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I’d thought I’d fucked up when I tried to explain that I didn’t enjoy sex. That for me, it had always been about survival, something necessary but never something fulfilling. That the next time I was intimate with someone, it would be because I wanted to, not because I had to.

And—fuck—I wanted her to know.

I wanted her to see what she’d done to me. That being with her had been the first time I’d ever felt pure, unfiltered pleasure—pleasure that had nothing to do with feeding.

That I was choosing her.

I hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to meet my gaze.

Her lips were kiss-swollen, her pupils still dilated with the remnants of pleasure.

I wanted to tell her that she was perfect. That she was the only partner I’d ever enjoyed being intimate with... more than enjoyed. That she was funny and brilliant and made me feel like I was finally settling into my own skin... like I wasn’t just some incubus surviving off scraps of desire.

That I was falling for her.

But saying any of that out loud would only complicate things. She already had too much on her plate—too much to figure out,too much to heal from. The last thing she needed was a pining, love-sick incubus making things harder. So instead, I pressed my lips to hers and lingered there.

A plea for more, even if I couldn’t say it.

I pulled back just enough to brush my nose against hers. “C’mon, little witch. Let’s get you home.”

***

I woke to an irate BooDini hovering at the foot of my bed, clutching the ruined blanket in one hand while the other pointed accusingly at the deep gouge marks scarring the fabric.

“Morning,” I mumbled, stretching my arms above my head, my body languid from the best sleep of my entire existence.

BooDini ruffled its sheets, vibrating with silent judgment.

“Sorry, BooDini,” I said with an unbothered sigh.

But BooDini wasn’t having it. It flapped the blanket dramatically, demanding an explanation.

A slow, dreamy grin spread across my lips as my mind conjured the memory of Jen—bare, flushed, trembling beneath me.

“I got a little... carried away last night,” I admitted, my voice still thick with sleep and satisfaction.

BooDini froze. Its cutout eyes narrowed in deep suspicion before it slowly turned back to the ruined blanket, tilting its head in silent contemplation.

I could see the dots connecting.

Its eyes widened. A sheeted hand flew to where a mouth should be. And then BooDini, holding the blanket at a distance, glided out of the room at a speed that suggested either sheer embarrassment or overwhelming glee.

I chuckled, shaking my head.

“What’s up with BooDini?” I turned at the sound of Jen’s voice, finding her head poking from around the doorframe, her hair a wild mess from sleep, wearing nothing but my oversized shirt.

And just like that, I was fucking ruined all over again.

My breath hitched at the sight of her, my body reacting on instinct—a flood of desire and need coursing through my veins.

Jen, bare-legged and still wearing my shirt like she belonged in it.

Fuck.

I’d wanted to spend the night with her. Wanted to wrap my arms around her, pull her against me, and fall asleep to the scent of her lingering desire. But I hadn’t trusted myself. Not when the mere thought of her had me aching with the need to bury my face between her legs again and make her scream my name until sunrise. And definitely not when I had barely resisted the urge to blurt out“I think I love you.”

So instead, I’d left her at her bedroom door, pressing a lingering, torturous kiss to her lips before forcing myself to walk away.