Chapter 44: Primordial Hunger
The scent of lavender and our sex still hung heavy in the air, a cloying perfume that clung to the sheets and our skin. Gena was tracing idle patterns on my chest, her head nestled in the crook of my arm. The world outside the suite felt like a forgotten dream.
Then the door creaked.
It was a soft, splintering sound, the sound of a lock giving way. We both froze. Gena’s head lifted, her body going rigid against mine. Her eyes, which had been soft with sated pleasure, sharpened into violet shards. She didn’t look scared. She looked… interested.
A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim hall light. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in grimy hiking gear. He smelled of pine needles, sweat, and something else—a raw, animal musk. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, roaming over the tangled sheets and our naked bodies with a hunger that wasn’t entirely his own.
“Well, now,” he slurred, his voice rough. “What do we have here?”
He stumbled into the room, letting the broken door swing shut behind him. I scrambled back, pulling the sheet up to my chin, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was an intrusion, a violation of the fragile world we’d built here.
But Gena… Gena sat up slowly, a languid, predatory smile spreading across her face. She made no move to cover herself. “We have a guest, Amy,” she said, her voice a low purr.
The hiker’s gaze was locked on her, mesmerized. He licked his cracked lips. “Been… been following a scent for miles. Like nothing I ever smelled. Led me right here.”
I understood then. It was her. Her succubus scent, the one that smelled of jasmine and deep, dark earth, had pulled him in. He was a moth to her flame, and he had broken through the door to get to it.
“Get out,” I said, my voice trembling with a fear I hadn’t felt since the first night I met what Gena was.
The hiker ignored me. He took another step, his eyes devouring Gena. “Gonna breed both of you today,” he grunted, the words crude and possessive.
A cold dread washed over me. But Gena’s smile only widened. She looked at me, her eyes holding a dark promise. “It’s alright,” she murmured. “He can’t help it.”
She rose from the bed, a vision of terrifying beauty, and walked toward him. He reached for her, his big, calloused hands grabbing her hips, pulling her against his groin. I could see the hard ridge of his erection straining against his filthy trousers. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply with a guttural groan.
“Fuck, you smell good,” he rasped.
Gena leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest. “Then take what you came for,” she whispered.
It happened fast. He tore at his belt, his pants dropping to the floor. He was already hard, thick and veined. He pushed Gena back onto the bed, not with gentleness, but with a single-minded urgency. She landed on her back, legs falling open, a willing sacrifice. He was on her in an instant, not even bothering to remove his boots or his dirt-stained shirt.
He drove into her with one brutal thrust. Gena cried out, but it was a sound of triumph, not pain. Her nails dug into his back as he began to pound into her, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a rhythmic, jarring bang. The air was filled with the sound of his grunts, her sharp, eager gasps, and the wet, slapping noise of their bodies connecting.
I watched, frozen, my own body reacting with a traitorous heat. This was raw, ugly, and visceral. This was the other side of her power—not the tender lover, but the primal entity drawing in its prey.
His thrusts were becoming ragged, his rhythm faltering. “Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, his face buried in her hair.
“Not yet,” Gena commanded, her voice layered with an unearthly resonance. She pushed against his chest, rolling him onto his back with surprising strength. He lay there, dazed, his cock standing straight up, glistening with her wetness. She looked at me, her eyes burning. “Your turn, Amy.”
“Gena, no…”
“He’s here for us,” she said, crawling over him toward me. Her touch was electric, her hands pulling the sheet from my grasp. “He’s part of this now. Feel it.”
She kissed me, her tongue plunging into my mouth, and I could taste the hiker on her lips, the salt of his sweat. My resistance crumbled. The fear melted into a dark, compulsive arousal. She guided me, turning me, positioning me over the hiker. His hands came up to grip my hips, his grip like iron.
“Sit on him,” Gena whispered in my ear, her hands on my breasts, pinching my nipples. “Take what you need.”
I lowered myself onto him. He was huge, stretching me, filling me in a way that was almost too much. A choked sob escaped my lips. He bucked beneath me, his hips driving upwards, forcing himself deeper.
“Yeah, ride that cock,” the hiker growled, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Gena moved behind me, her body pressed against my back. One of her hands slid down my stomach, her fingers finding my clit, rubbing frantic, knowing circles. The other hand was on the hiker, stroking his chest, pulling a moan from deep within him.
I was trapped between them, between my daughter’s supernatural hunger and this stranger’s base instinct. The pleasure was immense, a shocking, debauched wave that wiped everything else away. I moved on him, rising and falling, taking his length inside me over and over. Gena’s fingers worked me faster, her whispers a constant, filthy stream in my ear.
“That’s it, take it all. He’s nothing. He’s just fuel. Use him.”
The hiker’s breathing hitched. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come!”
“Do it,” Gena commanded.
His body seized beneath me. A raw, guttural roar tore from his throat as he emptied himself inside me, his release hot and pulsing. The sensation tipped me over the edge. My own orgasm ripped through me, a silent, screaming wave that left me shaking and weak, collapsing forward onto his chest.
For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing. The hiker’s arms fell away, limp. His eyes were closed.
Gena gently pulled me off him. He didn’t move. He lay on the bed, spent, a hollow shell. The glazed look was gone from his eyes, replaced by a deep, vacant exhaustion.
We left him there and moved to the other side of the bed. Gena curled around me, her skin cooler now. She pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.
“He won’t remember,” she murmured. “Not clearly. It’ll be a dream. A strange dream he had in the mountains.”
I looked at the man, already slipping into a deep, unnatural sleep. The door was still broken. The world was still out there. And we were still here, in our lavender-scented prison, waiting. The melody I thought had faded began again, faint and haunting, threading its way through the silence we had shattered.