Chapters (34)
- Cover
- Table of Contents
- Also by Richelle Mead
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Succubus Heat
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Other’s Books by Richelle Mead’s
It was another sign of how well we knew each other that I realized he wasn’t worried about asking permission about what came next. He was worried about my back again. So, shifting over, I rolled him to his back and straddled him, looking down at him with a small smile. He gave me an answering one, amused by my ready solution. As we held gazes, I was again overwhelmed with the emotion of the experience, of how indescribable it was to finally touch someone I loved. I had been terrified at the thought of dying, but I realized then that I was only afraid of dying uselessly. For Seth, to save him, I would have gladly laid down my life. He was right. We were connected in something bigger than both of us.
Empowered by that realization, I lowered my hips, joining us at last. I felt him enter me, felt him fill me up. We both paused then, neither breathing or moving, half-expecting something to happen or end this. Nothing did, and after that, I didn’t hesitate any further. I slowly moved my hips up and down, savoring the feel of him in me and underneath me as he glided in and out. My hands were on his chest and his were on my hips. Our eyes were on each other, never wavering, never breaking contact.
How to describe sex with Seth? It’s difficult. It was unlike anything I’d had in my existence as a succubus. Somewhere, in the back of my head, it resonated with memories of my marriage, when my husband and I had still been happy. Every other instance after that had been lacking . . . until now. Each movement and touch with Seth was a dream, a wonder.
The intensity of our lovemaking steadily increased. My need for him grew stronger and stronger, and I rode him with a ferocity that was still tender and full of the love that burned between us. I loved the feel of him, loved how I could thrust him into me, hard and deep. And yet . . .
“It’s not enough,” I murmured. “We’re still not close enough.” It might have been a foolish sentiment, considering we were as physically close as two people could be. But Seth understood.
“I know,” he gasped. “I know. We’ll never be close enough.”