Soul Survivor (29 page)

“You like that?” I asked, much louder than before. “You like being fucked by someone other than your wife?”

“God, yes,” he cried out.

“Tell me!” I turned so that I could face him and grabbed his face roughly with one hand. “Say it again.” I continued fucking him hard, squeezing my muscles as I reached his tip. My wetness grew with each thrust—so much so that I could feel it dripping out over my lips.

I slapped him across the cheek, perhaps harder than I intended to. “I
said,
tell me!”

“I love being fucked by you. You're so much better than my wife.”

My itch raged on, worse than before, almost unbearably so. It wouldn't be relieved until he came—my release would come when he did. I could tell by his suddenly larger girth stretching my insides that he wasn't going to last much longer. I rolled my hips in circles over him, and his velvety tip rubbed just the right areas. The swelling felt amazing. He grabbed my ass and pulled me down onto him hard. His body trembled and his juices filled me. I groaned in delight at both his release and the life I was sucking from him. The orgasm was good, but the high from his soul was even better.

In a flash, I saw a movie reel of his life. Like a flipbook, I caught a quick glimpse of what was to come in Erik's life and what the world would lack by my stealing a portion of it. I saw him playing catch with a little boy, signing divorce papers, and finally . . . I saw him sitting quietly in a rocking chair, eyes closed. I exhaled, and it wasn't until that second that I realized I had been holding my breath. You just never know until that moment what exactly you're taking from your conquest. Knowing he was going to die peacefully in his rocking chair allowed my stress to melt away.

Seconds later, my human form radiated with life—
his
life. Muscles deep inside me tensed, and the sweet release of my own orgasm squeezed every last drop from him. With a forefinger, he flicked my clit and I screamed as the tremors rolled through my body again.

Pulling away from his body, I could feel his cum dripping down my thighs. I put my other leg back up on his shoulder. “Lick me,” I demanded.

“But, I-I—” he stammered, staring nervously at his juices combined with my own.

“Shut the fuck up and
lick
me.” I spoke through clenched teeth.

More hesitantly than before, he brought his tongue to the dripping area between my legs, tentatively licking.

“Harder!”

His tongue stiffened, and the tension built inside me once again. My muscles pulsed, squeezing the cum out of me and onto his tongue.

“How do I taste
now?
”

“Still amazing,” he said. He slapped my ass, squeezing my cheek with one hand.

His sudden force caught me off guard, and I moaned as my body convulsed in yet another orgasm. After, I leaned down and licked the juices from his lips.

 

We finished dressing and he came up behind me, kissing my neck. “That was amazing.” He reached in front and caressed my breast through the material of my dress. “
You
are amazing. I had no idea it could be that great.” He tucked another hundred dollar bill between my cleavage. “Can I see you again?” He was speaking fast, and I could see the effects of succubus sex affecting him already. It acts as a sort of high, making my victims more manic and stronger than they normally are. One of the many ways we succubi keep them addicted, coming back for more.

I rolled my eyes, and even though he couldn't see me, he probably sensed my annoyance. “Well, of course we'll
see
each other again. You're in the coffee shop every fucking day.”

He turned me around so I was face-to-face with him. I didn't realize before how tall he was. My eyes were about level with his pecs. “That's not what I meant.” He brushed a piece of hair from my face.

“I-I know.” I stammered slightly, feeling uncharacteristically bad for the man. “But I try to keep my two lives separate. My dancing life and the café life. Inviting you here was a . . . a momentary lapse in judgment.”

He tilted my chin toward his and gave a small tug on my almost black locks. “I like this look. Is it a wig?” Then with the same hand, he cupped my jaw. For a second there, I really thought he was going to kiss me.

“Something like that,” I replied.

“So, I can visit you here at the club?”

I nodded, sadness washing over me. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against mine. It was so intimate. So atypical for me. Intimacy was not something I experienced on a sexual level. It had been decades since I had felt that sort of sexual affection and actually acted on it. My stomach clenched; a rush of sorrow flooded me for . . . everything. For his wife. His deceit. Because of me, he would die a week sooner than he should have; I stole part of this man's soul and suckered him into cheating on his wife. Okay, well, maybe I didn't sucker him, but I certainly offered temptation. He may have gone his entire marriage without any infidelity if it hadn't been for me. Maybe I was the reason he'd be signing those divorce papers in the future. I needed to get away from him—away from this club.

I broke free from his kiss and headed toward the door. “I'll see you around, Erik.” It was the first time I said his name without dripping sarcasm.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I instantaneously felt Lucien's presence. Seconds later, he stood before me. And he did not look happy.

“My office, Monica. Now.”