Page 28 of Shifted Desire

Gods, what a pretty picture she paints, the sliver of cleavage exposed by her top flushed pink. The color she is when she’s in her monster form, I think, unhelpfully, because the reminder that a part-succubus is on her knees for me only ramps up my arousal.

Samantha notices me staring at her breasts, and her lips quirk into a slanted smile. I want to protest as she removes a hand from my thigh, already missing her touch, but she uses it to unbutton two more buttons of her blouse before resting it back on my leg. “That better?”

“Fuck,” I mutter, allowing myself a quick moment to stare at the swell of her breasts and the hint of her lacy white bra, before looking back at her face.

I’m trembling, my body a riot of adrenaline and instinct and anxiety, that only gets worse when she slides a palm until she’s cupping me over my slacks.

“Mmm, I can feel you throbbing for me already.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and it takes everything in me not to thrust up pathetically against her touch.

She squeezes gently, and I grit my teeth to keep from moaning.

This is so wrong on multiple levels, but fuck it feels right to my instincts and my weeping dick.

I stare, mouth falling open as she undoes the button of my pants and carefully tugs down the zipper, reaching in to extract my length with confidence, the moment unfolding like some taboo porno I would’ve avoided at all costs. The urge to pinch myself rises because this can’t be real.

Mental images of hauling her up and shoving up her skirt and slamming her on my dick like I did back at the club rise as my monster grows impatient, but I shove them aside.

Samantha runs her fingers along my dick with a feather-light touch that makes me shiver and spurt pre-cum. She swipes up the moisture and swirls it around the head teasingly. “Would it help if I put my mouth on you, Sir?”

“Gods, don’t say that,” I groan.

She grins, more liquid leaking from my dick at the mischievous slant of her lips. “You don’t like it when I call you ‘Sir’?”

“It’s inappropriate,” I say through gritted teeth, unable to bear hearing her say that. Realizing I’m only feeding into her amusement by protesting.

Her laugh is husky.

Dangerous.

It’s the sound of a woman who knows she has me exactly where she wants me and has no qualms about using that to her advantage.

It’s also the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever heard.

“You’re right. You’re not my boss yet.” Her expression twists into one of mock seriousness, brow furrowing. “What should I call you instead? Because Daddy doesn’t seem right, and I never liked calling you Unc⁠—”

“You don’t have to call me anything if you stop talking and put my dick in your mouth,” I growl, unwilling to hear her call me that while her face is flush with my erection.

She laughs again and then, oh fuck, her mouth is on me, and the vibrations of her laughter shift to a muffled moan that makes me curse.

The sight of her pouty pink lips wrapped around the head of my dick while her eyes sparkle up at me in delight is going to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. It’ll be what the gods show me as evidence for why I’ve ended up somewhere in the hells to be tortured for eternity for being a perverted, sick bastard.

Samantha grips my thighs as she hollows her cheeks and takes me halfway, then drags back up and flicks the underside of my tip with her tongue before popping off.

“You taste good,” she murmurs, and there’s no artifice or teasing in her tone. Just an honest observation that makes me inexplicably pleased.

My hands tremble with the need to grab the back of my head and push her down on me to get relief from the tension singing in my blood.

She tracks the anxious shaking with keen eyes. “If you need something to hold on to, you can keep my hair out of my face. But don’t tug too hard or I’ll stop.”

She scoops her long, icy-blond hair into a bunch with one hand and gives me an expectant look. I wrap my fingers around it from the other side, our fingertips interlacing for a moment, electricity lancing through me at the contact, before she pulls away.

Satisfied her hair is out of the way, Samantha holds my gaze and spits on my dick.

“Gods,” I groan, loving how filthy her saliva looks dripping down my length. Hating how it makes me want to make things even dirtier. Wondering what kind of kinky shit she’s into.

Would she like me spitting in her mouth while I held her down by the throat and fucked her? Or would she be the one pinning me in place and spitting into mine? I’ve never been into those things before, but it’s unbearably hot when I imagine it with her.

She puts her fingers to her lips. “Can you keep quiet?” she murmurs, using her fist to work her saliva up and down my shaft. “Our agreement won’t work if you let the whole office know what we’re doing in here.”