Succubi Chapter 49. Not Gentle
She stood perfectly still.
Breath shallow.
My name on her lips like a confession.
And I— I was not gentle.
I was reverent.
That's worse, in a way.
Gentleness is mercy.
Reverence is worship.
And Val? She was a temple I had wanted to desecrate since the moment she walked into my shower like it was hers.
I pulled her against me again, skin to skin, and her breath caught—not from surprise, but from need. Her body molded against mine so easily, it felt unfair. Like she was carved from fire and I was the one dumb enough to hold her bare-handed.
"I can feel your heart," she whispered.
I kissed her collarbone, then lower, lips dragging like silk over skin.
"Good," I murmured, trailing my mouth down to the swell of her breast. "Because it's beating for you right now."
And then I sank into her.
Not inside her body—not yet. But into the moment. Into the taste of her skin, the way her back arched when I let my tongue circle her nipple slowly, how she gasped when I sucked it into my mouth, teasing it with heat and wet and just the barest graze of teeth.
Her fingers found my hair, tightening, not to stop me—but to hold herself together.
She let out a sound between a moan and a whimper. Her thighs pressed together—automatic, desperate.
I pulled back slightly, letting my fingers glide down her side.
"You're shaking."
She nodded, biting her lip.
"Tell me," I whispered, looking up at her. "Do you want this?"
"I do," she breathed, eyes dark and shining. "I want you."
"And you know what it means, don't you?" My voice was low. Commanding. "To be mine."
She swallowed. "To be yours… is to be claimed."
"Not just touched," I growled, lifting her by the hips and pressing her against the cool marble wall. "Owned."
Her legs wrapped around me without hesitation.
Her body was velvet heat against mine—undeniable, trembling, ready. And my own need? It was pulsing hard beneath the line of my waistband, straining, aching for her.
But not yet.
I wouldn't enter her like this.
Not with haste.
Not with anything less than full intention.
Because she was a succubus, yes—but she was also a virgin. And despite every teasing smirk, every seductive flick of her tongue, she had let no one in.
Until now.
I kissed her again, slower this time. My lips brushed hers with purpose, pulling her in, consuming her doubt, setting it aflame. She opened to me, fully, deliciously—moaning into my mouth as my hand slid between her thighs, cupping her gently, pressing just enough to make her hips twitch against me.
"You're already wet," I whispered against her ear. "You're soaked for me."
Her cheeks flushed darker, but she didn't look away. She just whispered, "Then don't make me wait."
I locked eyes with her, my hand still warm against her slick heat.
"No," I said. "I want you to burn for me first."
My fingers moved, slow, maddening strokes along the edges of her sweet hole, just teasing her entrance, not breaching it. Her body bucked slightly, but I held her still with one hand while the other explored her like a holy rite.
She was so tight—tighter than I expected. Even one finger in would be a stretch.
"You're going to remember this," I whispered. "Every second. Every inch."
"I already do," she gasped.
"Good."
Because I was going to worship her the way a prince of hell worships a goddess he was never supposed to touch.
With hunger.
With obsession.
With full dominion.
The moment cracked.
Not with a word.
Not even with a touch.
But with a look.
She was bare in front of me, legs parted just enough to give me that final permission, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Her body radiated heat and hesitation all at once—coiled like a bow, waiting for my pull.
And then I saw it.
The mirror.
Fogged at the edges, but still clear enough to show the lines of her body. The tension in her shoulders. The softness of her lips, parted with need. And me.
It gave me an idea. A sharp one.
I grabbed her gently but firmly by the waist and guided her forward—toward the marble counter just beneath the mirror. She didn't resist. She followed like a magnet drawn to steel, her feet padding softly across the warm, enchanted tiles.
"Here," I murmured, lowering her just enough that her hands found the edge of the counter, cool and solid beneath her palms.
And fuck.
I'd never seen anything more beautiful.
Not because she was perfect—but because she was surrendering.
Fully.
To me.
To the moment.
To whatever we were about to become.
"Hands flat," I said, voice low and cutting through the haze like a knife.
She obeyed immediately. No hesitation.
I stepped up behind her, chest grazing her back, hand skimming down her spine. My other hand reached up, tangled into her damp, tousled hair, not to pull, not yet—just to feel it. To own the texture. To map the weight of her submission before I even entered her.
Her eyes flicked up again, locking onto mine in the mirror.
"Look at me," I said, voice dark velvet. "I want you to watch."
Her breath caught. And then she nodded.
She didn't look away after that.
Not once.
I guided her down gently, letting her chest press to the counter, her nipples flattened against the cool marble. Her back arched, ass high, thighs trembling slightly as I dragged my palm along the dip of her spine. I knelt, kissing the small of her back. Once. Reverent. Then again, lower, firmer.
Claiming.
The heat between her legs was unreal. She was already soaked, already twitching under the barest graze of my fingers. I slid one hand between her thighs, letting it glide through that wet heat—gathering her slick, coating my fingers.
She whimpered. Soft. Barely.
But enough to make me growl.
I stood, pressed the tip of my cock against her sweet entrance, but didn't push in. Not yet.
"Evan…" she breathed, voice trembling.
"I said," I murmured in her ear, pressing forward just enough for her to feel the weight of me, "watch."
And then I pushed inside.
Slowly.
Roughly.
All the way to the hilt.
She gasped—back arching tighter, knuckles whitening against the edge of the counter. Her thighs clenched, trembling around me. Her body was so tight it made my vision blur.
And fuck, the mirror.
I could see it all.
Her mouth open. Her lashes fluttering. Her eyes dilated with shock, heat, pleasure.
And me—my hips flush against her, my hand gripping her waist like I'd lose my mind if I let go. My cock buried so deep inside her that we couldn't possibly stay the same people after this.
I pulled out halfway.
Then slammed back in.
She moaned—loud, uninhibited, raw.
And I lost it.
I grabbed her hips harder, enough to bruise, and started fucking her like I was built for it. Like this was why I was created. The slap of skin against skin echoed around the tiled room, fast and loud, but not louder than her breathy cries.
The mirror fogged up slightly from the steam and our bodies, but I kept watching. I needed to see her face. To see the moment she came apart.
Because that face?
That was mine.
Her. Val. My Val.
"Say it," I growled, hips slamming into her over and over. "Say who you belong to."
She couldn't speak—her lips parted, eyes glazed, body shaking.
So I gripped her hair and yanked her head back gently, making her look straight into the glass again. "Say it."
"You," she cried out. "I'm yours, Evan—I'm yours!"
I cursed, biting down on the skin of her shoulder, tasting salt and soap and sin.
"You feel what you're doing to me?" I hissed against her ear. "You feel how hard I am inside you? That's not just lust, Val. That's ownership. You chose me. And now I'm claiming every inch of you."
She let out a sob, not from pain—never pain—but because the pressure was too much. Too deep. Too intense.
Her body clamped around me suddenly, thighs shuddering, her breath seizing as her climax hit her like a wave crashing against a cliff.
She cried my name like it meant salvation.
And I kept going.
I didn't slow down.
Not yet.
I wanted her to feel it.
To feel every goddamn thrust—how I filled her, stretched her, made her mine with every brutal, perfect stroke.
I leaned over her again, hand sliding up her front, cupping one breast and teasing the nipple until she was gasping all over again.
She was still twitching from the first orgasm when I slammed into her harder, deeper, grinding against her spot until she came again, legs buckling, body collapsing forward onto the marble.
But I didn't let her fall.
I held her steady.
Kept her wide open for me.
My cock throbbed inside her, tight and pulsing, needing to finish. My own end was approaching fast, the fire in my spine igniting into something wild.
"Val," I growled, slamming into her one last time, buried to the root. "I'm coming."
And I did.
Hard.
A pulse. A roar in my blood. My body tensed as I spilled into her, hips jerking once, twice, lost in the firestorm of it all.
The only thing keeping me standing was the counter and her body under mine.
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