Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (best motivational books to read TXT) 📗

Maybe not for her, but it is for me.

Why the hell would anyone specifically seek out succubi sex? I mean, don’t get me wrong—my sex is worth chasing time and time again. But not all succubi are like me in the sense that they let their victims survive.

Most don’t.

So how can this woman be so bold? How does she know that I won’t drain her like a swimming pool before winter?

Sighing, she unbuttons her jeans, pulls off her jacket, and slips off her T-shirt. Her breasts, round and creamy, sit inside a black-and-red–stitched bra. Without even bothering to look at me, she gets out of her jeans, along with her panties, and stands tall with her legs slightly parted.

It’s a stance that says, Are we gonna do this, or what?

In the middle of her belly is a pentagram belly ring, but I don’t focus on that for long. My eyes drop toward her freshly shaven kitty and my claws snap out.

With shoulders hunched forward like a predator on the verge of pouncing, I take a step forward.

“Wait,” she orders.

I’m not used to being given orders, but I like it.

She throws her chin out at a bag next to my feet. “Grab the pink one.”

My right eyebrow pops up. The pink one? What the hell is she talking about? Leaning sideways, I use my boot to kick the side of the bag so it opens wider.

Inside are crystals, pouches, a few pocket spell books, and two large—

Oh, I get it now.

Smirking back at her, I bend down and pull out the pink strap-on. I quickly unzip my pants, drop them next to hers, and tighten the harness around my thighs and bare ass.

“This what you want, you little witch?” I say, grabbing the toy by the shaft.

The silicone texture feels soft in my hand, and if it weren’t for its hot pink color, it would look like the real thing. With a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she turns away from me, spreads her legs, and places her palms against the back wall.

“Fuck me hard, you hear me?” she says.

I grab her hard by the hair and thrust my pelvis into her ass. The strap-on swings forward, slapping her hard between her legs and slipping against her kitty. “I don’t take orders from anyone, are we clear?”

She moans and makes a smacking sound with her lips.

With the dong in one fist, I slide two fingers between her legs to feel how ready she is.

Oh, she’s ready.

I press the tip of the dong where she wants me to, coating it with her silkiness, and push the entire thing inside of her. Digging her fingernails into the wall in front of her, she throws her head back. A soft cry escapes her mouth, and I pull my hips back, allowing my new toy to partially slip out. Grabbing her by the hips, I push in again, her sweet cry amounting to a pleasured moan.

With her ass, she follows my movements, almost as if trying to get me to go harder.

I move faster, and harder, until the sound of clapping fills the small space around us.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “Right there.”

I pump harder, forcing her to clench her muscles to keep from planting face-first into the wall. “This what you want? Yeah, you fucking take it.”

Her voice heightens in pitch, indicating she’s about to get off.

I get even rougher with her, and that’s all it takes.

She slams her white-knuckled fist into the wall, arches her back, and shouts out.

I immediately grab her by the hair and pull hard enough for her to wince in pain. “Shut up.”

There’s no telling how thin these walls are, and the last thing I want is for the entire underground rebellion to eyeball us when we come stepping back into the main hall.

Although she stops shouting, something else happens.

Something weird.

With her hips still thrusting, she murmurs a bunch of jumbled nonsense.

Shit… I broke her.

Doesn’t matter. Now’s my chance. I’m about to flip her around and enjoy my meal when I realize what’s going on: she’s speaking in Latin. Why does that matter? Witches speak in Latin when they’re…

Are you shitting me? Is she casting a fucking spell?

I pull out of her, the dong covered in warm silk, and push her face into the wall.

“What the fuck?” she says, her mouth partially squished. “Why’d you stop?”

I wasn’t born yesterday—far from it. First, witches use Latin as their primary language for performing spells; everyone knows that. And if they aren’t speaking in Latin, they’re letting out random words that sound a lot like it.

Second, I’ve heard of witches like her. They use the intensity of orgasms to cast some of the most powerful spells ever known to witches. Her use of succubus sex means that whatever spell she’s trying to cast is unlike anything I’ve seen before.

How could I have missed this?

She glares at me from the corner of her eye as large squiggly veins protrude from her temples. She’s fuming, which is either because I cut her orgasm short or because I cut her spell short. Or maybe a bit of both.

Who cares?

I’m the one who should be pissed. I was about to feed and she distracted me. Who is she, and what’s her deal?

“Why are you trying to perform sex magic?” I ask, my fingers still wrapped in her hair.

Breathing out hard, she tries to push me off. “What do you care? You’re a succubus. Everyone knows succubus demons don’t give a shit about anyone else but themselves.”

Rude.

Is that what people think of me?

Well, who gives a shit?

I push her harder into the wall until a hairline crack splits