Succubus in the City (29 page)

“She had sex with both of them,” Eros said. “At the same time, two very pretty naked boys in the bed. One dark, one fair, excellent balance. I would have loved to have watched.”

“Oh,” I said. “Do tell. Did they both go down on you? Did they do each other? That sounds so hot.”

Sybil shook her head. “I can’t,” she stammered. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” Eros asked. “We all talk about it all the time. I don’t see why you should be so shy, it’s not like you’ve never had sex before or have never heard us talking about sex. You heard all about Lily’s night, and she didn’t exactly edit.”

“I can’t,” Sybil replied. “I just…can’t. I’m not a sex demon like you. You don’t talk about your bank accounts in public!”

“Well, if Sybil isn’t going to tell us all about her adventure, I vote that we walk down the beach and get
tostis,
” Desi suggested.

I did have to agree. No
tostis
in New York. Well, really they were just Dutch grilled-cheese sandwiches, only sealed at the edges and often with ham in with the cheese. And, like all truly Dutch things, they were cute and small. (Except Marten, who was cute and hunky.)

“Thinking about your hot date tonight?” Eros asked me.

I shook my head. “No. Not even a little bit. Thinking about home.”

I wondered if it was just anticipation that fueled the images of Nathan.

Maybe. Maybe really all my interest was focused on Nathan because we’d spent a lot of time together, at least a lot by my standards, and we still hadn’t gotten into bed. That was kind of hot, really, and new for me.

Anticipation. Not Nathan Coleman. Not anything special at all, except that I’d seen him three times and he hadn’t even unbuttoned his shirt.

chapter
TWENTY-THREE

By the time the sun had started to turn the ocean bright red and gold I was thoroughly bored. The sun had warmed me to the bone in a way the New York winter, full of slush and chill, had made me forget. I had despaired of warmth and here I was, lying out in February in a bikini and feeling, finally, relaxed. Truly relaxed.

I had dressed for dinner and arrived in the lobby at the agreed-upon hour. There was Marten, waiting. I was surprised (and tickled) to see that he was reading the European edition of
Trend,
and made my way over. He seemed engrossed in his article and didn’t look up until I stood over him for perhaps five minutes. Honestly, I didn’t know whether to be insulted or be pleased that he was clearly engaged. Either way, I had his attention.

He looked up and smiled just as brilliantly as he had every other time I’d seen him, but there was something just a little less enthusiastic about his greeting. The anticipation was gone for both of us. Now there was only the assurance that we would go to bed and it would be a lot of fun, and he would leave and I would get on an airplane in the morning and we would never see each other again or send e-mails. Ever.

Still, he was an excellent host and we went to the casino after dinner. A little gambling, we agreed, would be just the thing.

I spotted him when Marten was placing a bet on the roulette wheel. There, well across the room, was Craig Branford. I recognized him from Nathan’s pictures. I’d looked at that face so many times I couldn’t be mistaken. And Azoked had warned us he was here—hunting us.

I am the hunter. I dislike being prey.

He looked exactly like some tourist from Great Neck in his Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts and white sneakers. Hadn’t anyone told him that white sneakers told the whole world that you were an American tourist? His hair was thinning and he’d done the classic comb-over. I wanted to deliver him for that alone.

I murmured to Marten that I was going to the ladies’ room, but I kept to the wall where the slot machines were and watched. And, exactly as I had anticipated, he made his way over to my date.

Just the way Desi had described her experience in the Brooklyn Museum, Branford approached Marten and drew him aside. I watched them talk, Branford’s intent expression, and Marten’s slightly shaking back. I watched for minutes, until Marten finally turned around and went back to the roulette wheel.

I could not figure out Craig Branford. He didn’t look at all satisfied or pleased. In fact, he appeared furious and maybe confused. In any case, Marten was precisely where I had left him. I thought that the time was right to return and see what happened. Certainly, unlike Desi’s date, Marten hadn’t disappeared—in fact, he had made certain that I could find him.

I touched his shoulder and he smiled at me and held up a finger.

He said nothing about the encounter until we got upstairs. And then, only after we were settled on the sofa with white wine from the minibar, like some old married couple.

“You will not believe the crazy thing that happened when you were in the ladies’ room,” he started. I raised my eyebrows to show interest without undue concern.

“This man, this very badly dressed American, came over to me. And he told me this story, that you were not a human woman but some demon from Hell, and he warned me that if I slept with you I would be killed.”

“Oh?” I tried to keep my tone casual.

“And then I told him that I had already slept with you and that I was very much alive, so he was obviously quite wrong. And possibly insane, and should definitely keep his opinions to himself.”

“I would say so,” I agreed emphatically.

“But that is not even the strangest part of it,” Marten continued. “The very strangest part is that when I told him that I had already had sex with you, that I was dating you in fact, he was so confused. ‘But I know she has to be one of them, I had it on good authority,’ he told me. He was so very clearly unable to process the information—he even asked if I was certain that I had actually had sex with you. Whereupon I told him that was a crude thing to say to a stranger about a lady whom he had never met and he was left entirely speechless. It was very odd, but amusing. I do wish the casino would be more selective about their clientele. At least institute a dress code. But they will not because really, they want anyone with the money to gamble. It lowers the tone of the place, I think. And then it lets in crazy people like that man, who should have been on the streets with his little religious tracts.”

“I thought that religious crazies were our specialty in the States. I didn’t think you had them here in Paradise,” I said lightly.

He shrugged. “I thought that as well. Well, he was an American on holiday, but clearly just crazy. I only told you because I thought it was funny.”

I agreed and then he put his hand on my waist and dropped it around to trace my rear. No slow seduction tonight, no delicious ambiguity, no fear that maybe it wouldn’t happen or that one of us was going to be disappointed or disappointing. No, we’d gotten that out of the way.

Tonight was just sex. And it was good sex and he showed as much skill (if not quite the level of enthusiasm) as the night before. And he did make sure that I was well satisfied before he entered me, and so ensured his continued survival.

And yes, I enjoyed it. A lot. But I was also thinking about Branford and the Knight Defenders and wondering what he thought now about me being a succubus since he’d just gotten information to the contrary.

But most of all I was wondering who had told Branford who we were and that we were in Aruba this weekend. At this resort in particular. There were so very few who knew that—my friends and Meph and Martha…and Nathan.

So my attention was not entirely on the delicious sensations that Marten was eliciting with his fingers and his tongue. And I vaguely thought to wonder if I should deliver Marten tonight if he didn’t satisfy me completely again, and then decided that wasn’t fair.

Or rather, his tongue became rather more insistent between my legs and suddenly I was overwhelmed by the first wave of orgasm. I was so hot I broke a sweat and writhed under him, but he didn’t let up, just took over with his hand. And oh, he was good. He knew what to do, did Marten. He was not so gentle now that I had already crested once, and I could barely speak, let alone gasp out demands that were probably incomprehensible.

I bent down, so much as I could manage, grabbed his shoulder and tugged. “Want,” I managed to say between hisses and screams. But when he started to enter me too slowly, I gyrated and yelled and he got the message and gave me the hard, fast, unrelenting sex that I wanted. Oh yes, I wanted that. It had been so long—well, only last night, but it felt like so long since I’d had a man who was any good. Who could get me hot and get me off and last long enough for—

I screamed and arched against him. Couldn’t keep count of how many times I’d come, or maybe it was only one long orgasm that went on and on and didn’t end. I didn’t know. I couldn’t think anymore.

Finally I was so far over the top that I couldn’t stand the intensity and the pleasure any longer. I couldn’t stand knowing that he was holding back, that he was still in control when I was so clearly out of it. And I wanted him harder, wanted that moment of overwhelming release that happens only when a man completely lets go.

“I want you to come,” I told him, and really I did. That happened so rarely; usually I only wanted them to come so that it would be over and I could deliver them. With Marten it was different. I wanted his pleasure and his lack of control.

His face changed as he stopped holding back. His body, already hard and pummeling mine with most delicious demands nearly convulsed with his own need and desire. I had driven him senseless. I could take now, deliver him, and he would agree to anything just for the release.

Instead I welcomed his demands and made more of my own, and let the desire and pleasure of both of us wash through me. And just as he yelled out at his own climax I peaked yet again, and tightened my legs around his waist and brought him even more deeply into me.

I did not deliver him.

He held me for a few minutes before he got up and started to dress.

“It has been lovely to know you, Lily,” he said softly, taking my hand as I lay in the bed he had just abandoned. “I am sorry you will be leaving.”

“No,” I said. “You’re not sorry. You like picking up tourists and having short little vacation affairs. No commitment, no strings, just a little holiday fling.”

He looked horrified and abashed.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I knew what you were about. Did you have a good time?”

“I had better than a very good time, Lily. If you were to stay longer I would see you again. But I will always remember our days together.” Then he bent down and kissed me and left.

I sighed. The little speech was canned and he probably made it twice a week. And he had no idea, none at all, that he could have been nothing more than a little pile of ash in the sheets had he been less a lay.

Well, I had a plane to catch in the morning.

I thought about calling Nathan as soon as I got into a cab at JFK. Only then Sybil would hear me and I’d never hear the end of it. I knew what she’d say, don’t call, send an e-mail. I’d accused Sybil of getting into the cab with me because she wanted to come back by my building and see Vincent.

“Weren’t your Aruba boys fun?” I asked, teasing. She blushed. “They were fun,” she admitted. “But honestly, really, Lily. You know me. I didn’t, you know, have sex with both of them. At the same time, I mean.”

I grinned as we hit the bridge into Manhattan. Another gray February day enveloped the city, slush piling in the streets and New Yorkers bundled up in heavy coats. “Then you mean you did have sex with both of them,” I chortled. “Just one at a time.”

Sybil said nothing but her cheeks became even more scarlet and it wasn’t the cold. The cabbie must have hailed from a warm clime because he had the heat jacked up high.

And, exactly as expected, we did get to my building first. And Vincent came out to open the cab door, something he does not do for every resident, I’m certain. But since I’m the reason he is placed at the building, I enjoy all the little extras.

Only this time it looked like he might have gotten the cab door so that he could talk to Sybil. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

I couldn’t hear her reply but I was sure it didn’t include the two men she’d met in Aruba. And I had to cough to get him to get my bag and wrestle it up the two steps and through the door.

As the cab pulled away, Vincent actually made an attempt to do his job. Or almost. When he finally turned his attention to me, he asked about how Sybil had enjoyed our little jaunt. “Do you think she relaxed?” he asked anxiously. “She said she wasn’t taking the laptop or the BlackBerry, but she can get so wrapped up in work. She did sit out on the beach and drink funny drinks and did beach-with-the-girlfriends things, right?”

“I didn’t see her with the laptop or the BlackBerry once,” I assured him, smiling. “She drank and lay out in the sun and shopped and went to the casino. I think Sybil managed to forget about work.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Thank you for taking care of her, Lily. I really appreciate it.” By the time we’d finished the conversation he had gotten both of us into the elevator and out on my floor, and dragged my luggage to my door.

“Do you need me to bring this inside?” he asked gallantly, the Vincent I had once known.

“No, I can manage,” I told him. “It has wheels.”

I smiled at Vincent and fumbled with the key, but he didn’t leave until I closed the door and bolted it behind me.

Then I left the bag in front of the coat closet and ran for the phone, which had just started to ring.

It was Nathan.

“Lily, I’m so glad you’re home,” he started. “I tried half an hour ago, but I thought that you might have had trouble finding a cab or that the rush-hour traffic over the bridge was rotten.”

“All of the above, and it took forever for them to get our bags on the belt,” I told him, and tried very hard not to laugh with delight. “You have to add in baggage time.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t thinking. I don’t usually bother with checked luggage for a short trip. I mean, you could fit a couple of bikinis in your purse. What else do you need in Aruba?”