The air in the Heritage Hotel suite was too heavy for a desert night. It wasn't just the heat of the Rajasthan sun trapped in the ancient stone; it was the feeling of being watched by something that hadn't breathed in a thousand years.
I had my partner—a woman I'd met while touring the ramparts of the fortress earlier that afternoon—pinned against the mahogany desk. She was a beautiful distraction, all soft curves and eager gasps, but as a psychologist, I couldn't help but notice the way her pupils blown wide. Not just with lust, but with a strange, subsonic vibration that seemed to be humming through the floorboards.
I didn't care. I needed the release.
I hiked her skirt up, my hands calloused from the day's trek as I gripped her thighs and guided myself home. The first slide was a friction-filled shock, her soaking wetness a welcome contrast to the dry heat of the room.
"Oh god," she whimpered, her head falling back, her throat a pale line in the amber lamplight.
I started a steady, rhythmic grind, my cock sliding through the thick coating of her arousal, bottoming out with a heavy thud that echoed against the stone walls. I was focused on the sensation of her tightening around me, the way her internal muscles spasmed in a desperate attempt to hold onto the intrusion.
But then, I saw it.
In the corner of the room, where the shadows of the heavy velvet curtains met the floor, something moved. It wasn't a shadow. It was a silhouette of a woman—taller, sharper, and radiating a predatory stillness.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my body didn't stop. If anything, the voyeuristic pressure made me harder. I increased the pace, my thrusts becoming more violent, more rhythmic. The wet, slapping sound of our bodies colliding filled the silence, but my eyes were locked on the darkness.
"Who's there?" I rasped, my voice thick with the rising heat in my gut.
My partner didn't answer; she was too far gone, her eyes rolled back as she begged for the climax I was purposely withholding.
Then, a voice drifted from the shadows—silky, melodic, and cold enough to frost the windows.
"A psychologist who enjoys the 'Open' view," the voice mocked. "Tell me, mortal... do you always perform this well when the Reaper is taking notes?"
I froze, my cock still buried deep within the girl, but the Succubus Queen didn't wait for my permission. She stepped forward, her violet eyes glowing like dying embers in the dark.
…
The Queen stepped into the pool of light, and the girl beneath me went suddenly, unnervingly still.
Her eyes remained open, but the light in them had vanished, replaced by a hazy, silver fog. She was a living doll now, a vessel for the Queen's amusement.
"Don't stop," the Queen commanded. Her voice felt like a physical caress against my skin.
"I want to see if the mind of a doctor is as disciplined as his body."
I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. My pulse was a thundering drum, and my cock felt like it was made of lead—heavy, throbbing, and dangerously close to the edge.
I began to move again, but the rhythm had changed. It was no longer about the girl.
I watched the Queen as she circled the desk. She was a vision of predatory perfection. Her skin was the color of moonlight, and as she moved, the air around her seemed to warp with heat.
I slammed back into the girl, the wet, suctioning sound of our friction filling the stone chamber.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
"Yes," the Queen whispered, leaning over the girl's shoulder. Her violet eyes were inches from mine. "I can feel the cortisol spiking in your blood. The fear is making your prostate ache, isn't it?"
She reached out, her long, dark nails tracing the line of my spine. The touch was freezing and boiling at the same time.
My back arched involuntarily. I buried myself to the hilt, my balls tight against the girl's seat as I ground my hips in a desperate circle.
The coating of arousal was so thick now it was dripping onto the dark wood of the desk.
"She's so tight," I managed to rasp, my breath coming in jagged hitches. "Please..."
"Please what, Doctor?" The Queen's hand moved lower, slipping between our joined bodies.
She felt the place where we were connected—the sliding, slick heat of my entry. Her fingers were like ice against my burning skin.
"Do you want to come inside this little human? Or do you want to see what a Goddess feels like?"
She gripped my cock through the girl's body, her supernatural strength squeezing me just enough to make my vision blur.
I was begging now. Not with words, but with the frantic, terminal pace of my thrusts.
"Beg for it," she hissed, her teeth grazing my earlobe. "Beg me to let you spill."
I was lost. The psychological distance I usually kept was shattered. I was just a man, drowning in a sea of supernatural lust and ancient stone.
…
The pressure was unbearable.
Every time I slammed home, the Queen's fingers tightened, a supernatural grip that felt like it was milking the very marrow from my bones.
"I... I'm going to—"
"Not yet," she growled.
She leaned down, her lips capturing the girl's mouth, but her eyes never left mine. I felt the girl's body convulse, her internal muscles clenching around me in a rhythmic, agonizing spasm.
It was too much. The friction was a white-hot flame, the sound of our joined bodies a wet, frantic echo against the heritage stone.
"Please!" I finally broke. "Let me! Queen... please!"
She laughed, a dark, melodic sound that vibrated through my chest.
"Call me Lilith. And tell me what you are willing to give for this release."
"Anything!" I screamed, my hips moving in a blind, savage blur.
"Anything you want! Just... now!"
Lilith smiled, a predatory flash of teeth. She released her grip on my shaft and shoved the girl forward, pinning her even harder against the desk.
"Then spill, mortal. Fill her with your desperation."
I didn't just come. I exploded.
My body went rigid, a violent jolt of electricity racing from the base of my spine to the tip of my cock. I felt the hot, thick jet of my arousal pumping into the girl, over and over, until I was hollow.
I was gasping, my forehead pressed against the girl's damp shoulder, my legs shaking so hard I could barely stand.
Lilith didn't pull away. She leaned in, her tongue catching a stray drop of sweat from my temple.
"A psychologist," she whispered, her voice a sultry caress. "You understand the mind. But now, you will learn the true depth of the soul's hunger."
I looked up, my vision swimming. The girl was still in a trance, her head lolling to the side, but Lilith was glowing.
She looked at the desk, where the pool of our arousal had spread across the ancient wood.
"You've qualified, Doctor. You have the stamina. You have the hunger."
She reached out, her hand wrapping around my throat—not to choke, but to claim.
"Now, the real work begins. We have worlds to ruin."
Before I could speak, the room began to dissolve. The stone walls of the hotel bled into a swirling vortex of violet light and shadow.
The girl vanished. The bed vanished.
There was only the Queen, the heat, and the terrifying promise of what came next.