Richelle Mead - Succubus Shadows

His scrutiny had shifted from my breasts to the very noticeable black thong underneath the dress. I think changing out of the dress was a huge disappointment for him, but he wasn’t so socially inept as to refuse me.

“Sure, come on.”

I followed him to his bedroom where he dug out an oversized Seattle Mariners T-shirt and a pair of green flannel boxers. He handed them over.

“See if these work,” he said, backing out of the room to give me privacy.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a winning smile.

He managed a nervous one in return just before shutting the door. I crossed my arms and waited a minute, during which an invisible Roman said: “This is ridiculous. You should have just shown up as a pizza delivery girl.”

“Hey, the wet dress technique is tried and true. Works every time.”

Roman sighed.

“Wait in the other room then,” I said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

I opened the door and shouted down the hall, “Hey, Gavin? Can you come help me?”

He popped back in, and I couldn’t help but notice his dark brown hair was a lot neater than it had been earlier. He’d probably dashed off to the bathroom in a quick grooming attempt to impress me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I turned around and pushed my hair over one shoulder, showing where the straps of my dress’s halter top were tied behind my neck. “There’s a knot here I can’t get undone. Can you give it a shot?”

He hesitated for only a moment before moving forward to assist. I’d shape-shifted a pretty good knot, and it took him some time to work through it, during which I backed up against him as close as I could. At last, he managed to undo it, pulling the straps apart and releasing them so that I could grab them. I missed, of course, and as the straps fell, so did most of the dress. It went against the laws of physics, seeing as how clingy that wet fabric had been.

I caught the dress in a weak attempt at modesty, but not before it almost entirely fell off. Nearby, I heard another exasperated sigh from Roman.

I turned to face Gavin, holding the dress against me in a way that completely exposed my chest. His eyes were naturally fixed on it, and I glanced down too, as though trying to figure out what he was looking at.

“Oh, man. I’m wet all over. Do you have a towel? I don’t want to get the shirt wet.”

“Uh…what? Yeah…”

In record speed, he raced to the bathroom and returned with a small hand towel. I decided then not to bother with any more convenient excuses and simply stepped forward, hoping he was smart enough to accept the invitation.

He was. Hesitant at first, he slowly ran the towel over my breasts, lingering when it was obvious they were dry. He moved down to my stomach—which he dried pretty quickly—and then to my hips and thighs. I’d long since let my soggy dress fall to the floor and helpfully pulled off my thong so that he could reach every part. He had to kneel to do my inner thighs, and I heard him mutter, “Oh my God.” I wasn’t sure if that was simply because of the situation he was in or because his girlfriend hadn’t gone Brazilian.

“You have great hands,” I purred.

“Th-thanks,” he said inanely. He’d just finished my legs and stood up. I took the towel and tossed it on the bed. Catching hold of his hand, I gently stroked it and brought it between my thighs.

“Really great,” I said in an even lower voice. “Long fingers…”

I guided a couple of those fingers into me, and I swear, he gasped louder than I did. After a little more urging, he no longer needed my assistance and began rapidly thrusting his fingers on his own. I pressed to him, moaning as though it were the most amazing experience of my life. I was wetter on the inside than out, and the only resistance he encountered was in how tight I’d made myself.

Reaching around his arm, I unfastened his pants and pulled them off in one motion. His erection pointed out at me long and hard and ready. It had probably been that way the moment I showed up at the door. Gripping his shirt I pulled him toward the bed.

“The rest,” I gasped, spreading myself in front of him. “Let me see how the rest feels.”

The hand that had been in me left as he laid himself on top of me. He pushed my thighs apart and thrust in with a force that contradicted his earlier shyness. In fact, his face showed no nervousness whatsoever anymore. He was all eagerness and desire, emitting small grunts each time he shoved himself into me.

“Harder,” I told him, giving him big, passionate eyes. “I want it harder.”

He obliged, increasing the speed and force. After about a minute of this, he shifted up so that he was kneeling. Holding my thighs just below my knees, he spread my legs far apart and leaned in. The new position allowed him to get deeper, and I exclaimed my approval, urging him again to do it harder and harder.

Steadily, I felt his life energy begin to flow into me. It was a decent amount, and it felt glorious, spreading through my being and reinvigorating me. With it came his thoughts and feelings, at which point I learned he never had actually cheated on his girlfriend before—but, oh, he’d wanted to plenty of times. She barely crossed his mind at the moment. He was too consumed by me to feel much guilt. The only brief concern he had was that he should have used a condom. That was a regret, but it wasn’t strong enough for him to stop, not when I felt this good.

I let my cries escalate into small screams and felt him grow closer and closer to coming. My head was getting dangerously close to the headboard, but the roughness of it all was really turning him on. He’d never had the opportunity to just go so wild. Harder and harder he went, thrusting himself in all the way each time. The energy increased by leaps and bounds, and just before the big moment came, I decided to drive home the guilt a little. It made me feel some guilt in return, but at the end of the day, guilt marked the soul, and that was what Hell employed me for.

“Can she do this?” I panted. He was half a second from coming. “Can your girlfriend take it like this?”

The orgasm exploded—and so did he. He pulled out at the last second, not because of what I’d said but because this was his solution to the condom problem. Withdrawal was a horrible safe sex method, but whatever. His body spasmed and he came on my stomach. It was warm against my flesh, and he watched with a perverse fascination.

Yet, just before it had happened, I’d felt my dagger hit. He’d been so consumed by lust that he’d been able to block his girlfriend out earlier. My comment had pushed her to the fore-front, but there had been no way he could stop what he was doing by that point. I’d felt the spike of guilt, just as the last burst of life energy sparkled through me.

He fell back against the covers, gasping and exhausted. Losing some of your life will do that to you. Whatever thoughts of guilt or satisfaction he felt now were his alone. The towel was still conveniently on the bed, and I used it to clean myself up. I stood up and walked over to the window while he still tried to catch his breath. He’d probably fall asleep in a few minutes.

“Oh, hey,” I said cheerfully. “My friend’s out there with the key.” I picked up the sodden dress and headed for the door. “Thanks for letting me hang out.”

“You’re right,” said Roman the next morning, ruminating over what had happened with Gavin. “I didn’t like that.”

I was standing in the bathroom, going over my hair with a flat iron. It was a pain in the ass compared to shape-shifting, but I liked the challenge. Plus, I could always fine-tune the frizziness away afterward.