Page 66 of Shifted Desire

He’s forced to step back as I start the car, and I watch in my rearview as he stares at me, posture rigid as I pull out of the parking garage.

I’m still agitated when I get home, thankful that there’s no sign of my parents as I make a beeline to my bedroom.

My skin still burns with embarrassment and frustration, and I strip off my clothes and turn on the ceiling fan, needing to do something to cool down my overheated senses. Flopping down on my bed with a groan, I stare up at the fan blades as they rotate, the metal chain attached to the light rattling in a way that’s never been fixed in the decades since I last lived here.

The cool air and the repetitive chain-shaking help ground me. I’m still embarrassed, but it’s centered less on Nathan’s behavior and more on my own. I know better, and it’s supremely annoying that I let myself get caught up in the moment and consider that maybe there could be more to what’s going on with Nathan than sex. That maybe we could be…

I’m not even sure what. Friends with excellent benefits? Fuck buddies that maybe snuggle sometimes and talk to each other about deep shit?

I know for damn sure we can’t be anything romantic, because I don’t do that and even if I did, Nathan would be the last person on earth I should have a romantic entanglement with.

I should know better.

People want me for fun. They want what my body can give them. And that’s fine, because that’s all I’m willing to give. I’ve learned over the years not to expect anything more.

Sure, maybe in my childish fantasies about Nathan, I had a vision of him sweeping me off my feet and being the one person who would see me for who I am at my core because he’s older and wiser and beyond all the fuckboy behavior of my contemporaries. But I’m older and wiser, and know that no matter how nice Nathan is, he’s no different. No matter how good and natural it feels to be around him, how safe he makes me feel most of the time, he’ll never be something more. Because he can’t be, and I doubt he’d want to.

“Sam, did I hear you come in⁠—”

I don’t register the sound of my mom opening the door until it’s too late. I scramble to grab a blanket to cover myself up with, but not before she sees me sprawled out on the bed, naked as the day I was born.

“Oh! Sorry, peanut.” She closes the door, but not all the way, leaving a crack to speak to me through. There’s a brief pause. “Everything okay?”

I’m confused by her question, since it’s not like it’s the first time my nosy mom has accidentally walked in on me, and nudity isn’t the big deal it is for most humans when you’re a succubus.

Then I remember the words written on my skin.

Oh fucking hells, my mom saw that I have “cumslut” written on my stomach in bright red marker.

“I’m fine!” I squeak, the flames of embarrassment flaring back to life.

“Okay. I’m glad.” There’s another long pause, and I think maybe she’s going to leave, but the door creaks open. I tug the blanket around myself more securely.

“You know if there’s ever anything you want to talk about with me, I’m here.”

I frown at her. “I know.”

She gives me a weak smile, and there’s more than a bit of concern in her eyes. “If anyone ever does something you’re not comfortable with, or pushes you…”

“Gods, mom, seriously?” I groan.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, sweetie. If what you’re doing is consensual, then that’s wonderful, but I want to make sure you’re doing it safely and no one is pressuring you because of what you are.”

“Thanks, but you’re about twenty years too late with this conversation. You didn’t worry about me then, so there’s no point in worrying about me now.”

Her mouth falls open in shock at my sharp words. “I worried about you. I tried to talk to you about it, but you never wanted to hear it from me…” Tears well in her eyes, and my stomach churns with guilt, even as my anger spurs me on.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d tried a little harder, I wouldn’t be so fucked up.”

As soon as I let the bitter words out, I want to suck them back in. Erase them before they can hurt her, because it’s not her fault and I know it. She did try, but I wouldn’t listen. I was so resistant to hearing anything about sex from her because of what she is. I hated that she gave me the succubus blood that made me an object of desire. That made me feel like there was no point resisting people who wanted to use me for their pleasure because that’s what I’m made for.

Tears spill down her cheeks. “I…I’m so sorry. I don’t think you're fucked up and I wasn’t judging you. I just want you to be safe and happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m sorry I didn’t do enough or make you feel safe enough to talk to me.”

“Don’t be sorry.” My voice is still too harsh, and I force myself to soften it. “I’m sorry.”

I sigh, heart aching as she wipes her cheeks. “It’s not your fault you’re a succubus. You tried, and I never would’ve listened because you being a succubus was the reason why I am the way I am, and I resented that too much to let you in.”

“I could’ve done more,” she protests. “I could’ve had your father talk to you about it. I could’ve told Xae to check in more with you, or asked your sisters to help. I…I never imagined when I had kids that they’d all…” She sucks in a shuddering breath. “That they’d struggle with being part-succubus. It was selfish of me not to see how hard it would be. I’ll never regret being a mother, but I’ll always regret not understanding how deeply what I am—what I gave you—affects your happiness. I’m so sorry.”