Supernatural Sex Story of a Succubus Who Hunts Three More

The mirror in the hallway had been cracked for as long as Elena could remember, but tonight the break in the glass glowed a faint ember red. She stood in her apartment with a glass of wine in her hand and felt the air change, warm and heavy, like the moment before a summer storm. Behind her, a voice said her name as if it were something to be tasted.

The woman who stepped out of the shadows was tall and unhurried, with dark curls, amber eyes and a smile that promised trouble. She said she had been called a succubus in many centuries and many languages, and that she preferred being called Mara. Elena should have been afraid. Instead she felt a slow, curious heat gather low in her stomach, because Mara looked at her the way no one ever had, as though every secret wish she had ever buried was written plainly on her skin.

Mara did not rush. She traced a fingertip along Elena's wrist, then her collarbone, and the candles on the shelf flared to life one by one. Elena set the wine down with a shaking hand. When their mouths finally met, the room seemed to exhale. Mara kissed with patient hunger, drawing out every sigh, every shiver, until Elena was pulling her closer and whispering that she did not want her to stop.

They moved to the bedroom in a haze of silk and moonlight. Mara's touch was impossibly sure, mapping Elena's body as if she had studied it in dreams, which, she admitted with a low laugh, she had. Shadows curled around the bedposts like smoke. Elena arched into every caress, lost in a pleasure that felt both ancient and brand new, and she gave in to it completely, willingly, with her eyes wide open.

Near dawn, the ember glow faded from the mirror and Mara lay beside her, tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. She promised nothing and warned of nothing, only smiled and said that some invitations are answered more than once. Elena watched the first light climb the walls and realized she was already hoping the glass would glow again tomorrow night.