by Brindle Chase
"It will leave some blushing and others reaching for a cigarette."
- Paranormal Haven
"...the sexual tension is off the charts."
- Bitten by Paranormal Romance
"There is plenty of smexy steamy no holds bar scenes that hold you hostage. Chase nails them perfectly."
- Smexy Books Romance Reviews
"An erotic read that manages to be fun while drawing out the sexual tension between these dynamic characters in a way that will leave the reader squirming."
- Coffeetime Romance
... Available now at Loose Id, LLC.
Thankful it wasn’t raining -- as was common in Oregon, even in June -- she took full advantage of the dry weather for a night ride on the town. The darker side of Portland was the only place where she could enjoy her insatiable lust rather than feel oppressed by it. This was her playground. She was a predator of pleasure, of the spices of life, and all for the thrill.
Rounding a corner, she tilted the bike near to parallel with the pavement and revved the powerful engine as she tore up to her favorite hunting grounds. A slam to the brake pedal and a jerk of the quarter-ton bike threw her into a sideways slide. The momentum forced her to rely on inhuman reflexes to bring it to a screeching halt against a curb with perfect precision. She killed the engine and toed the kickstand into position. Grinning in spite of herself, she lifted a leg over the back of the cycle and settled into a provocative pose. Sensually, she smoothed her outfit and scanned the crowd lined up outside. So many playthings, and she could have any of them.
Something wicked this way comes.
Gliding fingers through her wind-teased mane, she raked the tangles from her silky hair. She whipped forward, then back, tossing her straight black hair, and let it feather across her shoulders to hover in a V six inches above her ass. Antics were only a tenth of her magic. Her pheromones fell on all those who could see her.
Peeking over mirrored sunglasses, she made sure all eyes were on her daring fashion statement. The glasses didn’t faze her natural night sight and allowed her gaze to roam free in secrecy. She didn’t always want people to know she was checking them out. And she was. Always.
Lilith’s fashion philosophy translated loosely as less is more. Tonight she wore a custom-made black biker-cut jacket. It was cropped at the midriff and had two thick belts sewn in, with big chrome buckles. The triple belts at the wrists allowed her to push the sleeves up to her elbows and lock them. Its lapel was double layered, and the inner pleat stood straight up and formed a protective collar around the back of her neck. Beneath her navel, she wore a simple black cotton thong and black leather chaps.
GOTHIC CITY LIGHTS was the name on the flashing neon sign over the dull green double doors of the club. She ignored the catcalls from several men waiting in the long line outside and surveyed the mood. There were no windows, and the place was a complete dive on the outside, yet it was the most popular club in the city.
Everyone watched her. The fantastic display of her parking and the scandalous outfit she wore demanded it. She basked beneath their wanton eyes. Being a succubus made it hard not to be a bit arrogant. Knowing so many longed for her touch was usually a kick. Tonight it was a bore.
Showtime. Lilith in the house.
Not one to disappoint, she added a catlike stretch. With her arms high above her head, she arched her back dramatically. Her short jacket crept up and exposed the underside of her breasts, removing any doubt she wore nothing beneath. None of her usual teasing antics were as fun as they normally were, but they were so ingrained she didn’t know how to be any other way. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
She cut right to the front of the line, made no eye contact, and stepped through the double doors as the two huge muscle-bound doormen opened it for her. Thad and Franco. She flashed them both a knowing grin as she passed. A sensual shift of her hip gave them justification to stare at her ass. They always did. Men were such predictable creatures.
Been there, done both.
Lilith was in most every way a stereotypical succubus, the type of woman who turned the heads of everyone she passed. Her figure was fuller, curvier than any toothpick model. Her breasts were firmer and more ample. She was blessed with long legs -- sleek with toned muscle. If she stretched, you couldn’t have counted her ribs. Her tanned skin was immaculate. It shimmered with youthful health and denoted her half-Chinese heritage.
The scent of sweat, musk, and a barrage of perfumes hit her like a wave as she stepped into the dark club’s foyer. Multicolored lights flickered off and on, bouncing from mirrors set everywhere about the trendy decor of the large room.
With nonchalant allure, she tossed a nod toward Tank, who was guarding the front office door. He returned it casually and flashed a brilliant smile that gleamed like a beacon from his full goatee. His attention was more or less captured by a cute little thing, yet another fly caught in his web. He was such a slut, and she had to admire that. Recalling her own escapades with the handsome bouncer brought a smile to her face.
Then she felt a hand on her ass. It belonged to a male with poorly manicured fingers. He was under six feet, given the span of his fingers, and inexperienced or selfish. Or both. He obviously didn’t know how to handle a woman. Looks meant nothing. Touch was everything to a succubus. Basing her decision solely on that, she didn’t bother to turn around and kept moving through the club. Whoever he was, he got the hint.
The crowd parted with a flash of her eyes and a playful come-hither-but-not-too-close grin. Humans were so easy to manipulate. Come when beckoned, stand back, and admire if you must -- when she didn’t want to be fawned over. So easy, it bored her to death at times. Times like this.
The dance floor was an undulating throng of flesh against flesh, pulsating to the heavy industrial techno music. It made the floor shake and sounded like Iron Maiden crossbred with Mozart and tied to an unending dance tempo. Some called it grinding, but it was all the same to Lilith. A lame excuse to rub against others.
Rather than skirt the dance floor, which occupied the greater part of the middle of the club, she wisped her way right down the middle. All along her path, she glided her magical fingertips across any flesh she encountered, uncaring of the injection of sexual pleasure it would cause. Some openly swooned; some moaned. One even came from her brief touch, and there was nothing better to Lilith than causing erotic pleasure in another. It was what her kind was built for.
Her mind, however, was focused on the infamous back room. It wasn’t marked, not advertised, and the authorities had no clue of its existence. But Lilith was in the know. You only got to the back room by invitation, and to say they were discriminating was an understatement.
Lilith was a celebrity at the club and not because she had slept with most of its clientele at one time or another. The back room featured the most beautiful erotic dancers, and Lilith would occasionally do a guest spot. The owner was more than willing to let a gorgeous hussy like her take the stage anytime she wanted to. It was good for business.
She did it for kicks more than the tips. It was easy for her to rake in four or five hundred bucks for a two-song set, but dancing was for the thrill and seeing how many in the audience she could get to come in their pants -- or panties, as the case might be.
This too had lost its appeal of late, and she visited the back room more often than not simply because it was the one place in the world where she could be herself. It was there humans would not suspect anything unusual about her. She was just a delicious little slut with barely any inhibitions. Just like everyone else at the club.
She felt distracted, unable to find the usual fun in dancing or taking her sexual delights in her pick of the night -- or picks, as the case might be. She had done every member of the back room at least twice, and her favorites, the dancers, at least ten times each. The dull ache in the back of her mind demanded she have a higher purpose, and it kept creeping back into her thoughts.
Tonight, however, she was doubly troubled. She couldn’t get her mind off finding something valuable or worthy in life, but she was also hungry. Her insatiable needs were guiding her to the one place she could feed them without worry. The back room was a guaranteed lay, and yet…the thought of it seemed so vacant and shallow. Her demonic half demanded it be sated, while the other dismally followed along, knowing it was a necessary, albeit enjoyable, evil.
Lilith crossed through the smoky back room toward the bar. Her gaze was half-blurred by the indigo black lights but came to rest on a girl bent halfway over a bar stool. Obviously she was a dancer, with such lovely curves and wearing the smallest miniskirt Lilith had ever seen. That in and of itself impressed her. No panties, she noted. Normally she wouldn’t be able to resist such a temptation. Fever laced through her body as her demon half reacted, but for once it wasn’t enough.
With a sigh, she straddled one of the vinyl-covered stools and hooked her elbows over the bar, clinging to it as if it might give back some of its stability. She let her eyes wander the length of it. Two men sat at one end, both watching her intently. Too bad for them, she thought. How strange it was that any other day of the year, both of them might have gotten luckier than they could ever imagine. Careful not to encourage them, she looked back in the other direction and only found the new dancer.
Something was just not right with her. Not right at all. It had felt like boredom. Now she could sense it went deeper. Whatever this mood was that blocked her naturally hyperactive sex drive was becoming an annoyance.
There had to be more to life than this, Lilith thought. Wasn’t there? Was she truly damned to a life of never-ending sexual exploitation? Skipping from one lover to the next? Would she ever find something more, something with substance and with meaning? How did it come to this? Lilith continued her philosophical self-interrogation and sighed, staring at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
The beautiful girl staring back at her wasn’t her. Gone was the fun-loving nymphomaniac who drank from the spirit of life without a care in the world. Ravenous, insatiable, and without an inhibition. Instead she saw a girl who was depressed, lonely, and in desperate need of something more.
I gotta find a distraction.
Looking down the bar at Gretchen, the bartender, who was perhaps the hottest redhead Lilith had seen in a decade, she nodded. Gretchen smiled as she approached and then frowned. The bartender was the closest Lilith had to a friend. The only person she could talk to who didn’t expect sex. They’d gone there, but it was nice to be able to just talk to someone.
“Your usual, Lil?” Gretchen asked as they both looked back to the two men still drooling over her dramatic entrance.
Of course, her usual, what else?
Lilith nodded, forcing herself not to flash a come-hither grin at her admirers. It was second nature to her, but for perhaps the first time in her life, she wasn’t in the mood. “You got anything that’ll put a smile on my lips?” she asked, trying not to let her depression project, and then added a wink at Gretchen. Flirting came far too easily, especially with the gorgeous bartender.
“God knows I’ve tried, Lil,” Gretchen said with a purr as she went to the task of mixing Lilith’s drink by hand. She had trained them well, and they knew she preferred handmade to premixed drinks.
“Yes, you have, my sweet one.” Lilith winked again, recalling the many times Gretchen had tried to return the sinful favors. How could one not love her enthusiasm, despite the futility -- and knowing the bartender was straight?
“You okay?” Gretchen asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
Lilith bit her lips to stop the sigh making a break for it. Was it obvious? “Naw, I’m good. Just…bored, I guess.”
“Lilith is bored?” Gretchen asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lilith turned back as she watched the bartender mixing her Long Island iced tea. This time the sigh got past her lips. She felt her shoulders slump, and a pain welled in her chest. What the fuck was that?
“Hey, Lilith, what’s wrong?” Gretchen’s green eyes misted with concern. Lilith was touched. No one in her life had ever been concerned with anything other than how to get into her pants.
“I dunno.” And she didn’t. Something deep down inside was clawing its way up her throat from her heart, and she was afraid to let it out.
“Here. Take a drink, deep breath, then tell Gretchen all about it, sweetie,” the bartender said with a smile as she slid the tall drink in front of Lilith.
Thankful for the painkiller, she lifted the glass and sucked down half the drink in a single gulp.
“Whoa, Lil. Careful, hon.”
“Thanks. I needed that,” Lilith said with a faked smile. And then the floodgates opened. “Everyone wants to fuck me.” The pain, the confusion, whatever the hell it was, just spilled out of her.
Gretchen laughed and nodded, then slowly came to a pause and looked at Lilith intently. The redhead’s smile faded, sensing Lilith wasn’t playing around and the distress was genuine.
“Lil. Of course they do. You’re gorgeous, and… I mean. Come on, Lil. You… I mean, you invite them,” Gretchen said, wincing at her own words as if she knew they would sting Lilith. And they did.
“I’m a slut,” Lilith said with a sigh, then looked down at her drink and sneered at it.
A lot of fucking help you are.
“I am. Aren’t I?”
“Lil, honey. Don’t feel like that.”
“I’ve slept with everyone in this bar at least twice.”
“No. I am. I’m nothing more than a slut.”
Gretchen sighed and placed a warm hand on Lilith’s. There was no denying it. Everyone knew she was. She knew she was and had always known it to be true. It was the nature of a succubus.
“Lil, sweetie. Listen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t even like girls, but you… I mean, wow,” she said, blushing at her confession. Lilith managed a half smile, recalling the first time she’d seduced Gretchen. Things like that used to be a high for her. But if a relationship went deeper than just sex, her friendship with the bartender was the closest possibility.
“But that’s it. I’m nothing more. Nothing else to me. I’m just a fuck.”
“No, Lil. Everyone loves you.”
“Yeah, ’cause I put out.”
“It’s not just that,” Gretchen said, and a silence fell over them both. They both knew there was little truth to the objection. Lilith didn’t know how to relate to people in any manner other than sexually.
Lilith slammed the rest of her drink and nodded to indicate the need of another. Gretchen patted Lilith’s hand tenderly, slipped the empty glass into the rack for cleaning, and started fixing a new one.
“I’ll be okay. I’m just in a weird mood. It’ll pass.” Lilith flashed her most brilliant smile, the one she could summon anytime she wished and melt the knees out from under anyone. Gretchen swooned under its magic and nodded in agreement. Talking about her inability to resist her hypersexual nature only made it worse, and Lilith was done with the gut-wrenching feeling it caused. Time to get back to her mission. Finding something, someone to take her mind off her depression.
“Lil, I mean… We’re friends. You need to talk; I’m here. Always.” Gretchen slid the fresh Long Island iced tea across the bar to Lilith and smiled. Warmth grazed over Lilith’s heart. No one had ever cared for her like that.
“Thanks. I’ll be okay. I don’t know where that came from. Now, what’s on the menu tonight?” Lilith laughed off her earlier turmoil, burying it back down deep inside, and let her gaze sweep over the crowd.
“Cherry’s new,” Gretchen said, nodding down the bar toward the dancer. “I know how much you like, ummm…new…” She let the words trail off.
Lilith faked another smile, understanding. She always christened new people to the back room at the club, so naturally Gretchen assumed Lilith would want to take the dancer on. It was usually a delight, tasting someone she hadn’t had before. But it was too easy. No one had ever refused her -- ever. So where was the fun in that?
“I’ll find something.” Lilith laughed, trying desperately to be her old self -- the insatiable hussy they all knew her to be.
The bar’s back room was an elongated rectangular space ringed with booths along its north, west, and east walls. The bar was against the south wall. The south and north walls were the longer ones. The small stage was in the middle of the north wall. It was barely big enough for twelve seats to cozy up to the rack and maintain a single brass pole in its center.
The denizens of the back room were generous tippers, and the infamous club attracted only the highest quality of dancers to its sanctum. The money was good for dancers who could meet the audience’s expectations, and the club’s members were respectful of the lovelies. Technically the entertainers were off-limits and not to be touched unless they wished it. It was the only true rule.
Lilith wasn’t one for rules, particularly ones that conflicted with her nature as a demon of lust. The rule about not touching the dancers? She obviously ignored that one. In fact, she did pretty much anything she liked and never once had a girl protested. Gender and sexual preference were not obstacles to the charms of a succubus.
It was a quiet night, and the only action seemed to be Jamie taming her latest victim. She was at one of the booths. Her newfound worshipper had dropped to his knees while she gyrated her triple-pierced folds a mere inch from his mouth. It was a sweet torment because he was not allowed to touch.
Watching for a moment brought a smile to Lilith’s lips, but nothing more. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever being this depressed. Not even her teen memories of living on the streets were this dismal. Moving to the rack, she took an empty seat and sipped the potent drink Gretchen had concocted for her. Venus was onstage, and Lilith stared absentmindedly at her. She let her mind wander.
Venus was a gorgeous, tall, long-legged, mocha-skinned goddess. Half-black, half-Asian, with a pair of the nicest breasts Lilith had ever seen. Lilith loved real breasts. Fake ones didn’t respond the way they should. She smiled warmly as Venus dropped to her knees and undulated her nimble body in a sensual roll for Lilith. She took another sip, sighed for the millionth time that night, and tossed a ten spot onto the rack. If a goddesslike girl such as Venus couldn’t lift her spirits, there was no hope at all.
Venus simply winked and moved on to Marty, who as usual was pumping himself inside his long trench coat. He loved to jack off at the rack, one of those whose kink it was just to watch. The girls had long ago given up complaining, so long as he didn’t get his mess on them or the stage. On occasion Lilith would join by pulling up a chair and fingering herself beside him. Not tonight.
And so there it was. A typical night in the back room of Gothic City Lights and none of it held her attention for more than a brief moment. She looked around, desperate for something new, something different. Anything.
Any damn thing.
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© Copyright 2009, Brindle Chase. All rights reserved.