An Illicit Seduction: a Dark Erotic Experience Read online

  “Why did you do this? If you liked me, why didn’t you just say so? Why put us through all of this? I can never look at you the same; you know that? I don’t even know who you are anymore, but after the things you’ve done to me, I don’t know that I want to go back to how things were before. I think it’s best if we sever all ties completely.” Even after getting that off of her chest, she still didn’t feel better, but as she sat there, she had another thought.

  “Damon. When you wake up, you’d better be your old self again because you are out of your damn mind if you think I’m about to climb on this tiny-ass hospital bed and bounce on your dick.” It was funny because she knew that he was in no position to do that, but it was right up the incubus’ alley.

  “You know what?” She asked the quiet room, bringing her eyes to the man once more. “I just realized that with all of the fucking we did, you never kissed me. You ate my pussy and licked my ass but never kissed me in the mouth.” She stared at his motionless body, wondering—no, knowing that she was crazy for the thought that crossed her mind.

  The knowledge didn’t change the desire, and she felt like she deserved it. She deserved the right to take something from him, no matter whether or not he wanted to give it. She stood from the seat, still holding his hand in hers, and leaned over him until she was hovering right over his face. Even with all of the bruises, it was clear that he was handsome, and four months ago, she would have even called him sweet. Now, she knew that he had the potential to harbor a monster inside of him. Still, she bent her head and pressed her lips to his.

  Surprisingly, they were soft and moisturized. Maybe his mother had been regularly applying lip balm on his behalf. She sighed into him, wondering how different things might have turned out if he had actually verbalized his feelings, but then she was surprised by the movement of his mouth under hers. What had felt like pressing her lips into the corner of her bent elbow, turned into an actual kiss with him responding. Her eyes flew open, and she was startled to find herself staring into Damon’s eyes.

  Lurching back, she broke their connection and tried to yank her hand free, but his grip was now ironclad and he refused to let her go. Her chest heaved as they stared at one another for a few seconds before the consistent beeping of a machine snapped her back to reality. She reached above his head to grab a large remote-like device from the wall and pressed the red call button. When the nurse responded in question, she breathed into the receiver, “He’s awake.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Another Again

  Damon remained in the hospital for another three weeks after he awakened. When the doctor and nurse rushed in, they had to urge him to release Seraph’s hand so they could begin testing. As soon as her hand was free, she shot out of her room and found her mother to let her know what was going on. Joyce called Louis, who showed up with Carla—Damon’s mother—and her crew in tow, and they all camped out in the waiting room, eagerly awaiting word from the doctor.

  The word came and brought with it shock and disbelief. Louis told Joyce and Seraph that Damon had retrograde amnesia. According to the doctor, Damon believed the date to be one that passed three months ago. When they repeated the date, Seraph’s heart thundered in her chest. Damon thought it was the day of Jaime’s Pajama Jam. Why? What did that mean?

  Through a series of verbal tests, the doctors learned that while Damon hadn’t sustained any injuries on that day, he’d been in New Orleans the night before and had gotten drunk on Bourbon Street with his friends before passing out in his hotel room. That’s the last thing he remembered.

  That was all Seraph needed to hear. She knew what happened after that. Hell, she knew what happened now. While the doctors were puzzled over his memory loss, Seraph knew what had happened. She’d chanted seven times for his mind to be cleared and apparently, it had. Once that realization settled in, she decided not to return to the hospital.

  After endless tests, and scans, and examinations, the specialists that were called in couldn’t figure out the cause of his memory loss and eventually decided to let him go home. Damon was released from the hospital and cleared to return to work on light duty. Except for a sprained ankle that would continue to heal over the next few weeks, no matter his location, he was in great shape. In fact, many people said that he was lucky—that being hit by a bus while on foot could have meant instant death. He was lucky to walk away with only a cut on his forehead, sprained ankle, and a few forgotten months. It sounded callous, but it was honest.

  It was good news—the kind of news they could all use more of after hearing that he’d died at the scene. Instead of rushing to Damon’s apartment with her family and his friends to celebrate his good health, however, Seraph kept her distance, on edge as she waited to see if he would do the inevitable and show up at her apartment, primed and ready to shove her face into the mattress.

  It never happened.

  As the second week following his release came to a close, she went through the motions of her nightly routine—plaiting her hair, selecting her clothes for work the next day, and getting ready for her shower. Throughout the entire process, she told herself that her constant sighing at regular intervals was because of the relief she felt at finally having some peace and in no way had anything to do with possible withdrawals.

  Just as she stepped into the bathroom, she was startled by a hard pounding on her front door. It sounded like the police trying to beat her door in, and she rushed toward the front of her apartment, tugging on her robe and cinching the belt as she crossed the living room. Yanking open the door, her brows furrowed even as her belly leaped when she saw Damon standing on the other side, his face pinched into a frown with his eyes trained at the ground. He wore a pair of orange joggers and a black t-shirt that clung to a defined chest that she was well acquainted with. She noticed that he held his cell phone in one hand while his other was tucked into the front pocket of his loose jogging pants. The new scar across his forehead reminded her that it hadn’t been that long since his accident, and she kept that in mind as she opened the door wider.

  “Hey, Damon. What’s going on?” She kept her voice light and comforting, hoping to ease whatever was on his mind that had his face scrunched the way it was, but inside, her body was buzzing at the sight of him.

  His expression was impassive as his deep brown eyes rose from the ground, trailing slowly up her body from her bare feet until his gaze met her own, and she experienced a full-body shiver as if a gust of wind had just blown over her. The look itself wasn’t exactly like the ones he’d given her recently, but it was still something more…intimate…than what she was used to from the Damon from…before.

  “Sorry for popping up unexpectedly, but I haven’t seen you since I woke up, and I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone.”

  Seraph swallowed against the lump in her stomach. That was shade that she’d have to let roll off of her back. He doesn’t remember that they’d been here before. Although he was back to the Damon she’d always known, she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of her nudity beneath her robe and the way he’d just ogled her didn’t help. Even subtle, it made her anxious as her body responded in kind, preparing her for what usually came next.

  Pulling the belt of her robe tighter and knotting it once more, she stepped aside to let him in. “It’s fine; come on in.”

  He crossed the threshold with a slight limp in his step, and she wondered where his crutches were as she closed and locked the door behind him. When she turned around, he was sitting in the middle of her two-seat couch, his legs spread unnecessarily, taking up way too much space. Mentally, she knew that he was probably here for some arbitrary reason, but she didn’t know how to act around him anymore. Just being in his presence spiked her temperature and made her pussy quiver, both inappropriate responses to someone who was essentially family—blood relation or not.

  Completing the binding ritual and casting out the incubus was supposed to eliminate these feelings she had for Damon, yet they felt
as prominent as ever. Her heart had begun beating at double speed the moment she laid eyes on him, and she felt sweat bead along her forehead as the temperature in the room seemed to go up a few degrees. This was insane. The man sitting on her sofa was her Damon; not the sex-crazed, orgasm-fueled monster she’d been spellbound by. She needed to get it together.

  Clutching the lapels of her robe, she remained standing and leaned her hip against the back of one of the two armchairs in the room that faced the couch.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “You kissed me.”

  The simple words were accusatory, and she should have seen it coming. It was the first thing he saw when he woke up and completely out of character for her, so, of course, he would remember. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head and shook it.

  “Yeah. I did.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “But I shouldn’t have. It was wrong of me.”

  He stared at her unblinkingly. “Why’d you do it?”

  “I—” She opened her mouth then quickly closed it. How did she answer that without divulging information that he never needed to know? “It felt like the right thing to do at the time.”

  He didn’t respond to that, he just continued to stare at her for a long moment. Without saying another word, nor taking his eyes off of Seraph, he held out his phone. From where she stood, she could see that the screen was lit and, though confused, she moved to stand in front of him and pluck it out of his hands, being careful not to touch any part of his skin. When she registered the image on the screen, her jaw slackened and the blood drained from her face. And… maybe a part of her that she called herself burying deep down beneath propriety was turned on.

  It was a picture—one that she recognized instantly—captured from Damon’s point of view. Even though neither of their faces was in the shot, she knew, without a doubt, that the two bodies visible belonged to them. In the picture, Seraph was lying naked, on her back, hands cupping her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples, legs spread wide, with Damon’s beautiful, hard dick lodged halfway inside of her body and his thumb lifting the hood of her engorged clit. She remembered how after the picture was taken, he’d later made her hold the phone in the air while he stared at it and simultaneously ate her pussy.

  Slamming her eyes shut against the memory—and the sudden throbbing between her legs—Seraph clutched at the collar of her robe. She shouldn’t pine for the time in that photo, shouldn’t miss the freaky shit Damon had done to her while he was…not himself, but Lord help her she did. Barely a month had gone by, but instead of being grateful that she was no longer under attack, she was miserable. She could only say it in her head, but if she were being honest, she’d admit that she missed it—missed him.

  However, the Damon in front of her was innocent and didn’t know anything about that time, so she decided to feign ignorance.

  “Uh, not sure why you felt like showing me some homegrown porn or nudes or whatever this is, but at least homegirl has some nice titties. Thanks? I guess.” She tried to pass his phone back to him, but he refused to lift his hand and receive it, instead, nodding at the device.

  “Keep scrolling. There is so much more than that one image.”

  She shook her head. There was no way she could continue looking at erotic pictures of the two of them and pretend to be unaffected. She could already feel her breaths shortening as her arousal started to set in. “I’m good, thanks. Here’s your phone.”

  Stonily, he stared at her. “Do you think I’m stupid, Seraph?”

  His gritty tone was so surprising to her that she took a step back. “Wha—what? I didn’t—”

  “Do you think I don’t know what your body looks like? Hmm? All of the years I’ve spent watching you, wanting you, craving you—you think I don’t have your curves committed to memory?”

  “I—” She didn’t know what to say, too busy trying to process his admission.

  “You must think I’m dumber than a box of rocks. Why else would you look at this picture and try to play me like I don’t know that’s us?”

  “Uh…” Taking another step back until her butt hit the chair, she sat down and folded her arms across her chest, putting pressure on her now aching nipples. This Damon was unfamiliar to her. With steel in his voice and in his eyes, he was neither the one she knew nor the one she’d known intimately, yet, she couldn’t deny that he still succeeded at turning her on.

  At this point, she’d forgotten what level of hell she was doomed to; she just kept sinking lower and lower.

  “Damon…”

  He shook his head. “Did you know, Seraph? Did you know how badly I wanted you? How I called you my angel, like your name, and used to pray for my angel to want me as I wanted her? But it never happened, no matter what I did. Then I woke up from what I thought was a hangover, only to learn that I’d lost three months of my life. And then I see this picture.” His eyes narrowed in on her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Do you know that I was so desperate to call you mine that I let some crazy conjure woman in New Orleans convince me that she could help me?”

  Eyes wide, Seraph shook her head. “What?!”

  Damon leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and pinning Seraph to her seat with his stare. “You heard me. I went to New Orleans with Silas and Eric for their cousin’s bachelor party, and while we were on Bourbon Street, an old woman approached me. She said I needed to come see her. I laughed her off, and me and the fellas kept moving, but then she said she could help me get the woman I loved to love me back, and that…well, those were the magic words. So, I followed her into some dingy shop off a back street and watched as she mixed up some weird concoction and poured it into a shot glass.

  She told me that if I drank it, you would be mine, and I couldn’t resist because I wanted you so bad—had been wanting you since I knew what it meant to crave something other than food—but you never looked at me twice, never acknowledged me. You called me your ‘baby cousin’ despite us not being related and even tried to hook me up with your coworker. With all of that shit on my mind, I didn’t second-guess it before taking that shot glass of the unknown to the head. It didn’t taste any different than a shot of Jägermeister, so I paid her and went back to Bourbon Street where Eric and Silas clowned me for the rest of the night. The thing is…that’s the last thing I remember because I went to sleep that night after hanging out with my friends, but when I woke up, I was in a hospital room with you hovering over me, your eyes closed, and your lips on mine.”

  Seraph clapped her hands over her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears at the anguished look on his face. At the beginning of this whole ordeal, it never occurred to her that Damon hadn’t known what was happening with his own body. When she was performing the ritual and chanting for his mind to be clear, at no point did she think about what it might be like for him once he was restored. But…as heavy as her heart felt on his behalf for what he was now experiencing, she reminded herself that he opened himself up to this. It was his obsession with having her that allowed the events of the last nearly four months to take place. He had no one to blame but the man in his mirror.

  “You can’t imagine how I feel, waking up, thinking it was just some accident, then learning that I’d lost three months of my life. Then to look in my phone, hoping for some clue about what happened, and see pictures of us—of you!—like that and not have any memory of it! That shit gutted me, Seraph. I’m tore the fuck up! So for you to look me in my face and pretend that it didn’t happen is killing me right now.”

  His voice cracked on the last word, and the tears she’d held at bay fell unchecked down her face.

  “Why would you lie to me about this?”

  Shaking her head, she set his phone on the arm of her chair and wiped her face with both hands. Now was not the time to point fingers. “Damon…the…the thing between us—it wasn’t good. You weren’t yourself and it—” she cleared her throat, “it felt wrong. It was wrong. Everything about it terrified me.”

 
; Brows furrowed, he tilted his head. “What do you mean it felt wrong? That it terrified you? What does that mean?”

  She didn’t know how to explain to Damon that the sheer intensity of his focus on her over the past few months was terrifying. He’d had little regard for anything other than pulling as many orgasms out of her as was humanly possible and she hadn’t been able to rest without fear that he would show up in the middle of the night and attempt to suck her soul out through her clit. Even more, there was no way for her to say that what terrified her the most was that she had become addicted to the way he that he always took her—despite her weak protests—without sounding crazy.

  “It’s just… you were doing a lot and I—I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Silently, he stared at her, dark eyes seemingly peering past her flimsy excuse, before he pursed his lips. “Try me. Start at the beginning.”

  Sighing audibly, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling to avoid his gaze. She knew she needed to tell him; he deserved to know the things he’d done—even if it wasn’t necessarily him doing them—but the thought of detailing his actions out loud embarrassed her.

  “Well,” she began, shifting in the chair and fixing her robe to better cover her thighs, “it started at Jaime’s pajama party. You were flirting with me the entire night and didn’t care that I kept shutting you down. I mean flirting heavy. You cock-blocked any guy I tried to talk to and even put your hard dick on my back. Then, that night, I woke up in the middle of the night with you on top of me.” She hazarded a glance at him, his shocked expression calming her enough for her to continue. “You… did things to me.”