever since I first discovered it; I just do exactly what I know gets me there and then I'm done. But this is different. I'm alone in a room with a sleeping demon, his massive arms curled around me, and for some reason, even my own touch is lighting me on fire.

  Exploring myself has never felt so exciting. With my arm that's next to Az, I push the top of my dress to the side and expose my nipple to the night air. The air's a little cold, although with a big hot monster next to me, I'm mostly warm. I let out a tiny gasp when my fingers close around my nipple--that's never felt this good before, and certainly not from my own hand. A warm, zappy feeling moves from my nipple to the rest of my body. My head, my arms, my fingers, and down to where it pools with the slow, persistent ache between my legs, transforming the ache into something more desperate--something more necessary.

  Which is the end of exploring myself, because I know how to get myself there. I squeeze my nipple as my other hand moves between my legs. I find my clit quickly, strumming my fingers over it. After a moment I'm rocking against my hand in a frantic need, so close to falling over the edge.

  I don't know when Az opens his eyes, but when I notice, I don't even care. I'm too engrossed in making myself come, in furiously rubbing my clit with my thumb while I dip my fingers inside myself. I move them hard and fast, making wet noises as I do, and I find that I can't look away from Az'ralon's gaze.

  But I can't get there. I almost reach my peak several times, mindless and hot and desperate to fall over the edge, but when the moment comes for me to actually finish, it just...stops. It's infuriating and confusing and I know that the look on my face must be one of frustration.

  Az's expression in unfathomable. His eyes are dark and his gaze is scorching, and I half expect him to roll over onto me and fuck me. I half want him to. So I'm mildly surprised when he takes his arm off of me.

  But then he pulls his own clothing to the side, and I can see him wrap his hand around his cock. It's dark in the room and I can't see well, but my impression is that he's big. Very, very big, and very hard, and I immediately wish that it was pumping into me instead of my useless fingers.

  He's silent and doesn't look away from me as he circles his cock with his hand and runs it up slowly, ending with his thumb on the head. I want to meet his gaze, but I can't stop looking at what he's doing, even as I ride my own hand and furiously press against my clit.

  His bare leg is against mine, and that's the only place that we're touching. But it's enough. My skin is more sensitive there than anywhere else on my body right now, and I have a vague sense of knowing that if he were to touch me, I would be able to finish.

  I want to beg him to touch me, but I don't want him to stop touching himself. His hand is so big, and his claws look sharp and dangerous on his cock. His chest moves faster, and still he watches me, his nostrils occasionally flaring as his muscles visibly tense.

  It's all building quickly, and suddenly I want to see him come. I want to see it more than anything, to watch him spill on his ridiculously muscled abs, to move my mouth down his body and clean it off with my tongue. It's a weird thing for me to want, because I've pretty much hated that aspect of blowjobs in the past, but now I'm crazy for it and I have no idea why.

  His hand moves faster and faster as he watches me, his gaze occasionally moving down to where my hand is still working in vain between my legs. He returns his gaze to my face, and then his breath catches, and...

  Nothing. His hand still moves, but slows, and nothing came out and he's just as hard as he was.

  "I can't finish, either," he says, breaking the silence. "Not since I first dreamed of you."

  "Can I touch you?" I ask, without even realizing that I was going to. "Please let me touch you."

  He freezes for a second, his eyes widening slightly, and I can tell that I've taken him completely off guard. I worry that he'll say no and then I'll be left here, desperate for him, but I shouldn't worry. After a second, he nods slowly.

  As soon as he does, I close my hand around his cock. Well, I certainly try to, but it won't close all the way. It's rock hard and his skin on it is so smooth, and my hand is slippery from touching myself. It glides easily over him, up and up and up to the dark head, and then back down to the base that's so thick that I have no idea if it would fit inside of me.

  It's as long as my forearm and heavily veined. A small bead of fluid leaks from the tip, and I want to move down him and lick it clean. As the thought solidifies in my mind, though, he tenses and closes his hand around mine, pumping my hand and his cock furiously for a minute before growling and shuddering and shooting his release.

  I stare, transfixed at the sight. His hand completely covers mine, and his forearm and bicep are flexed and massive against mine.

  He lets go of my hand, and I reluctantly uncurl my fingers from around his cock. I want to protest when he pulls away from me, but he's o
ut of the bed and shut the bathroom door so quickly that I don't even get a chance.

  But he's back just as quickly, clean and gorgeous and sliding back in next to me.

  "Tell me not to touch you," he murmurs in my ear. "Tell me not to lick your skin and bite your ear. Tell me not to make you writhe on my face and clench around my tongue as you come."

  I stare at him in silence. There is no way in the world that I'll tell him not to do those things.

  "Well then," he breathes, and his hand goes to grip my hip as he trails his lips down the side of my neck. I'm overwhelmed by sensation, and I find my legs moving against each other frantically, and parting when his fingers drift away from my hip and move inward toward my pubic bone.

  I'd beg for his touch, but I don't think I'm even capable of it right now.

  His lips move across my collarbone, and then he braces himself above me and lowers his head to my breast. His tongue flicks over the underside of it, lighting my nerves on fire. I'm too needy to appreciate the teasing, though, and when his tongue finally moves over my nipple, I let out an actual sigh of relief.

  I don't think anything has ever felt like this. I was wound up, so tight I thought I would explode--but couldn't--and as soon as his hands are on me, I'm unwinding and relaxing and moving toward something else. It's so good that I just know I'm going to get there, and his hands on me feel so much better than my own, and I just melt into the bed and try not to acknowledge the fact that I'm definitely getting to at least third base with this demon guy that I've known for like twelve hours.

  And then his fingers brush over my swollen lips and the length of time since I met him has never seemed less important. I let out a breathy sigh that somehow turns into a moan. When he parts my folds and traces one finger around my clit in the lightest touch I've ever felt, I shudder and move my hips to press harder against his hand.

  He's very gentle which isn't at all what I expected. He moves his fingers in a measured and precise way, and I wonder about it as I look at the top of his head--and his horns--where his mouth is firmly attached to my nipple.