Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

“Tell her I’m here, okay?”

Ike gave him a thumbs-up and walked away. Thank God; Grant didn’t want to talk anymore. The throbbing dance music, which he could usually push to the back of his mind, was punishing with its heavy bass. He tried to focus on the eye candy that filled the trendy club. Like that blonde at the bar being hit on by two guys. Early twenties, small but perky tits, a little chunky around the hips, but he didn’t mind. She caught his eye and he winked. She smiled, enjoying putting on the show, touching one of the men flirting with her.

Slut .

Another blonde walked by and hesitated beside him. He ignored her, though she was hotter than Ms. Perky-Tits. His thoughts disturbed him. He never thought of women as sluts. Some were too loose for his tastes, but they were few and far between. He didn’t expect them to behave better than he did.

Sheriff Skye McPherson was a blonde. Quite a looker, too, better than most of the women in his division. But she was a cop. Physically, Grant would be happy to have her in his bed, but he didn’t date anyone in law enforcement. Period. They were either man-haters or too damn competitive. He wanted someone who was strong and self-sufficient, but also soft and feminine. Gorgeous, but unpretentious; independent, but affectionate.

Someone like Moira O’Donnell. Someone exactly like Moira O’Donnell.

She’d been on his mind since Grant saw her in the morgue early in the afternoon. Gorgeous, check. Definitely not conceited or pretentious. Didn’t flaunt her good looks like the sluts who frequented Velocity. In fact, Grant suspected that Moira wouldn’t set foot in Velocity for fun. He imagined that she enjoyed beer by the pint and rowdy laughter and would know exactly how to please him. She was physically sculpted-he’d seen her muscles, her lean, hard, flat stomach, and pictured what it would be like to have her ride him all night long. No strings attached.

Self-sufficient and independent, check. But he saw her lean on that long-haired jerk who wouldn’t leave her side. Raphael Cooper. What kind of name was Raphael? Or Rafe? A sissy name. And he let her just run the show. Overprotective. She could do so much better than that loser. He didn’t even have a job. Grant had checked on him. He’d been in a fucking coma until two weeks ago. She probably felt sorry for him; that’s why she was at his side. Maybe they weren’t involved.

They’re sharing a hotel room .

Grant pushed that thought aside, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling hot and cold at the same time, trying not to picture Moira O’Donnell screwing the too quiet, pompous, overprotective asshole.

She needed someone like Grant.

He would show Moira O’Donnell who was on top, and she’d enjoy every minute.

“Grant?”

He blinked, then saw Julie standing next to him, concern on her face. Guilt coursed through his body; he’d been thinking about fucking another woman while waiting for the one he’d been screwing most every weekend for the last six months. He had a flash of Julie and Moira in his bed, and his cock tightened uncomfortably.

He flushed. Why was he here?

Nadine .

“What’s wrong?” Julie’s voice cracked.

Wrong. “You heard about Nadine.” He cleared his throat and focused. He was a cop first. “I’m so sorry, Julie.”

Julie’s green eyes brimmed with tears. “I was stunned. Still am. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. What happened, Grant? The cop who talked to Wendy and me said she committed suicide? I don’t believe it. I-”

“I was there. She was on drugs. I don’t think she walked into the traffic on purpose; it was like she was hallucinating.”

She touched his face. “You were hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

Julie stared at him. He took her hand. Her skin was so soft. He squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

“I want to go home-Wendy said I could, she called in a few people. I just-I don’t want to be alone.”

“Come to my place.” He kissed her forehead. Her scent made him shiver; why hadn’t he noticed how good she smelled before? He pulled her to him, hugged her tightly, breathed in her hair. Kissed her neck, held her.

“Please-my place. You still have some of your things there. And I have that massage oil you like so much.” She touched his face. “Do you have a headache? You don’t look so good.”

“A migraine.”

She kissed him. “You know I can get rid of it for you.”

Julie was inventive in bed, and would do anything he asked. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Let me get my purse.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t-”

“I want to.”

He wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

In the employee room, he locked the door. “Julie, come here.” He unzipped his pants.

What are you doing? Not here-

“Grant-”

“Please. It’ll make us both feel better.”

A cloud crossed Julie’s face, but he pushed her doubt aside.

“You know I make you feel better.”

She nodded. “We have to be fast.” Her bottom lip quivered.

“Then kneel.”

She obeyed him and took his cock in her mouth. He held her there, not thinking about Julie, not thinking about anything but the rush of blood through his veins, the throbbing, his need. He orgasmed hard and fast, but didn’t feel the wave of satisfaction he always enjoyed. His entire body was on edge, uncomfortable.

Julie pushed herself away. He hadn’t realized he was still holding on to the back of her head. “Grant,” she panted. “I couldn’t breathe!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

“Are you okay? Grant, you’re-”

“It’s been a long fucking day and I just want to screw you in bed, okay?”

She looked like she was going to cry. He felt like slapping her.

Grant frowned. He’d never hit a woman in his life. What was he thinking? He rubbed his temples.

Julie rushed over to him. “I’ll take care of you, Grant. You’ll be okay. I won’t let anything hurt you. Let’s go.”

He didn’t remember how they got to her place, but the next thing he remembered was Julie, naked beneath him, crying.

“You’re familiar with how the succubus operates, correct?” Jackson asked after Rafe closed the hotel door. “And her male counterpart, the incubus?”

“Generally. They’re demons who have sex with humans. But most alleged succubus attacks were human in nature,” Rafe said. “People who claimed they were attacked by such a demon in order to cover up affairs, for example. From everything I’ve heard, they don’t generally kill their victims. Sometimes drive them insane, but not steal their souls.”

“True. But covens like Wendy’s use the demons for their own gain, summoning them for an exchange-a soul for something of value.”

“They don’t need a succubus for that,” Moira said.

“No, but Wendy’s coven is a sex coven, and they have a devotion to a specific demon. The things of value can be anything, but are usually information from the supernatural world-new and improved spells, the location of powerful occult objects. Sometimes they seek something more immediate and tangible, like a house or money. The demons can’t just conjure up such things, but they can make certain things happen that benefit the witch.”

“Like if someone wants a new house, their aunt may die and leave it to them?” Rafe asked.

“Exactly. I’ve been researching Wendy Donovan ever since you left this afternoon. She owns fifty percent of Velocity and several other clubs that belonged to Kent Galion. But there is no record of her buying into it. Galion is carrying a small loan, but her share is worth at least twenty times the loan.”