Page 14
Story: Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus (Briar Coven #2)
I woke bleary eyed the next morning. My dreams had been dominated by images of Jen and me reenacting her scenes. Heat flared in my chest, rolling through my body like a slow burn, pooling low in my gut.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to offer my help in such a physical way, but in the moment, it had felt so right. Showing her rather than telling. Feeling her body shift beneath mine, the soft catch of her breath, the way her lips parted when she—
I exhaled sharply, willing the images away, but my cock gave an unhelpful twitch beneath the covers.
You’re just excited to finally have contact with someone who won’t react to your incubus touch.
Logical. But it did little to soothe the raw edge of hunger stirring under my skin.
I ran a hand down my face, forcing a deep breath. I needed to get my head on straight before I so much as looked at her today. Before we tackled the next scene.
Boundaries.
I made a mental note to speak to her, to have them firmly in place before we moved forward. And yet, even as I made that promise to myself, my traitorous mind wandered back to the scene we were meant to work on today.
Mina and Kieran had been traveling for days, the push and pull between them growing taut with every mile.
Kieran, unable to ignore the scent of Mina’s desire any longer, had finally snapped—choosing to take himself away from camp, under the guise of dividing tasks, just to find relief from the ache clawing under his skin.
He hadn’t realized she’d had the same idea.
That, tucked behind a boulder, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers between her thighs, she was fighting the same battle.
And that she could see him.
My body instinctively reacted, heat curling deep in my belly as my cock thickened further. I groaned, shifting onto my back, throwing an arm over my eyes.
I had to come up with a way to help Jen improve her scene—something better than her version of:
Mina’s scent followed him wherever he went, and his wolf howled for relief from the torment. Kieran found a clearing, her scent lingering even there. With no other option, he undid the fastenings of his pants and grasped his length, running his hands up and down his manhood until he found release.
While I was well-read, I wasn’t a writer. I didn’t have the creative vocabulary to help Jen describe the scene in a way that would make it feel real. I could show her what Kieran should be feeling, how his body would react, the primal frustration clawing at his control. But words?
Showing her was all I had.
But there was a thin line between reenacting a scene to help her visualize it and being the weird sex demon who suggests jerking off in front of the witch who let him stay in her house.
Boundaries.
Set boundaries. Confirm boundaries. Stick to boundaries.
That was all I had to do.
My stomach let out a soft gurgle, and I glanced at the alarm clock.
Almost midday. Still too early for an incubus to rise.
I tossed and turned, stubbornly trying to drift back to sleep, but it was useless.
The image of Jen, the way she leaned into me, lips parting, as if for a fleeting moment she had forgotten we were merely reenacting a scene, was etched into the back of my eyelids.
My stomach gurgled again. Maybe mortal food would help?
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I grabbed a T-shirt from the neatly folded pile BooDini had left for me—totally not creeped out that it had been in my room as I slept—and tugged it on as I padded toward the kitchen.
I’d never made human food before, but I’d seen my friend Lochran make pancakes a handful of times. It didn’t seem too complicated.
Only a few ingredients.
How hard could it be?
***
Pancakes were fucking hard to make.
The first batch was crunchy on account of all the eggshell I forgot to remove. The second batch was a gluey mess—too much milk. The third batch almost broke my teeth—not enough milk.
Just as I was about to attempt the potentially catastrophic batch number four, the back door rattled.
A glum BooDini glided in, its sheets drooping with exhaustion as if it had been up all night, eyes widening in horror as it took in the state of the kitchen.
Its cutout eyes narrowed into a scowl as it waved its arm furiously at me.
“Sorry,” I muttered, shoving a mixing bowl aside in a half-hearted attempt to clean. “I was just trying to make some pancakes for Jen and me.”
BooDini seemed to soften somewhat at my statement and shooed me toward the table before it waved its arms like a conductor.
Eggs cracked themselves into a bowl while milk and flour measured themselves out with precision.
A whisk bobbed out of the drawer, floating into the bowl and expertly combining the batter.
I slumped into a chair, rubbing the back of my neck.
The mouthwatering scent of pancakes filled the kitchen, thick and sweet, and—judging by the soft creak of floorboards overhead—it was enough to rouse Jen from sleep. BooDini plated up the stacks of pancakes and floated them over to the table just as a loud yawn sounded from the living room.
Jen walked in, and I had to physically stop my jaw from going slack.
Gone were the baggy sweats and oversized T-shirt.
In their place was a tight tank top clinging to her curves, barely-there shorts that showed off an expanse of soft, supple skin, and her ever-present, threadbare black hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder.
Eyes still closed, she stretched—lifting onto the balls of her feet, arms reaching skyward in a lazy arch. She was so damn short, the tips of her fingers didn’t even come close to grazing the doorframe, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
My gaze dragged down, following the slow pull of movement—over the taut lines of her calves, the flex of muscle as she balanced, the rounded curve of her thighs.
All I could think about was kneeling at her feet.
Running my tongue up the length of her legs.
Pressing my mouth against the place barely covered by those tiny fucking shorts.
My fingers pressed into my thighs, my pulse hammering as her tank top rode up, exposing the tempting curve beneath her navel—skin that begged to be tasted, to feel the slow scrape of my teeth before I—
Cool it, Devlin. She isn’t interested. She is just the first woman you’ve spent any significant time with who isn’t affected by your incubus touch. That is all. Just a novelty. Nothing more.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away, but the image of her was already burned into the back of my mind.
Jen finished her yawn, freezing mid-stretch as her hazel eyes landed on me.
A flush crept up her cheeks, and she fumbled with the zipper of her hoodie, dragging it up to her neck in a quick, jerky motion. “Sorry,” she mumbled, not quite meeting my gaze. “I thought you might be out exploring the town.”
Leaving the cabin hadn’t even crossed my mind. The vague plan for my day had been to hang around until Jen was ready to impart some dating wisdom, then move on to scene two.
“If you want me to go, I can...” I said, awkwardly trailing off.
Jen slid into the seat opposite me, her gaze flicking to the steaming stack of pancakes. “You made breakfast?” A note of surprise laced her voice. “I thought incubus demons were notorious for their inability to cook human food.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “For a witch, you seem to know an awful lot about incubus demons.”
“I’ve known a few in my time,” she said, her tone clipped.
A sharp prickle of jealousy flared in my chest, unexpected and irrational, at the thought of one of my kind touching her, of another incubus feeling the heat of her skin, tasting the desire on her lips, drawing pleasure from her body...
It was ridiculous. I had no claim over her. No reason to care. Besides, I had a mate out there somewhere. A witch of my own.
A witch who doesn’t want you, Devlin , a cruel voice called from the depths of my mind.
A low, throaty moan slipped from Jen’s lips, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. The sound was sinful —soft, breathy, laced with the kind of satisfaction that sent a sharp jolt straight to my cock. I clenched my jaw, grateful for the solid wooden table concealing my very obvious reaction.
Fuck.
If that was the sound she made over pancakes, what would she sound like when truly lost in pleasure? When her breath caught in her throat, when her body trembled, when she came apart beneath someone’s touch— beneath my touch ...
“Good?” I rasped, my voice strained, betraying just how much restraint it took to keep my thoughts in check.
Jen licked syrup from the corner of her lip and nodded, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on me, and I had to bite back a groan.
My voice was a low, seductive roll as I asked, “Any of them make you pancakes?”
You haven’t even made her pancakes, Devlin, I reminded myself. BooDini made these.
“I... er... rewrote that scene we practiced last night,” Jen said, her cheeks flushing in an obvious bid to change the subject. “Thanks for your help. It reads so much better now.”
I straightened, the sudden shift in her demeanor sending a prickle of unease down my spine. I didn’t need my ability to read emotions to tell that she was uncomfortable.
“About that,” I said, a knot forming in my stomach.
“I should’ve asked if you were okay with reenacting it first. I think I got.
.. carried away.” I swallowed hard. “I was just so thrown by the fact that my magic doesn’t affect you, I didn’t stop to consider whether you were comfortable with it.
I don’t want you to feel like I overstepped,” I added. “If I did, just tell me.”
Brace yourself, Devlin. This is where she tells you it was inappropriate, that if you pull something like that again, you’ll be out on your ass.
To my surprise, Jen said, “Actually, acting it out really helped with my visualization of the scene.”
Table of Contents
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- Page 14 (Reading here)
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