Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“I think it might.” They shrug, not pressing the issue. “What do you want, Belladonna? Not your god, not your family—you.”
“I don’t know.”
Rusalka chuckles, the sound an invitation I don’t know how to accept. “You may not be willing to admit it, but your desire is written across every bit of you. Would you like to see?” They don’t wait for a response, waving a hand leisurely in the direction of the couple.
Even as I tell myself not to, I follow the movement . . . to find the couple has shifted. No longer safely faceless, they are intimately familiar. Or at least one of them is. It’s me, back in the bed, Rusalka hovering over me, smiling that slow smile that’s an invitation to do unspeakable things.
I whip my head around to find her still sitting in the throne next to me. “What? How?”
“It was there all along, love.” They sound satisfied and . . . intrigued? Their orange eyes flare brighter as if they’re gaining energy from this. “You’re all raw need. Would you like me to show you the possibilities?”
No. It’s bad enough that our doppelgängers are laid out, my leg wrapped around her slender hip, my fingers digging into her short blond hair. What more could she possibly offer? I lick my lips, curiosity blooming inside me. Even before I all but sold my soul to a demon, I was flawed and imperfect in a way that I stopped believing God could fix. There’s no amount of faith that can change who I am at my core.
But . . .
My skin heats unpleasantly. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
“Ah.” I expect Rusalka to berate me, but she just hums a little under her breath, her gorgeous face contemplative. Finally, she says, “My people have many gifts, and one of them is to raise the desire in the humans whose dreams we visit. It’s how we feed.”
“ . . . Oh.” A shot of pure fear goes through me, quickly followed by desire, and then I’m doused in shame because I shouldn’t be even considering taking them up on their offer. Except I am, aren’t I? And that’s what set me apart from my family and community before I left: knowing I shouldn’t and doing it anyways. “Do it.”
“Belladonna.” She says my name on a sigh. “Ask me again when you wake up. I’ll give you everything you want, and more. For now, enjoy the show.”
I turn to ask her what she means, but she’s gone, throne and succubus disappeared as if they never were. I frown, but a moan brings my attention back to the couple. They’re no longer simply kissing. Rusalka’s double has pressed mine down and is kissing a descent to the apex of her—my—thighs. If I concentrate, I can almost feel the brush of her lips against my heated skin. I want to blame the real succubus for this, but I know better. My dreams have always been like this, at least in sensation if not in vision.
And then Rusalka drags their tongue up my double’s center. I shouldn’t be able to see it so clearly, the way their tongue parts my folds and delves between them, but it’s clear in the unknowable way dreams can be.
I cross my thighs and squeeze them together, but I can’t begin to say if I’m trying to banish the growing heaviness of my body . . . or chase it to completion. It doesn’t seem to matter.
Her tongue pushes inside my double’s pussy even as she holds her quivering thighs wide, and I swear I can feel the slick sensation between my thighs. It makes me jump, but there’s nowhere to go. Even as I command my body to rise and run, my limbs go heavy and unresponsive—except for where I grip the arms of the throne, my knuckles white.
Relief washes over me in a dizzy wave. I can’t stop this. I’ve tried to resist it. I tried to do the right thing, and that door is closed to me. The only thing left to do is endure, experience this to its fullest. I close my eyes and lean my head back, letting my legs uncross and slide open. There’s no other choice, is there?
This time, I don’t jump when a faint moan reaches me. Or when strong hands gently urge my thighs wider. I’m certain I had clothes on just a moment ago, but they’ve disappeared just like my double’s did earlier.
Breath ghosts over my most private flesh, and I bite my lip bloody, not certain whether I’m holding in a protest or a plea for more. It doesn’t matter. The first slow drag of a tongue over me steals what words I might have summoned.
A teasing lick. An exploratory caress. It feels so wrong to be doing this, which only makes my desire spike hotter. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. I won’t look. It’s not happening if I don’t look. Or maybe because it’s a dream. Or . . .