Gentlemen Prefer Succubi sd-1

by Jill Myles

  Or which one of us was the crazy one.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Somewhere between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., I decided that having no dreams was worse than having dreams about Noah. I hadn’t slept a wink in hours of tossing and turning. I chalked it up to the weird day I’d had, and dragged myself out of bed and into the shower for a third time. Showering always helped me think.

  The hot water did a lot to rejuvenate me, and I decided to head to work early and catch up on some paperwork. Maybe one of the higher-ups would notice that I was putting my nose to the grindstone and I’d get considered for the next promotion.

  Fat chance, but I didn’t have anything better to do with myself.

  I did, however, encounter a bit of a problem when I dressed. As I was putting on my bra, I noticed something awful. I had gained weight again. My boobs were spilling over the top of my bra in a rather distressing way. You know, when you put on a bra that’s way too tight and you end up with the quadra-boob? I glared at my four breasts in the mirror, vowed to eat more salad, and tried on another bra. And another. And another. But even my “fat and bloated” bra felt like a tourniquet. Mind you, this wasn’t a bad thing for a B-cup like me, just depressing. I put on my elastic-waist “fat” pants, struggled into a formerly loose-fitting shirt, threw a jacket over the ensemble, then took a quick look in the mirror. No wonder I only attracted the psychos. I yanked my wet hair into a ponytail and headed for the bus stop, determined not to dwell on that depressing thought.

  The busses of New City are nice and clean, nothing like New York. Then again, New City was way Midwest, and I think that had a lot to do with it. At any rate, I got to work early and began to sort through my in-box, overflowing thanks to my unexpected absence.

  My boss came in a shade after 7:00 a.m. and stopped by my desk immediately.

  “Hi,” I said, looking up from the folder on my desk and pasting a fake smile on my lips.

  Julianna took one look at me and gave a haughty sniff. “Did you dye your hair?”

  That was an odd conversation starter. I touched my hair curiously. “Er, no. Does it look darker?”

  She shook her head at me and took a sip of her latte. “It’s a perfectly garish shade of red, if you ask me. But I suppose you didn’t, did you?” Julianna gave me a tight-lipped smile and turned away. “Do remember that this is a museum and not a brothel.”

  Insulted, I made a quick run to the restroom to check it out. Huh. It did look a little brighter than usual, and shiny as could be. I was rather pleased. Maybe the new shampoo I’d bought was working wonders on my lackluster mane.

  At nine, the morning crowds began filing in, and I went to stand at the museum entrance and greet the school groups. The museum was the biggest in the state, and always busy at the beginning of the school year. I think the teachers were trying to break the kids into class with ease and started the year out with a lot of field trips. Then, when the kids were good and trapped, throw the monotonous crap on them.

  We had a good showing, so I put on my best docent smile and straightened my glasses. My eyes watered and a massive headache pounded between my eyebrows. I was tempted to fling the glasses off-I could do the Pre-Raphaelite spiel by heart now and wouldn’t need sight to lead the tour.

  I wimped out and left the glasses on. Nudging them up the bridge of my nose, I headed for the first adult I saw, who had a strained look on his face. The middle-aged man had to be a teacher, judging by the sweater vest. “Good morning. I’m Jackie Brighton, the tour docent. Are you read-”

  I had to break off because the man was staring at me with the most unnerving look on his face.

  “Hi,” he whispered after a rather long, uncomfortable moment.

  “Um, hi.” There’s always one weirdo, I thought with irritation. “I’ll be the docent for your trip through our museum. Think you could gather your students around so we can get started, Mr. …?” I waited patiently for a name.

  He put his left hand in his pocket as I spoke, and when it emerged it was ringless, with a nice white tan line where a wedding band should go.

  Real cute.

  “I’m Jackson. Jack Jackson.” Instead of shaking my hand, he kissed the back of it, reverence in his eyes. “You must be beautiful-I mean, Ms. Brighton.”

  I pried my hand out of his, ignoring the way it made my hormones flutter. “Yep, that’s what I said just thirty seconds ago. Shall we get started?”

  “Do you want to go to dinner sometime?”

  “Not really.”

  “No?” He looked absolutely crushed. “Are you sure?”

  Positive, I thought but forced a fake smile to my face. “It’s sweet of you to ask, but perhaps you should take your wife out instead.” It was amusing to think that a guy had a crush on me. That didn’t happen often. Like, ever.

  Yet now this teacher was staring at my breasts (all four of them) with disconcerting fascination. I waved a hand in his face. “Remember me?”

  “Boy, do I.” He sounded awed.

  How can you not love that? Creepy or not, I was warming up to him. “Shall we move on to the tour? Please?”

  “Of course.” He followed me reverently to my docent stand, where I passed out brochures.

  The museum had three wings, and my tour went through two of them in detail. The adoring teacher was pleasant and well behaved for the rest of the tour, to my relief. He was actually the most attentive guest I’d ever had. When I pointed to a Waterhouse painting that was a particular favorite of mine, he made the appropriate awed noises, and I was touched. I could forgive a little boob staring, I suppose. My breasts did look rather odd, even to me, and I saw them every morning.

  The disturbing thing was that by the end of the tour, most of the students had wandered away and I had a tour group full of male teachers, all as reverent and adoring as the first.

  Was there some sort of joke I wasn’t in on? If so, it wasn’t funny.

  It wasn’t funny to my boss, either. Julianna was glaring at me from a distance, so I excused myself from my group and hurried over.

  “What is going on, Jackie?” Julianna crossed her arms over her chest and peered down at me.

  “I swear that I don’t know, Ms. Cliver.” I tried my best to look contrite and apologetic, when what I really wanted to do was cram a pencil up her beaky nose. “I think someone’s playing a prank on me. Look at how they’re acting.”

  She gave a sniff of distaste and looked down her long nose at me. “They do seem to be rather adoring. You’re right. It must be a prank of some sort.” She fixed her sharp gaze on me. “Fix it.”

  Fix it? How do you fix having a mob of men following you around?

  I “fixed” it by hiding in the women’s restroom for the next two hours. Just call me courageous.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The end of the workday couldn’t come soon enough. In fact, it didn’t, so I took off early. To be on the safe side, I slid out of the receiving doors in the back and took the long way to the bus station.

  Julianna must have sniffed something odd with that nose of hers, because she came running after me in the parking lot. “Just where are you going, Jackie?” Her nasal whine made me shudder. “We have two more tours scheduled to come through this afternoon and I’m short a docent as it is.”

  “I came in early this morning, so I thought I’d leave early,” I began, then stopped myself. I didn’t have to explain anything to Julianna. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.” I turned to face her, putting on my best poker face. I suck at lying, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The men in the museum unnerved me. “Something’s come up.” Like my stress level.

  She fixed her baleful gaze on me. “You can’t stay for the rest of the day? One more hour? We need you here, Jackie. What am I supposed to do without two of my docents?”

  I didn’t think it’d be a life-or-death situation to let a class or two wander the museum unaccompanied, but of course I didn’t say that. I opened my mouth to protest and was cut sh
ort by the rip of fabric and a snapping sound.

  “What was that?” Julianna asked.

  “I think it was … my bra.” My breasts suddenly felt rather loose and fancy-free. Sure enough, the clasp dropped to my feet, looking like it’d been through a war zone. Mortified, I pulled my jacket closer and buttoned it up the front, which didn’t work so well, because it gaped in all the wrong places. “I really can’t stay now, Ms. Cliver.”

  She sniffed and avoided looking at me. “I guess not. Be sure and be in tomorrow, then.”

  “But-”

  “You’ll be in tomorrow if you want to keep your job, Jackie.”

  “Fine,” I said sullenly, thinking with longing of the nine days of sick time I had accrued.

  “And make sure that you wear clothes that fit you.” With that, she turned on her heel and pranced back to the museum. “For a change,” she called back over her shoulder in a nasty voice.

  Sometimes I hated my job. Mostly due to my boss, who made a boring job completely unlikable.

  The bus ride home was one of the longest I’ve ever had. I kept my arms crossed over my breasts to keep them from bouncing and kept my jacket clutched tight to me, but I still got a lot of ogling. I was never so glad to get off a bus in my life, and I half-expected the man sitting next to me to follow me home. To my relief, no one did.

  I ran straight for my apartment once I got to my building, without stopping to check my mail or say hi to the doorman like I always do. He gave me a curious look as I rushed past and I raced up the stairs two at a time, then slammed my door behind me. Lack of sleep had made me paranoid.

  I needed new clothes, since I’d outgrown my old ones. It was a depressing thought, and I resigned myself to salads for the next six weeks. I slid out of my work clothes and picked up one of my discarded bras. Double-boob or not, I had to wear something.

  My body froze when I pulled off my shirt and looked down at my naked chest. “Holy shit,” I breathed, wondering if I was seeing things. I rubbed the lenses of my glasses and looked down at my breasts again.

  They were enormous. As in Pamela Anderson enormous, and all natural. Alarmed, I grabbed them in my hands and jiggled, testing for sensitivity. They didn’t hurt; what could have caused this bloating? Food allergy? I squeezed into a bra, wincing when the straps cut into my skin. It’d have to do for a few hours. Then I tossed on a sweatshirt and some sweatpants. To my surprise, the sweatpants were falling off my waist. I had to use a hand to keep them up. What was going on?

  My doorbell rang. I went to the door and peered in the peephole. It was the doorman, his back turned to me. Had I dropped something on my rush in? I opened the door. “Hi, Bobby. Something wrong?” I never got visits from the staff.

  The doorman turned and revealed a huge bouquet of red roses, giving me a sheepish grin. He wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty, and skinny as hell. So not my type. “Hi, Miss Brighton. You’re looking lovely today.” He thrust the roses out at me.

  “For me?” A flush of pleasure rushed through my body, and I extended a hand for them. Suspicious though I may be, I have a weakness for flowers. “Who are they from?”

  “They’re from me.” Again the blush covered his cheeks. I smiled, a hot, pulsing feeling of warmth coursing through me. He looked adorable. Good enough to eat, or at least nibble on for a while.

  “I just thought you looked lovely today,” he continued. “I was wondering if you were busy later?”

  He was asking me out? How sweet. The flush of pleasure grew stronger, and the blood rushing through my veins began to throb in some surprising places. I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping that it hid my sudden headlights. I’d never paid any attention to Bobby before, but he was looking rather good at the moment. “Why, thank you. I … I’m busy later.”

  “I see.” He licked his lips and turned away.

  At the sight of his tongue, I don’t know what came over me. The next thing I knew, I tore off my glasses and tossed the roses down. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into my apartment. He came in without a word of protest, and before I had the time to think about what I was doing, my mouth was on his, and his hands were on my ass, and it felt good.

  “Miss Brighton,” he breathed, and I stopped any protests he might have by sliding my mouth over his again and biting his lower lip.

  “Do me a favor,” I whispered, pressing him against the wall. “Don’t talk.”

  I pressed my body against his, and I could feel the hardness inside his slacks. The feeling excited the hell out of me, and I ground my hips against his with a tremor of delight.

  He didn’t need much encouraging. His hands were all over my backside, pulling it against his cock. He rubbed my pelvis against his own, his tongue mimicking a thrust as it dove in and out of my mouth. Sensations shot through me on overload, overwhelming my mind and making all rational thought disappear.

  “God, you have the most gorgeous blue eyes,” he moaned, just as my hands were reaching into his waistband to free his erection.

  That stopped me cold. “What?” I jerked away. “What did you say?”

  He gave me a dazed look, rubbing my behind like some sort of horny masseuse. “Your eyes. They’re so beautiful. Did you get contacts?”

  I darted for the bathroom mirror, and one look nearly sent me into shock. “Oh no,” I moaned, putting a hand to my face. I hoped it was my face. They were my features, but somehow different. My cheekbones were defined, my lips as full as if they’d been shot full of collagen, and my hair rippled down my shoulders in a glorious red mass that framed my glowing blue eyes.

  Blue, not brown, like they’d been ever since I was born.

  And glowing the way I remembered Noah’s had.

  Oh, boy.

  From behind, Bobby grabbed my hips and ground his hips against my own. “Miss Brighton?”

  I nearly doubled over from the unnatural wave of pleasure. Either this kid was talented, or there was something seriously wrong with me.

  “Uh … hmm?” I was having difficulty forming coherent thoughts with his erection pressing against my backside. I wanted nothing more than to shuck my sweatpants, fling him down on the floor, and make sweet monkey love to him.

  Something was definitely wrong with me.

  “Did you want me to leave?” His voice was husky, his hands gripping my hips in the most heavenly way. He knew very well I didn’t want him to leave.

  “Yes,” I managed to squeak out, surprising myself.

  “What?” Bobby pulled away from me, and I could see his sexual tension turn to confusion.

  Without his body pressed against mine the haze of desire cleared a little, and I turned on the faucet and began to splash water on my face. “Leave, Bobby. Please leave.”

  “But … but … can I come see you later?”

  I forced myself to shake my head no. “Maybe some other time.” Poor kid. He was probably confused as hell.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  “Oh. I guess … let me know if you need anything.”

  I didn’t have to be a mind reader to read horny longing and hurt feelings shooting off him like sparks. The door shut a few moments later, and I found myself alone.

  What on earth was wrong with me? I never approached men, and I sure wouldn’t have attacked a nineteen-year-old doorman. I was twenty-seven, for crying out loud, and I didn’t like them young. Yet when I’d seen him standing there, licking his lips, I’d wanted nothing more than to maul him, and I had.

  Flashes of my conversation with Noah floated through my mind.

  “You won’t notice anything at first, but you’ll see some changes start to happen, and I don’t want you to be alarmed,” he had said, looking as serious as can be, handing me his business card. At the time I had blown him off, thinking him arrogant and crazy as hell.

  Not anymore.

  I raced for my purse and tore out my wallet. Sure enough, there was his business card. It was simple, with just the name “Noah Gideon” on it and a c
ell phone number. Oh, and his little “angelic alphabet” design was in the top right corner. I’d give the man some credit-when he came up with a story, he really went all out.

  Unless … it wasn’t a story after all.

  I dialed the number with trembling fingers, and put my ear to the receiver. Three rings, then voicemail.

  Drat. I wasn’t about to leave a message. What would I say? Hi, my boobs grew overnight and my eyes are blue; call me?

  I hung up and sat down next to the phone, deciding to wait it out. He had to pick up at some point. I flipped on the TV. I wasn’t tired in the least, and too agitated to sleep anyhow. So I called. All night. And watched TV in between calls.

  Okay, so I watched porn. I couldn’t help myself. In fact, I stayed up all night watching porn. There was something about the flesh licking and uninhibited responses that I found riveting. Between movies, I kept trying Noah’s line.

  Shortly after sunrise I finally got an answer. The phone rang twice, then “Yes?”

  No “hi” or “hello” for this guy.

  “Noah, it’s me. Jackie.”

  “Jackie?” His voice was questioning.

  Annoyance shot through me. Was he such a ladies’ man that he couldn’t remember who the hell I was? “Yeah, Jackie. Dumpster girl, remember?”

  “Ah, Jackie.” His voice was a soft caress, sending a distress signal straight to my groin.

  “I was hoping you weren’t going to call.” He sounded disappointed, which only made me even more annoyed.

  “You and me both. Listen, I have a real problem-”

  “Does it involve having blue eyes?”

  Stunned, I was silent for a few moments, then nodded.

  “Hello? Are you still there?”

  Duh. He couldn’t see me nod. “Yeah, I’m still here. My eyes are blue, yeah. And something else is wrong with me-well, a lot of other things. What is going on?” My voice squeaked with alarm.