by Kasia Bacon
Later, when I thought back on the events of that night with a clear mind, I realised we went about it much like we had during our first time at Cocks and Hens. One minor detail aside—no coin changed hands.
“What do you fancy, Red?” Lázhien’s broad chest curved over me. His cock nudged my groin, making me jolt at the sensation. “Anything you want.”
“Anything?” I asked innocently, caressing the firm buns of his perfectly shaped arse. The tip of my finger strayed off course to ghost over his opening, applying a short-lived pressure there.
He sucked in air and dipped his chin low, but didn’t evade my touch. On the contrary—he sought it.
“Is that on offer?” I teased, repeating the movement.
He looked up at once, his expression earnest. “Everything’s on offer for you.”
My eyebrows shot up. Genuinely confounded by this unexpected response, I asked, “But… have you ever done it?”
“Once or twice. A long time ago.” He shrugged. “It would be different with you.”
I gave a long exhale to calm myself down. “We’ll be revisiting this topic later, Lázhien,” I said with conviction. Because dear gods—yes! No way would I pass on the opportunity to bury myself in all that sinew and muscle. And the fact that he wanted it? The very thought tightened my scrotum.
The timing wasn’t right, though. Randy as hell, I couldn’t possibly be slow, careful or gentle with him. Gods forbid I’d harm him. That wouldn’t do. Besides, however much the concept got my blood pumping, it wasn’t what I most craved at that moment.
“Right now, though,” I bit on my lower lip, “what I need you to do is fuck me. From behind. Rough and fast. Afterwards, we’ll see.”
Lázhien’s cheek jerked. His irises seemed to have merged with his pupils, creating two shiny pools of tar. He leant in to peck the corner of my mouth, then flipped me over like an omelette.
The air whooshed out of my lungs as I landed on my belly.
Lázhien grabbed me by my shins and slid me down the mattress to meet his hips. Tugging at mine, he braced me by anchoring both of his big hands right on the bone, tilting my pelvis where he needed it.
At that moment in time, it was the place to be: arse up in the air, face pressed into the bed linen. Vulnerable and exposed. A visceral urge raced through me. I longed to be filled. I shut my eyes, aching for him to split me open.
Lázhien didn’t drag his feet. He pushed at the inside of my knees, spreading my legs wide enough to accommodate his husky build. “Beautiful,” he said.
I heard the soft pop of the flask stopper and felt the feathery press of his lips above my coccyx. Then Lázhien’s oil-coated digit dipped inside. He stretched me while cupping my balls with his other hand, working me at all the right angles. Undoing me one skilful curl of his finger at a time.
Despite how good it felt, I couldn’t endure such trifles for long at this point. “Gods, hurry,” I whimpered. “I can’t take anymore. I need—”
Lázhien muttered something incomprehensible and entered me in one long thrust.
My initial grunt transformed into a loud, lewd sound.
He withdrew almost wholly to slam right back in with a snap of his hips, making me see stars.
Something slotted into place then—and that besides Lázhien’s hot, massive rod. The mating bond vibrated inside me, gaining power by absorbing our intimacy, our physical closeness, our hunger for each other. Never before had I felt such a connection with my demon. Such unity. A thrilling sense of harmony. And such a potent thirst for another person.
I had no time to ponder any of it, however, too busy pushing back on Lázhien’s cock.
“Shit. Oh, fuck,” he said as if through gritted teeth.
“No one has touched me since you,” I blurted into the sheets. Muffled by the folds of cloth, my voice sounded hushed and odd.
At that declaration, Lázhien froze. The length and girth of his shaft, not modest to begin with, seemed to engorge even further.
“Move, gods dammit,” I panted, sounding wanton and desperate and caring very little about it. “Lázhien, you need to move.”
And lords, did he ever. I got the very pounding I’d bargained for.
He pressed his heavy palm onto the small of my back as though he intended to remind me who was in charge and began ploughing into me in a forceful but controlled way. When he changed to short, stabby thrusts, the bed shook as if it were about to fly apart.
I approached a similar state myself. All I could do was cling to the bedclothes under me with fisted hands. Things quickly progressed from clutching to clawing. And screaming.
A wildfire spread through my veins, urgent and unstoppable. My demon’s ecstasy exploded in a blaze, streaking my vision white. The climax, robust enough to give me a hernia, rode through me like a tide. Air became too dense to breathe. I shuddered, vaguely aware of Lázhien’s groans as he filled me with his hot release.
Then everything faded into a silent void. Feeling too blissful and drained to care about anything else, I passed out.
LÁZHIEN
We went at it once more before the afternoon turned to evening. Nightfall saw us finally sated enough to stop holding each other in a near death grip, as if fearing one of us would vanish in a puff of smoke any moment.
The smell of cooking wafted up from the inn’s kitchen. Red’s rumbling stomach—and my compelling desire to feed him—prompted me to jog downstairs on a hunting and gathering mission.
I returned carrying a wooden tray laden with a carafe of wine, two beef and potato hotpots and a selection of cheese and fruit.
Starved as he must’ve been, Red ate unhurriedly and with refined elegance, which should’ve seemed out of place considering he had his meal naked, sitting cross-legged on our battlefield of crumpled sheets.
I, on the other hand, scarfed down my food like a good ‘un, devouring the sight of Red for pudding. He looked mighty fine with flushed cheeks and ruffled hair.
We sipped the wine, entertained by Not-Ōkkanȏ’s-Cat and his ongoing attack on the pillow tassels hanging from the chest underneath the window. The cute little fellow sure showed plenty of dedication. I’d always thought that mogõs, being magical creatures, exhibited more poise and sophistication than their alley cousins. But when it came to fluffy pom-poms, a mogõ didn’t differ much from a regular tabby.
After a time, I set our empty glasses on the bedside stand and settled Red next to me. Keeping my hands off him seemed not only wrong, but unthinkable.
He gave a gratified Mmm and allowed me to shift him around as if he were boneless. My heart swelled with joy at such an unguarded response.
Red’s creamy skin felt silky and cool underneath my fingers.
“You’re cold?” I asked, reaching for a blanket to cover him with.
“Not anymore.” He scooted over even closer and shut his eyes.
The candles around us kept flickering, their wicks in dire need of trimming. Clearly, the innkeeper didn’t believe in investing good coin on a quality product. It allowed me, however, to observe the way light and shadows twirled and undulated over the angular planes of Red’s face. He seemed so at peace and content stretched there by my side, his limbs loose, a slow rhythm of breaths guiding his chest up and down. In this languid state, his startling beauty had lost its intimidating edge, taking on a sweeter and more tender appearance. I couldn’t help but wholeheartedly appreciate the element of domesticity to the scene.
All the grinning threatened to give my cheeks a spasm. “Get a load of that,” I whispered. “Ōkkanȏ Red Kyatto snuggling with a human soldier in a second-rate inn. Now, what would big society make of that?”
“Shut up, Lázhien,” he said without heat, opening one eye. “I do prefer you out of the uniform.” He tugged on my nipple.
I laughed and then sucked in air when he ran his long nails across my torso. I hadn’t thought I would be getting it up for a while yet, but that belief grew somewhat shaken.
One thin
g bothered me, though. I cleared my throat. “The first time I saw you, Ranélle mentioned you disliked soldiers,” I said, keeping my tone light. I sensed a story there—and an important one for me to know. “Why’s that?”
Red heaved a deep sigh, like a person faced with a question they expected but hoped to avoid. “It’s complicated, Lázhien.”
“I thought it might be. But you can tell a shrewd fellow like me.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him and—disregarding his very rude snort—began playing with his hair.
He chewed on his lower lip for a while. “You’re sure you’d like to listen? It’ll be long and boring.”
“We've got time, haven't we?” I said carefully, prepared to drop the subject if he refused to delve into it. “At least until I recover enough to have another go at you. But I doubt I’d call anything to do with you boring.”
Red gave a scoff and moved to lie on his side, curled around me with his cheek resting on my chest.
Having him propped on me in this manner had already become my favourite position.
“All right,” he started without looking at me. “You’ve probably gathered that I grew up in the Elven Country. My father was a nobleman who served in the Asirhwӱn Mounted Regiment. My mother was like me.”
“Were your parents soulmates?” I asked.
“No. It would’ve made everything different if they had been. Did you know it’s rare for a Tii-Matâshi to bear a child?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it is. But it’s almost unheard-of for an unmated Succubus to form a family and stick around. Yet mine did until I was four. Then, I guess, fending off the urges of her nature became too much. I didn’t understand it at the time. I stopped blaming her for abandoning us years later, when I got a first-hand insight into what it means to refuse your demon’s way.” He grimaced. “But my father never got over the loss. He stopped smiling, stopped talking, stopped giving a damn about himself and anyone else. As if she’d whisked his soul away. I've heard people say Tii-Matâshi can do that, if only to scare their offspring into obedience. But in a way, it seems we can. Not two years after my mother left, the news about her getting in a fight with some vampers reached us. A stupid, unnecessary death. The next years brought some of the toughest campaigns of the Elven War. My father kept volunteering for every mission, one more perilous than the next. In the end, he never returned from the siege of Sadaryn, as I think he intended.”
Red went quiet and I waited, lowering my hand to stroke his back. After a while, he relaxed.
“With my father gone, his clansmen took it upon themselves to toughen me up. The Queen’s Army doesn’t enlist paternal half-breeds, but basic military training is compulsory for everyone. So they forced me to partake in hours of martial arts and weapon-wielding drills with the other children, when all I wanted was to hide in the stables and draw horses.” He lifted his head to peek at me. “It might not make sense to you, but I hated the regimented routine, the rigidity of it. The discipline. I hated it even more, knowing the army cost me my father’s life. Anyway, a day after my thirteenth nameday, I ran away. Eventually, I got myself through the border and into the Empire.”
“Let me guess. You went to Ysêmyr?”
He rubbed his chin down and up against my chest in a nod.
“You were still very young. How did you cope in the capital on your own?”
“Oh, the first couple of years were fine. It suited me, the life of an urchin. It was the only time I felt truly free. I did what I wanted. A few of us lived together, supporting one another. Sure, we nicked things. Sometimes we starved or took a beating. But looking back, these were the good days,” he said with a smile in his tone.
I smiled to myself imagining the mischief Red had got up to with a band of street kids.
“The trouble came with juvenescence.” Red began tracing invisible swirls on my skin with his finger. “It’s difficult to explain, you know. My demon was born with me, he always was there. And as a child, I realised early on something was different about me. I could feel this… presence inside. A connection—intangible, like faraway shadows or glimpses of emotions. But he didn’t fully manifest himself or begin making demands until I reached puberty. It all cropped up afterwards. The cravings, the compulsion… I knew fuck-all about how to handle that. It was confusing, to say the least. Around that time, I started getting migraines.”
“And then? What happened?”
Red’s finger went still on my skin. “When I was sixteen, a concerned citizen reported me as an unmarked Incubus to the City Guard. They sent a dozen soldiers to contain the threat. They apprehended me. It didn’t matter that I didn’t realise at that time that all Tii-Matâshi living in the Empire were required to wear facial markings. My mother didn’t, you see, since she spent most of her life in the Elven Country. The Elves, whatever can be said about their treatment of half-breeds, don’t brand other Elder Races. But I learnt through kicks and punches that ignorance of the law excuses no one.” Red gave a mirthless laugh. “They kept me in the citadel dungeons for a month, waiting for a Guild-appointed, highly trained Mage to sort me out with the tattoo. The guards would get bored sometimes, you see, and when they did, they entertained themselves by roughing me up. It didn’t help that I had a mouth on me and fought back. By the time the Mage turned up, I’d suffered a few fractures and a bad case of pneumonia. Eventually, I stopped flinching at the sight of a purple uniform, but it took some time.”
Rage raced through my veins. I wanted to crack a few skulls. I held Red tighter as if that could protect him from the past. “The uniforms might be the same, Red, but Ysêmyr’s City Guard is not the military. They’re tossers, everyone knows that.” My words reflected the universal disdain soldiers felt towards the overzealous and often downright cruel militants from the capital. City Guards were often recruited from the army rejects—ones who received a dishonourable discharge or didn’t quite make the cut to join the forces in the first place.
One of his shoulders rose in a shrug. “Be that as it may, it made little difference to me at the time.”
I nodded and gritted my teeth. “Those guards. Do you remember their names?”
Red’s body shook with laughter as gave my chest a few consoling pats. “Lázhien, it’s been years. If they’re alive, they’re old men pissing in their beds by now. Besides, I’m pretty sure Adhaŕ dealt with them more than adequately. I never asked about the details.”
“Good,” I said, trying to sound neutral. “Who’s Adhaŕ?”
He smirked, rising up on his elbow to assess my expression. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Lázhien.”
Duh.
Red rolled his eyes. “Adhaŕ was the one who marked me.” A blush appeared on his high cheeks. I didn’t miss the fondness in his voice, either. “I was lucky. Adhaŕ was a skilled Mage and a decent human besides. He made what could’ve been a traumatic experience into a good one. I stayed with him for a few weeks afterwards. It couldn’t last, of course. But it was as close as I’ve come to having a relationship.”
“Until now,” I said in a firm tone and drew Red in to claim a kiss. Adhaŕ, wherever he was, could suck a fucking egg, even though I felt gratitude towards the unknown man for showing my soulmate some heart when it mattered.
Having had my fill of Red’s mouth—for a while, anyway—I added, “About this mating business. How do we make the bond permanent?”
Now that I’d stated my intentions and we were in it for good, I’d stopped worrying about sounding needy and overeager. For the most part.
Red’s swollen lips stretched in a crooked smile. “By spending fourteen days and nights together. Affection fortifies the bond. The more kissing, touching and fucking we do, the stronger it becomes.”
My ears grew hot at the dirty look he shot me. A clear invitation, if I’d ever seen one.
“The hardship.” I wiped the imaginary sweat off my brow. “How about we start practising right away?” I said and pulled him on top of me.
&nb
sp; ŌKKANȎ
Persistent meowing weaved itself into my dream and woke me.
I opened my eyes to the sight of half-naked Lázhien, his muscled back delectably turned my way, squatting next to my mogõ and scratching the attention-seeker behind the ears.
“Shh,” Lázhien instructed in between strokes.
At once, the mogõ switched to subtle purring.
I raised my eyebrows at this rare display of obedience. Who knew? Not even my spoilt mogõ could ignore the authority in a drill master’s voice.
After a while, Lázhien abandoned the petting, leaving my mogõ to sharpen his claws on a hideous wall rug that looked as if someone had been sick over it. Lázhien quietly got about locating his clothing and getting dressed. He retrieved his boots—one from the inside of the hearth and the other from under the basin—and sat on a little stool. Having pulled them on, he stood, tightened his belt around his waist and strapped his sword onto his hip.
Throughout the years, I’d learnt to tell a lot about a man by the way he got dressed. Lázhien’s demeanour screamed pure determination and decisiveness.
He was preparing to leave.
Did he not mean what he said yesterday? Had he changed his mind?
Still feigning sleep, I observed him head for the door.
My heart sank.
I slid myself up to sitting, determined to say nothing. But the words slipped out against my resolve. “Going somewhere?” I said. Or snarled. My voice sounded sharp and scratchy from hurt, sleep and all the screaming I’d done the night before.
Lázhien pivoted to face me, his expression composed and completely guilt-free, as if he hadn’t been caught sneaking out without a word.