In the Company of Witches

It wasn’t hard to say the words; they wanted to leap off her tongue. Allowing herself to say them, that was terrifying, a gate she had to push open with enough effort that she stumbled on the first word. “W-Will you let me touch you?”

Her cheeks burned in mortification, and her body jerked as if in protest of her going over that wall. More succubus energy spiraled out, coiling around him like a python. Her adrenaline spiked, but he made a calming murmur, cupping her face, fingers caressing her throat. The gesture made her chin lift despite the hold of the chain around her neck. He caught her, holding her so the strength of his touch restrained her there as he stroked her windpipe with fingers that could crush it without thought.

“You may.” The silver chains disappeared back into his pocket, her wrists left unbound. He lowered his head to her breast again, allowing her to do as she would.

Sliding her hands back in his hair, she savored the ability to do so, but she also curved her arms around him, one hand slipping to his nape, then the space between his broad shoulders, holding him to her as he kept pleasuring her breasts, until she was bumping against him rhythmically, pleading for far more than that, incoherent sounds of need as she clutched him.

His arm was around her, too, holding her close. She was twitching on her legs, so aroused, so close to coming. She was drowning now. Those coils of energy had expanded. To anyone with preternatural senses, they were now surrounded by a filmy mist tinged with pale crimson, the hint of blood. That vapor fogged the human mind, an aphrodisiac that took them higher and higher until, even if they realized it, they wouldn’t care that their lives were in peril.

That mist caressed Mikhael’s bare shoulders, whispered over him. If he had any visible reaction to it, it was to goad her further, taking her up higher, as if he had a mist of his own making.

Giving each nipple ring one last tug with his teeth, he rose, sliding out of her grip. “Put your hands back on your elbows and keep them there.”

She didn’t think it was possible for her arousal to get any more intense, but the pitch of that low command did the trick. Her sex contracted so hard she shuddered. Moving up the stairs, he towered over her as he came around to where she knelt, vulnerable and captured. Anxiety fluttered, but he squatted next to her, stroking her hair. His mouth was wet from suckling her, and she wanted to touch his lips. He didn’t permit her that, but he did release the chains, even slid the gown back up onto her shoulders, covering her aching breasts, the friction of it on her nipples enough to make her sway as he brought her to her feet.

She was the initiator, the aggressor, the strategic planner when it came to lovemaking, because that was her job. It was a job she loved, but it was still a job. He wasn’t giving her time to plan or calculate, had actually stolen any need to do so. She just followed her own desires—and his commands—and was lost in it.

Closing his grip on her wrist, he slowly twisted her arm behind her, bringing her into his body fully. His other hand tangled in her hair, his fist tightening in it.

This was different from the hint of mastery from those slender chains. This was full mastery, his strength obviously far greater than hers, and he was going to use it to overpower her, take her where he wanted her.

“No.”

“Yes.”

She bit him when he got too close, unsheathing her fangs, something she never did. He pushed her arm up higher, sending pain ricocheting through her shoulder. She let go of him, her eyes flashing, and he nodded. “Now lick it off, nice and gentle.”

She did, but she pressed her breasts into his chest at the same time, rubbed herself against his cock with a courtesan’s expertise and a woman’s raw need. Her mist had an edge now, an edge that kicked the breeze into a sharper wind that swirled through the chamber, rippling the curtains and blowing out several of the candles, increasing the shadows.

“Do your worst, succubus. You can’t harm me.” Letting go of her arm, he banded both of his around her, lifted and slammed her against the wall. Not hard enough to harm her, but hard enough to underscore his point, make her want him more. He took full command of that kiss, so deep her jaw strained under the assault. She tasted his blood, dug her nails into his back, seeking more of it. If he’d worn a shirt, she would have shredded it as she unleashed her full strength, her nails wicked talons that could lay open flesh like a machete.

Her body undulated against him. He might have control of her arms and upper body, but a succubus’s flexibility was like a serpent’s. She worked her hips with the precision of a harem dancer, stroking him with heat that had impressive results, even through the too-thick denim. Pulling her off the wall, he hiked her up against him, and brought her back to the bed.

“Let’s slow this down.” When she sought to take his mouth again, he pinned her wrists with one hand, settled his other hand on her throat, holding her head down as he took his mouth down her sternum. She writhed but couldn’t throw him off. Even now, with the strength of her magic coursing through her, both as witch and succubus, he was much stronger. He slid his body half over hers, had her pinned.

Sexual energy was pulsing off her, building to the intensity of a nuclear threat. If he was wrong, she wouldn’t only drain him. She’d leave him a skeleton and send a power surge through the whole house that would blow out every circuit. Probably every transformer within fifty square miles.

He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, eyes registering the power increase. “It’s like the smell of your cunt, magnified a hundred times,” he growled. “Intoxicating.”

Her body rippled at the rough language, her most primal senses responding to it. He wasn’t the least bit afraid. His cock was hard, his body revved with lust, absorbed in the pleasures he was taking, but he wasn’t lost. His desire wasn’t caused by the disorientation of her magic. He was remaining in full command. Desperately—and way too late—she realized his gift to her long-suppressed desires might give him a power over her she could never reclaim.

“Let me go,” she rasped.

“No. You want me, you take me on my terms, Raina. Which means you serve my pleasure. And I want you screaming out yours until it rocks this house on its foundation.”

He hadn’t lowered the neckline of the dress, but he put his mouth over the stiff nipple, breathed on it. As he put his tongue against it, a slow manipulation with the velvet in between, she writhed and writhed. Electricity crackled in the air, lightning through the mist. It was a pyrotechnic show that humans couldn’t see. Every sex demon produced a different aura, a different tapestry. An Aurora Borealis to consummate the pleasure, a combination of her magic and the life energy of her victim. She’d often wondered if the human got to glimpse it right before his death. She hoped so, because it was a thing of terrible beauty, one last gift for their unwilling sacrifice.

Then she was swept up in it herself. “Mikhael.” She’d thrown away a lifetime of restraint on his word alone. He’d been so compelling, and now she was at the point of no return.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re not going to hurt anyone. I promise. Let go. Let me see you scream.”

She shredded her linens, her pillow, as he bit down on her nipple, pulling hard on the piercing. Pain speared her amid the pleasure. Then he put his mouth over all of it, soothing and suckling her, the friction of the cloth making her more crazed. He wasn’t even inside her, wasn’t touching her below the waist at all.

She hadn’t been taken over like this in a very, very…well, never. Not like this. She knew all sorts of sexual positions, Tantric methods, fancy maneuvers that would bug out the eyes of the most experienced. But all Mikhael had done was caress her body, lavish her breasts with attention—he was obviously a breast man—and taken control. Simple, uncomplicated gestures, delivered with devastating intent.

When he moved to the other nipple, it was like the sensation magnified another hundred times. She bit back the desire to beg, to plead. By the time he flipped her over onto her stomach, she’d lost that fight entirely.

Putting a hand on her neck, he held her down with that ruthless strength. “Lift your hips up toward me. Show me how much you want me.”

Her hips were already doing that, whether she told them to do so or not. He pushed her skirt up.

“No panties. Such a bad, good girl.” He cupped her between her legs. A moment later, she screamed as his mouth teased between her legs, his tongue sliding in to explore, to lick, to collect the honey he found there. When he nuzzled her clit, she struggled, cried out, but he was taking his time as she became an incendiary device.

“Let it go, Raina. Pit your energy against mine. Now.” His tongue thrust in, hard, lapping, swirling, giving her no chance to breathe, to do anything but obey.

She cracked open like an egg, power spilling out in a wash of blinding colors…silver gray, red, flickers of orange-blue flame taking over as it built, then an explosion that surged over them both. Letting her go, he yanked her up to her knees, let her turn. In an instant she was on him, shoving him to his back. As she shredded the jeans, tore them away, she saw blood where her nails gouged him. His hard, beautiful cock rose high and thick over his belly before she covered it with her body. He had her hips, her waist, and though she snarled and fought him, he made her take him slowly. His hand tangled in her hair so he controlled the pace, pushed himself into her. He had a thick organ, and if she’d slammed down on him the way she’d desired, she would have torn herself.

She didn’t care, because pain and pleasure were one at this point, but he took that pleasure up beyond what she thought possible as he made her feel every slow, gradual inch, his face savage in his concentration.

When he was thrust in deep, all the way to the hilt, she began to feed.

The energy spiraled up from that joining point, as well as through his skin, through the flickering fire of his eyes. Just like she’d hoped, it was potent and rich. She bathed in it, drank greedily, because it had been so long. Oh, Goddess, it was so fine to let go, to pull that wonderful nectar from him. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">