As if reading his mind, she shook her head ruefully and muttered, “Don’t know why I bother with this, who’s going to care?”
‘I care,’ he thought. ‘Oh, god, I definitely care.’
He stepped back from the door as she moved to open it, almost feeling her wet body brush against him as she stepped out and reached for an oversized towel and wrapped herself in it. He watched as she moved to the vanity counter and towel-dried her hair briskly before picking up a large comb and running it through the tangled curls. He inhaled the warm, heady scent of roses that wafted up from her in a wave. He’d grown to associate that fragrance with her, had smelled it on her last night as she slept, even though she’d tumbled straight into bed after a long day at work. It seemed to be infused in her skin.
He’d watched over her then, in the depths of sleep, utterly unmoving. Even though he could have intruded, he didn’t, worrying about the pallor of her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes. He’d been content to simply gaze at her, sometimes motionless for hours, occasionally reaching out to marvel at the softness of her hair, the smoothness of her skin. It was behavior that would have been entirely foreign to him in life. Now, after so long watching from the outskirts, he was amazed at the simultaneous strength and frailty of the living. The sensation of warm skin beneath his fingertips was almost an obsession to him. The form that he took may look like that of a man, but that’s where the similarity ended. How could his body feel when it didn’t truly exist?
He’d come to realize that the sensations he’d grown to associate with touch and pleasure were more of a reflection of those he was touching. As time had passed, he’d become drawn to those moments, craving them as strongly as he’d once needed breath. The surge of power he experienced at a woman’s moment of climax was like a shot of adrenalin to the heart. He’d learned through bitter experience that adding his own climax to the equation could be a fatal combination. The intense rush of energy he felt was almost entirely sourced from his victims, and most had not survived the experience. Now he contented himself with merely drinking from them, taking small sips of pleasure as he brought them to that place. Shifting his shape and his powers to do things to their bodies that no mortal lover could ever achieve. It was a useful ability, and one of the few benefits of his incubus state. He’d been a cursory lover as a man; now it was the sole purpose of his existence. The irony was not lost on him.
Yet he’d still left her to rest. Contenting himself with the sweet satisfaction of feeling her body restoring itself in some small way. Already he felt the growing connection that would make her his constant focal point. Even when convening with the other damned souls, he was ever-aware of her, always watching.
Which was why he’d had no trouble pinpointing the exact moment the woman, Stella, had planned to attack Rebecca. Something about the woman still troubled him, the sense that he’d been facing something dark and unnatural. Facing her madness that day, he’d had no qualms about rooting through her mental filing cabinets and hauling out some dark horrors for her to chew on.
For millennia, he’d used minds and bodies as his personal playground, exploring a world of sensuality that had been denied him in life. After he’d overcome his initial learning curve, he’d begun to experiment with his women, delving into their fantasies and playing them out. For some, he was a tender lover, for others, a dark defiler. He had no trouble using that skill to torment Stella. There was something distinctly abnormal about her that made him feel that the Council might overlook his interference in her actions.
Watching Rebecca completing her morning routine was as close to human as he’d felt in as long as he could remember. His own life habits had been very different, but there are always similarities, regardless of time or culture. Bathing, dressing, preparing food. He took pleasure in watching her eat, how she picked up crumbs of honeyed toast on her fingertips and licked them off. It seemed she’d chosen to stay home this day, and he was pleased, anticipating the chance to watch her uninterrupted.
“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find me…” She was singing offkey – it warmed him. He chuckled, and she glanced up.
“Are you there?” her voice was hesitant.
She’d left the shower, swathed in a fluffy white robe, hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head. She stood, motionless in the doorway. He froze.
Could she see him?
“I’m here,” he whispered.
She reached a hand towards his voice. Then stopped, shook her head.
“You’re acting crazy, Rebecca,” she chastised herself before turning towards the kitchen, fixing a light breakfast before heading to the living room. She’d picked up a paperback and settled into the corner of a couch, feet tucked beneath her. Engrossed in the book, she’d sunk into the cushions, pulling a light rug over herself as the skies outside darkened. A light spattering of rain tapped the windows.
She snapped on a side lamp and sat, bathed in the glow that turned the gray room golden. Flicking through pages, the story held her attention for an hour before the sound of rain and the warmth inside lulled her. Eyes drifting shut…it wasn’t long before she’d dozed off, the book falling to the floor at her side.
“Lovely…” Xander breathed as he stepped silently along the length of the couch, tracing his eyes down the lines of her body, then replacing them with his fingertips.
“Mmmm,” she murmured as he stroked her jawline, running his thumb over her full lower lip. Her tongue flicked out…she almost licked his skin. It made him blink. He craved connection.
The robe was held closed with only a loosely knotted belt. It didn’t take long to slip it free, allowing the sides to fall open, exposing a ribbon of bare flesh down her torso. Xander turned his hand, grazing the back of his knuckles down the path from her throat, between her breasts, to the ridges of her ribs. She sighed and shifted, rolling over onto her back.
Perfect.
He smiled to himself as the move exposed the curve of her belly, the sweet place between her thighs protected by just a fold of white toweling that he flicked aside smoothly. The towel wrapping her hair had unraveled and he gently pulled it free, spreading her still-damp curls to fan around her face.
“You’re like an angel on a cloud,” he whispered, almost reverentially, as his fingers trailed down the length of her, dropping to kneel at her side so he could explore her curves better. She undulated beneath his touch, moving sinuously, jutting her breasts up slightly to fill the palms of his hands. Her nipples hardened quickly, and he pinched lightly at the little peaks, listening to her breathing change. It changed even more as his hands strayed lower and he pressed his palm over her mound, feeling the heat there. The tip of her tongue flicked out again, and her teeth pressed softly into her lower lip. He pressed her thighs apart and trailed his index finger down through the little path of trimmed curls to her pussy, tracing the seam of it. Her teeth bit deeper, and she murmured slightly.
“Mmmm.” The soft sound came with a slight raising of her hips. His fingertip slipped slickly between her moist folds. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he stroked his finger down and then back up the length of her, stopping when he reached the little hood that protected her clit. Her thighs spread wider, another soft moan, hips lowering and then raising again.
“Ummm …” The sound was muffled by sleep, and he lifted a hand to her face, thumb stroking the line of her brow, soothing her. She turned her face so that his palm cupped her cheek. The gesture made his breath catch. As an incubus, he was accustomed to sexual connection, existed for it. Emotion wasn’t part of the equation. But he could feel the gentle love radiating from this woman as she slept, wrapped in a dream world that he had woven himself into.
His fingers slid along her slit, then dipped in. She caught her breath, her bottom lip now firmly between her teeth. He lifted his thumb to worry the little bundle of nerves at her entrance, holding it between thumb and forefinger.
Her thighs splayed open and he shifted, slid his hands beneath her ass and tur
ned her hips to face him, settling between her knees. His view of her pussy completely unobscured, he leaned forward and blew over her glistening folds. He breathed in, letting warm waves of her scent soak into him, sweet and musky. He knew that’s how she would taste too – sweet, tart, a little creamy. He had to taste, raised his fingers to his mouth, sucked on them. Her next moan was a protest. Her hand dropped down…seeking. He returned his hand, slid two fingers back into her hole, thumb in its place on her clit. Her fingers grasped his wrist and he pumped a little, pushing deeper, listening to the wet sounds as they slipped in and out. His mouth watered.
‘Fuck, I need to drink her in,’ his inner voice demanded. He leaned forward and closed his mouth over the place where his thumb worked, tongue stealing its spot on those little nerve-endings.
“Uhmmmm …” she moaned, her hand moving to his hair, sliding through it. He worked the tip of his tongue into that tiny, tight hood and vibrated it, his breath hot on her skin. Her hips rose smoothly, and she closed her thighs around his head, capturing him there as he intensified the vibrations of his tongue.
He settled deeper between her thighs, draping them over his shoulders and resting his mouth over her mound. He flattened his tongue in wet laps over her clit before closing his mouth and sucking her in.
“Oh!” The gasp accompanied a thrust of her hips. He rewarded her with a firm pump of his fingers. She bucked again, twisting slightly. He pumped harder, mouth a firm vacuum over those nerves.
She’d dropped her free hand to her chest, kneading her breast, pinching her nipple. He glanced up and watched as she touched herself, mimicking the pressure she used. Her fingers left red prints on pale skin…he was fascinated. He gave a rough thrust with his fingers, hooking them into that ridged spot within her, and she mewled. He sucked, nose buried in her mound. She tangled her limbs around him, heels pressing into his back, fingers knotted into his hair. He might be controlling this dream, but she was directing the action.
So, he let her. Let her grind herself against his face and thrust up against his fingers, churning her hips to speed his rhythm. Let her set the tempo that would send her muscles trembling, quivering, spasming around him. He didn’t have to look up to know when she was close, didn’t have to hear her moans intensifying. Her pleasure was oozing from her into him, he could feel himself drawing it in, powering him. He pulled it from her. Sucked harder, thrust deeper…and she came. A rolling, sweeping wave of pleasure that washed over her and over him.
“Ohhhhhh…” Her throaty moan was low, drawn-out. She tangled both hands into his hair and held him to her as she rode the wave with him. “Yesss… Ryan…”
His jaw clenched.
Rebecca writhed in the unexpected pleasure of her dream. A warm glow suffused her body, and she stretched sinuously, fingers stroking and tangling through thick curls.
“Ryan…” She smiled. The tingling between her legs washed down her thighs, bathed her in heat. She curled her toes and stretched again. The hot vacuum over her mound stayed steady, fingers still curled into her channel. She squirmed, giggled, lifting up onto her elbows and looking down at the top of his head.
“Ryan,” she pushed at him, “stop.” The sucking continued, more firmly. She squirmed. “It’s enough. Stop!” She tightened her fingers in his hair, shoving harder. He wound his forearms around her thighs and grasped her by the hips, lifting her, tipping her backward. She gasped. The swirl of sensations that had ebbed, now intensified, sharpening. “Ryan, please! You can stop now. I can’t—” she gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath as he pulled her up roughly, lifting her back off the couch and burying his face in her pussy, tongue licking faster. He wrapped one strong forearm around her waist, slid the other beneath her, supporting her ass, fingers tracing up until they pressed against the mouth of her pussy again. Pressing in. Her clit buzzed, burned, still throbbing from her orgasm, hyper-sensitive to his touch.
‘It’s too much,’ her mind reeled as she twisted away from him. He didn’t let up, even when the hands in his hair dropped to scrabble at his shoulders, fist clenching.
“Oh! Oh, god … stop!” The sensations were so sharp she veered from them, but his mouth was latched fast. She felt the slight graze of his teeth on her skin and slowed herself, afraid he might sink them deeper.
“Please, Ryan, I’m done. Stop, I’m… I’m… Oh!” His fingers breached her hole again, thrusting hard in time with the suction of his mouth. “God… Don’t…stop…I’m…” She arched her back, fingers curling into his shoulders, nails leaving tiny red crescents in his skin. She splayed them down his back, then raked them up again; crescents became red streaks as she arched and twisted and bucked beneath him. “Ryan, baby… Oh god! Oh god! Oh…!” Another wave crashed and she thrust her mound up at his face with bruising force. “Yesssss!”
Between her clutching thighs, Xander glared up darkly at her contortions.
Ryan. Motherfucker.
He’d show her something Ryan could never show her. And, as he soaked in her warm ripples of ecstasy, he shimmered, glowed, shifted into something else. A glittering shape between her legs that grew and spread and engulfed her.
He breathed out a hot breath, felt her jerk, let his tongue lengthen, spread, extend up into her dripping channel. He sucked at her, swallowed her in…and then flicked his mind through his catalogue of fiendish skills and used his inhuman abilities to send a shivering sensation up her body, up her belly to her poking nipples, her flushed throat, her earlobes…down her thighs to the soles of her feet to where her toes curled and clenched. An incubus horde of licking, kissing, sucking sense-seekers sought out her nerves and pinched them, tickled them, did the things that drove them mad. Found those secret zones even she didn’t know about and set them on fire.
Rebecca sucked in a breath…stopped breathing…then screamed and arced up onto her shoulders as if a bolt of electricity had shot through her. The moans and words she’d been crying out turned into a babbling string of incoherent sound. He didn’t try to translate. Had learned eons ago that it was a language of pleasure that could only be interpreted through touch. His tongue swirled within her and vibrated like a hummingbird.
The sobbing woman under him no longer resisted, simply writhed beneath the onslaught as his memories of a million orgasms raged through her. Her head tossed, hair clinging to her sweat-slick face and neck, hands clasped and clenched into the fabric of the cushions on which she la He scooped her ass into his palms, raised her to his mouth, drinking from her like a dying man slaking his thirst. The blinding sense of power surging through him was intoxicating…
And he knew he had to stop.
He didn’t want to. Wanted to possess her so badly, he needed to wear her on his skin. He withdrew his mouth, buried his face in her sex, coating himself in her thick juices.
Dropping back onto his heels between her thighs, he released her, let her come down. Her breath shuddered from her, chest heaving, flushed. He glanced up in concern.
Did it go too far?
It had been so long since he’d made a mistake…snuffed one out. Prided himself on knowing when to stop. But when she’d called out that name. Not his.
The Other.
His teeth ground together. It was a convenient fantasy for him to appear as her lost love, but that didn’t mean he liked it. In fact, he didn’t, not at all. He didn’t want her to wait for her dreams because she was longing to see someone else there. He wanted her to see him. Anaxandridas…Xander. Her lover.
He watched carefully as she gradually settled, sinking into a deep, numbing sleep. Running his hands up her bare body, he gently drew the edges of her robe together, looping the belt shut, pulled the soft blanket up to cover her. Then withdrew.
Chapter Ten
Rebecca awoke as weak sunlight filtered through the windows to where she lay upon the couch. She sat up groggily and stretched, wincing as her muscles protested. She dropped her head into her hands.
“What the hell happened,” she groaned
, glancing around at the living room, cushions strewn from the couch and scattered over the floor. In an instant, her mind was filled with images that threatened to overwhelm her…the memory of sensations that made no sense.
Pleasure…
Her stomach clenched at the memory of… The memory of what? A dream? How could it have felt so real…and how could she be so convinced that she hadn’t been alone? She’d been trying to convince herself that she was clinging to the memory of Ryan, dreaming of him. But…
Those eyes.
All her life, there had only ever been Ryan, his soft touch, his sweet face. Now, her awareness was filled with something else. Someone else. Someone hard and honed and not entirely tender. The thought made her breath hitch.
“Dammit, Becky! You’ve got to stop reading those ridiculous books!” She tried to gloss the feelings off, but part of her felt ashamed. Was she being untrue to Ryan’s memory?
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” she groaned, rubbing her face. Surely it was ok to move on? It had been so long…
Her almost lifeless cellphone suddenly pinged. A text from Rosie:
All set for our visit with Bunny today?
Tea with Rosie’s grandmother…Rebecca frowned and sent a reply:
I thought we were going tomorrow.
Her phone pinged back a response.
No, dork, that would be Monday!
Rebecca stared at the phone in confusion, glanced up at the time and date stamp at the top of her screen. It was Sunday afternoon.
What the hell?
She’d slept through the whole of Saturday!
Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1) Page 8