Page 5 of Soul Redeemed
“I can get them to come,” he went on, “I’m just saying it’s not the same. It’s like pseudocoming. Two pussies and a threesome, though? Imagine the possibilities.”
“Sounds like a lot of work to me.”
“Says the asshole who only has to breathe to make a female climax. Seriously, how in Obsidius do you not have an orgy in your room every night? If I’d been born an incubus, I sure as shit wouldn’t be moping around as much as you do.”
“How much longer before you can get laid again?”
“Doc says another week and my dick’s open for business. I’ll be offering up shots of Vitamin Z like its fucking flu season, baby.”
“Great. Refrain from talking to me for a week, then.”
Zeke surely wasn’t helping the situation, and if Calix didn’t distance himself from all the sex talk, he’d end up banging a hole in the wall before the night was over.
“What’s your problem lately, Brother?” Zeke twisted to face him, as Calix rose up from the barstool. “Maybe you need to recharge your battery. Ava’s Fallen, right? Hook up with one of their kind. You know they can make themselves look like anyone you want. I hooked up with one a few months back, asked her to turn herself into Scarlett Johansen—”
“You’re right.” Through the fog of his musing, a thought struck Calix. A Fallen angel could create whatever fantasy he wanted. As an incubus, Calix had the power to do the same, just not his own fantasies. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to touch her. Just seeing Ava would help him get off. Then maybe he could give up the notion of trying to find her. Because the fact was, if Ava wanted to be found, she knew how to get in touch with Calix. All she had to do was think of him.
And as much as he’d obsessed over her the last few weeks, one thing was clear: she hadn’t thought of him once.
He patted Zeke’s back. “Shit, I’m actually glad I hung out with you tonight.”
Zeke’s brows pinched as he hiked his elbow onto the bar-top. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
3
The woman dangled from a ceiling cable with a ball gag in her mouth, her back carrying the welts and cuts of whatever torment she’d suffered. Soft red lights touched every corner of the room, illuminating all the torture devices it held: whips, paddles, cages and prods, electrostimulation devices. All seemingly normal items one would find in a proper BDSM club, except one thing—a safe word. They didn’t exist in the kind of club where Calix had ventured.
The Fallen were sick bastards.
It’d be hard to determine whether the woman—tethered at her throat to a collar, with her legs spread-eagled, her nipples clamped and arms bound behind her in a painful looking knot—had been willing to participate, or not. Asking her would be futile, since the sadist who slammed into her from behind had likely charmed her. She’d undoubtedly say she enjoyed the torture. Though, unfortunately, not every woman who ventured inside was charmed to know the difference. Some women came to the club as dolcetts—those with sick gynophasia fantasies, who didn’t realize until it was too fucking late that some species take that shit seriously.
A crowd had gathered around the room, eyes riveted on the scene that played out, which thankfully appeared to be nothing more than hardcore BDSM and rough sex. Calix couldn’t stand by and watch the guy gut her open or rip out her spine, which happened to be considered good fun for the Fallen. Jumping in to save a human would’ve thrown him into a fight with a variety of species that enjoyed the mutilation of innocents.
“I’d ask you if you want to find an empty room, but something tells me you’re not here to hook up with my kind.” The disembodied voice hit Calix from the left, and he swung his gaze toward silvery sapphire eyes that gave her kind away, and long brunette locks that fell around her shoulders. Fallen angel.
“What makes you say that?”
“Not every day a Wrath demon comes through here.” She kept her eyes locked on the scene, and Calix glanced around to see that all of the surrounding supes did the same, not at all interested in their conversation, it seemed. “Are you looking for something?”
Calix leaned in, taking in the spicy clove and mandarin orange scent that watered his mouth. “I want a fantasy,” he whispered.
Jerking her head toward the sex scene on display, she smiled. “This isn’t enticing enough for you?” For the first time, she peeled her gaze away and lifted her nose in the air, the twinkling of her nostrils telling Calix she could smell the pheromones that gave his species away. “An incubus, as well. In a club like this? You could take any species you wanted into a room, and supes would pay to watch you play.”
“I’m not interested in putting on a show. I want to watch one.”
“It won’t be cheap. I don’t do that shit for free. It depletes my energy. Makes me vulnerable.” The tickle of her fingertips dancing down Calix’s arm sent shockwaves across every nerve ending, as his body reveled in the touch he’d craved. “Easily taken advantage of.”
“I won’t lay a hand on you. You have my word. I’m just looking for some relief.”
Tipping her head, brows pinched together, she studied him. “A starving incubus? I don’t think so. Not even I’m that crazy.” As she spun away, Calix nabbed her arm, squeezing tight to her wrist as she wriggled in his unyielding grasp. “Let go of me,” she murmured. “Or I’ll make a scene that’ll have every supe in here on your ass.”
“Please.” He loosened his grip and allowed the misery to sweep over his expression. “This would set me straight again. Make things right. I’ve not reached the point of desperation.” Not quite a lie, but not entirely true.
Nibbling her lip, she eyed him up and down, and without a goddamn how ya doin, she cupped his bulge, eyes wide. “Gods in Obsidius, you’re fucking hard as stone.”
“A single fantasy. That’s all I’m asking for. Please.”
“I do this for you, you promise you won’t drain me. You won’t try to consume my soul.” She prodded a finger in his face. “’Cause I’ll tell you what, buddy. I may look harmless enough, but I can turn your fantasy into your worst nightmare with the snap of my fingers.”
