“Harder, Countess. Let me feel those nails.”
She follows my commands and scrapes her nails down my back repeatedly, to the waistband of my jeans. Her hands shove themselves past my belt and underwear until she finds my naked ass. I rasp her name when her nails embed themselves in my skin. I growl, loving the look in her eyes. “Harder.”
Something wicked flares in her eyes. “I used to be such a good girl before you.”
“No, Countess. I don’t want you to be good. I want you to be bad. Wicked. Fucking a good girl isn’t for me. I want you to be just as bad, just as filthy and just as dirty as I am. Take what you want.”
She lifts her chin and removes her hand, pushing on my chest. “Only if you let me take control.”
When she pushes again, I fall to my back, letting her have the control she’s asking for. She straddles me, her wet pussy right over the hard ridge of my jeans. Her breasts are flushed, and her dark hair hangs down, just like I fantasized about. Her sinister smile makes my arousal surge. She lifts my shirt, and I help her. She hums when she sees my naked chest. “Delicious.” She traces the tattoos on my skin, using the sharp edge of her nails. I grunt when she pinches my nipple. Christ. My body is on fire. She’s my succubus. When I tell her, she throws back her head, laughing.
“So I’m a medieval mythical, female-form demon?”
I’m not surprised she knows. She’s fucking brilliant.
“Don’t they visit men in their dreams to seduce them through sex and drain their life force?”
“Hmmm.” I’d let her have whatever she wants.
“Take off your shirt.” She demands, rotating her pussy, using the ridge of my jeans and cock to stimulate her clit. “Fuck, Stone, I could come like this.” Her plump breasts shake when she tosses her long black hair over her shoulder.
I sit up slightly and pull off my shirt, tossing it away before I lie back down, enjoying the show.
She bites her lips, curls her fingers into claws over my naked pecs. “I think I’d like being a succubus. Maybe I’ll suck your cock. Bite it and drain your cum?” She scrapes her nails down my stomach, moving off me and roughly unbuttoning my pants. She reaches inside and squeezes my cock, not being gentle about it.
She tugs at his piercings, pulling on my frenum. Tugging at the delicate skin. It pinches, and the pain makes me more erect. I hiss, watching her pull me straight up, sliding her fingertip through the precum coating the tip.I reach behind her and push my hands between her cheeks and find the heart-shaped end of the plug. Sticky lubricant still coats the surface, and I pull it out a millimeter and push it back in again. I add more pressure, forcing the metal deeper. She lifts her head and closes her eyes, moving her hips against my finger.
“Fuck, yes, Stone. I want your cock inside me so bad.”
“Suck my cock, baby. Imagine how it’s going to stretch your ass. Imagine how good it’s going to feel when my cock is right here.” I tap again. “Imagine how hard you’ll come.”
“Mmm.” She bends forward and licks, looking at me through her wet hair. He pushes me down toward my belly button. Her tongue continues its magic before her teeth travel down, and I watch in utter fascination as she pulls on the piercing clamped between her two front teeth.I lift my hips up. It hurts. My piercings could rip through my flesh, but I allow it. If anything, I welcome it. The agony mixed with the pleasure is what I crave.“Again, my little succubus. Open your pretty mouth wider. Make me feel it, baby.”
She bites me this time, clamping her sharp front teeth in my skin. I cry out and sink my fingers into her hair, gripping her scalp. “Fuck, baby. What are you doing to me?”
She lifts her head, and devilish triumph on her face will live with me long past death. An immortal testament. She’s claiming not just my heart, but my body, my pain, and my pleasure as well. “Taking what’s mine, Stone.”
Her words tip me over the edge into the point of no return.When her mouth settles over the head of my cock. She reaches up and touches my lips with her fingers. I suck them inside my mouth as she sucks my cock inside her warmth. And I’m gone. Lost in her savage sweetness, lost in the inevitability and impossibility of us.
“Show me your art.”
Camryn sits up, sweaty and sated in her bed. Her eyes change, going from slumberous to wary in a split second. And I can’t understand why. At her brother’s house, the art piece I saw mesmerized me. And what I saw her do with the paintings in my mother’s room was utterly breathtaking. The memory of her eyes the day her father came to her gallery ricochets through me. Despite the bravado she presented, I can tell she’s not confident about her work, and that pisses me off. Her father has no idea how good she is.
When she slips from the bed naked and walks to her dresser, I try not to get hard as her pert ass bounces with each step. She reaches her dresser seconds later. It’s a rickety old thing, clearly vintage, and I wonder why this heiress, this millionaire, lives sosimply, dressing like she doesn’t have a trust fund or any of the other trappings that come with her wealth.
She pulls out a T-shirt, sliding it over her head, and then tugs her long midnight hair out of the collar. Each move is graceful. The shirt is oversized and hides her body, but it won’t matter; her pussy is free. My cock will eventually slide back inside her.
When she walks to her bedroom door and opens it, I raise a brow, not moving from the nest of stained sheets. She looks back at me and puts her hands on her hips. She rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s not in my bedroom.”
I slide out of her bed and pull up my pants, leaving them unbuttoned. My cock won’t allow me to. It’s already leaking pre-cum from watching her get dressed. That eye roll only added to it. After fucking her for the last hour, I should be satiated, but one snarky outburst from her and I’m ready to push my cock down her throat.
I follow her to her living room, and she moves to her closet, pulling out several covered canvases. At least fifteen. They are in different sizes and lengths. How the hell did she fit them all in there?
She leans each one against the walls of her apartment, but doesn’t remove its covering. I wait for her and see that she won’t take the first step. She’s worried about my reaction to her work, and I want to let her know that I already recognize her talent. She wrings her hands and shifts from one foot to the other.
“Some of them are just sketches. Others I haven’t finished so they are not the best.”
“Come here.”
