Linda lay collapsed on the rug, hair sprawled like a halo of chaos. Her legs twitching now and then like a dog dreaming too hard. I watched her. For a moment. Just long enough to confirm she was breathing. Her brain had short-circuited—just as planned. I hadn't even needed to try that hard.
She'd asked for it. Said she wanted to be broken.
I wasn't one for charity, but I was very, very good at giving people exactly what they said they wanted.
Still, I wasn't going to leave her like that. The night had already crawled far enough into the realm of surreal, and if I was going to continue pretending to be human, I had to do the gentlemanly thing. Wipe her down. Draw her a bath. Let her sleep in my bed while I took the couch.
It's what a "normal man" would do.
So I walked to my room, still naked, my body cooling with every step, my cock softening by the second. The adrenaline of climax had ebbed. My brain was resetting. Rebooting.
And then—
I opened the door.
And a scent hit me.
It wasn't Linda's sweat, or sex, or the faint tang of Marcus's blood that still lingered somewhere in my mind. No. This was something entirely… other. Sweet. Metallic. Like rust and sugar soaked into velvet.
My body tensed.
I'm not one to "sense" things. I don't believe in that crap. I believe in patterns. Logic. Chemical reactions. But the shift in atmosphere? That didn't feel chemical.
"Hello, Master."
The voice didn't come from my imagination.
It came from the bed.
I turned—and froze.
She was there.
Her.
The hallucination I thought I saw earlier, when I was balls-deep in Linda and probably overworked and underfed and one orgasm away from synaptic collapse.
But she was real.
She lay sprawled across my mattress like some forbidden gift, skin the color of cobalt twilight, glowing faintly in the dim light spilling from the hallway. Horns curved back from her hairline like they'd been sculpted with intention. A tail—yes, an actual tail—coiled behind her like a lazy serpent.
She was touching herself.
And she didn't stop when I saw her. Didn't flinch. Didn't blush. She only smiled.
"I've been waiting," she said, voice pitched like seduction was her mother tongue. "I watched you with the human female. I learned a lot. I think I understand what pleases you now."
She sat up. Rolled onto her knees with the kind of grace I'd only seen in big cats. And then she crawled. Across my bed. Toward me.
I didn't move. Not because I was scared. But because my brain was… compiling. Like someone had dumped a hundred incompatible puzzle pieces on the floor and told me to find the border first.
She reached the edge of the bed. Slid down onto the floor and knelt.
Naked. Perfect. Smiling up at me like I was the reason the stars turned.
"I wish to do my job, Master," she said, reverent now. "Please let me serve."
I still hadn't said a word.
But my body had. My cock, the traitorous bastard, rose like it was being summoned by force.
She didn't ask.
She leaned forward and took a long, slow lick from base to tip—leaving saliva like a brand. My whole spine arched. Not from pleasure. From shock.
Instant, stupid-hard.
I stumbled back two steps, nearly hitting the door.
"Stop," I muttered.
She obeyed. Instantly. Knees still on the floor, hands resting politely on her thighs like she was waiting for grace.
I didn't ask her who she was.
I didn't demand to know how she got in.
Because that's not how my mind works.
Instead, I recalled a passage from one of my books. A page I'd annotated in the margin with red ink, half a year ago, thinking it was laughably mythological.
Now it read like prophecy.
"Succubus?" I asked flatly. Like I was talking to a dog. Or a ghost.
She shook her head, though her eyes stayed locked on my cock, still pulsing and painfully hard.
"I am a succubus," she said. "Until five hours ago, I belonged to the dungeons of my world, servicing the incubus who feed on us."
My pulse kicked. A bead of sweat slid down my spine.
"But when you called to me," she continued softly, "I was given to you. I belong to you now. Only you."
I blinked. Once.
"I didn't call anyone," I said.
"You did," she whispered. "Not with your lips. But with your hunger. With your blood. You opened the circle. I heard you."
Before I could answer, there was a shuffle behind me.
Then—knocking.
"James?" Linda's voice. Muffled. Drowsy. Clueless.
I moved fast. Opened the door an inch and slipped into the frame.
She blinked at me, still nude, hair wild, cheeks pink. "Hey… I know we said sex and nothing else, but can you at least stay close by tonight?"
"I'm running you a bath," I said, calmly.
"Oh." She blinked again, then smiled. "Okay. Just wait—I'll come."
"No." I shook my head. "Stay there. I'll come get you."
She pouted a little. Then nodded, flattered. She turned, padding back toward the sofa like a satisfied pet.
I shut the door. Locked it.
Turned back around.
And there she was. Still kneeling. Still smiling. Still wet between her thighs.
I walked to her. Slowly.
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, but only briefly—then snapped back to my cock, like it held the secrets of the universe.
I reached down and touched her jaw.
Her skin was cool. Like stone left in shade.
"Please, Master," she said again, reverent. "Let me take care of you."