I wished the guy on top of me would hurry up because I was getting bored.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to finish anytime soon. Brad or Brian or whatever his name was thrust away, eyes squeezed shut with such concentration that you would have thought having sex was on par with brain surgery or lifting steel beams.
"Brett," I panted. It was time to pull out the big guns.
He opened one eye. "Bryce."
"Bryce." I put on my most passionate, orgasmic face. "Please...please...don't stop."
His other eye opened. Both went wide.
A minute later, it was all over.
"Sorry," he gasped, rolling off me. He looked mortified. "I don't know...didn't mean..."
"It's okay, baby." I felt only a little bad about using the don't stop trick on him. It didn't always work, but for some guys, planting that seed completely undid them. "It was amazing."
And really, that wasn't entirely a lie. The sex itself had been mediocre, but the rush afterward...the feel of his life and his soul pouring into me...yeah. That was pretty amazing. It was what a succubus like me literally lived for.
He gave me a weary smile. The energy he'd had now flowed in my body. Its loss had exhausted him, burned him out. He'd sleep soon and would probably continue sleeping a great deal over the next few days. His soul had been a good one, and I'd taken a lot of it - as well as his life itself. He'd now live a few years less, thanks to me.
I tried not to think about that as I hurriedly put on my clothes. Instead, I focused on how I'd done what I had to do for my own survival. Plus, my infernal masters required me to seduce and corrupt good souls on a regular basis. Bad men might make me feel less guilty, but they didn't fulfill Hell's quota.
Bryce seemed surprised at my abrupt departure but was too worn out to fight it. I promised to call him - having no intention of doing so - and slipped out of the room as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
I'd barely cleared his front door before shape-shifting. I'd come to him as a tall, sable-haired woman but now once again wore my preferred shape, petite with hazel-green eyes and light brown hair that flirted with gold. Like most of my life, my features danced between states, never entirely settling on one.
I put Bryce out of my mind, just like I did with most men I slept with, and drove across town to what was rapidly becoming my second home. It was a tan, stucco condo, set into a community of other condos that tried desperately to be as hip as new construction in Seattle could manage. I parked my Passat out front, fished my key out of my purse, and let myself inside.
The condo was still and quiet, wrapped in darkness. A nearby clock informed me it was three in the morning. Walking toward the bedroom, I shape-shifted again, swapping my clothes for a red nightgown.
I froze in the bedroom's doorway, surprised to feel my breath catch in my throat. You'd think after all this time, I would have gotten used to him, that he wouldn't affect me like this. But he did. Every time.
Seth lay sprawled on the bed, one arm tossed over his head. His breathing came deep and fitful, and the sheets lay in a tangle around his long, lean body. Moonlight muted out the color of his hair, but in the sun, its light brown would pick up a russet glow. Seeing him, studying him, I felt my heart swell in my chest. I'd never expected to feel this way about anyone again, not after centuries of feeling so...empty. Bryce had meant nothing to me, but this man before me meant everything.
I slid into bed beside him, and his arms instantly went around me. I think it was instinctual. The connection between us was so deep that even while unconscious, we couldn't stay away from each other.
I pressed my cheek to Seth's chest, and his skin warmed mine as I fell asleep. The guilt from Bryce faded, and soon, there was only Seth and my love for him.
I slipped almost immediately into a dream. Except, well, I wasn't actually in it, at least not in the active sense. I was watching myself, seeing the events unfold as though at a movie. Only, unlike a movie, I could feel every detail. The sights, the sounds...it was almost more vivid than real life.
The other Georgina was in a kitchen, one I didn't recognize. It was bright and modern, far larger than anything I could imagine a non-cook like me needing. My dream-self stood at the sink, arms elbow-deep in sudsy water that smelled like oranges. She was hand-washing dishes, which surprised my real-self - but was doing a shoddy job, which did not surprise me. On the floor, an actual dishwasher lay in pieces, thus explaining the need for manual labor.
From another room, the sounds of "Sweet Home Alabama" carried to my ears. My dream-self hummed along as she washed, and in that surreal, dream sort of way, I could feel her happiness. She was content, filled with a joy so utterly perfect, I could barely comprehend it. Even with Seth, I'd rarely ever felt so happy - and I was pretty damned happy with him. I couldn't imagine what could make my dream-self feel this way, particularly while doing something as mundane as washing dishes.
I woke up.
To my surprise, it was full morning, bright and sunny. I'd had no sense of time passing. The dream had seemed to last only a minute, yet the nearby alarm clock claimed six hours had passed. The loss of the happiness my dream-self had experienced made me ache.
Weirder than that, I felt...not right. It took me a moment to peg the problem: I was drained. The life energy I needed to survive, the energy I'd stolen from Bryce, was almost gone. In fact, I had less now than I'd had before going to bed with him. It made no sense. A burst of life like that should have lasted a couple weeks at least, yet I was nearly as wiped out as he'd been. I wasn't low enough to start losing my shape-shifting ability, but I'd need a new fix within a couple of days.
Seth's sleepy voice came from beside me. I rolled over and found him propped on one elbow, watching me with a small, sweet smile.
I didn't want to explain what had happened. Doing so would mean elaborating on what I'd done with Bryce, and while Seth theoretically knew what I did to survive, ignorance really was bliss.
"Nothing," I lied. I was a good liar.
He touched my cheek. "I missed you last night."
"No, you didn't. You were busy with Cady and O'Neill."
His smile turned wry, but even as it did, I could see his eyes start to take on the dreamy, inward look he got when he thought about the characters in his novels. I'd made kings and generals beg for my love in my long life, yet some days, even my charms couldn't compete with the people who lived in Seth's head.
Fortunately, today wasn't one of those days, and his attention focused back on me.
"Nah. They don't look as good in a nightgown. That's very Anne Sexton, by the way. Like 'candy store cinnamon hearts.'"
Only Seth would use a bipolar poet as a compliment. I glanced down and ran an absentminded hand over the red silk. "This does look pretty good," I admitted. "I might look better in this than I do naked."
He scoffed. "No, Thetis. You do not."
I smiled, as I always did, when he used the pet name he coined for me. In Greek mythology, Thetis had been Achilles' mother, a shape-shifting goddess won by a determined mortal. And then, in what was an astonishingly aggressive move for him, Seth flipped me onto my back and began kissing my neck.
"Hey," I said, putting up a half-hearted struggle. "We don't have time for this. I have stuff to do. And I want breakfast."
"Noted," he mumbled, moving on to my mouth. I stopped my complaining. Seth was a wonderful kisser. He gave the kind of kisses that melted into your mouth and filled you with sweetness. They were like cotton candy.
But there was no real melting to be had, not for us. With a well-practiced sense of timing that you could probably set a watch to, he pulled away from the kiss and sat up, removing his hands as well. Still smiling, he looked down at me and my undignified sprawl.
I smiled back, squelching the small pang of regret that always came at these moments of retreat.
But that was the way it was with us, and honestly, we had a pretty good system going when one considered all the complications in our relationship. My friend Hugh once had joked that all women steal men's souls if they're together long enough. In my case, it didn't taken years of bickering. A too-long kiss would suffice. Such was the life of a succubus. I didn't make the rules, and I had no way to stop the involuntary energy theft that came from intimate physical contact. I could, however, control whether that physical contact happened in the first place, and I made sure it didn't. I ached for Seth, but I wouldn't steal his life as I had Bryce's.