Chapter 10: The Pit Aftermath
The spilled energy from the orc and the first incubus still crackled under Jackie’s skin, a low-grade buzz that made the ambient noise of The Pit sound both distant and crystalline. The blue pill was winding down, leaving in its wake a clean, razor-sharp hunger. Not the frantic need of before, but a focused appetite.
The incubus—Fancy-pants, as she’d mentally tagged him—led her through a nondescript door hidden behind a torn tapestry depicting a seven-headed beast. It opened into a narrow, windowless corridor that smelled of damp stone and lavender oil. The thump of the club’s music faded into a thick, sound-absorbing silence.
His room wasn't a booth.It was a cell. Small, maybe ten feet square, with rough-hewn stone walls partially draped in black silk. A single, tall candle guttered in a wrought-iron holder, casting a trembling circle of light over a low, wide pallet heaped with more black silk sheets. The air was cool and still, carrying that same odd, metallic scent beneath the lavender.
“Cozy,” Jackie said, her voice flat.She leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He moved with an effete precision, straightening a nonexistent wrinkle on the bedding.
“Privacy has its virtues,” he said, turning those red ember eyes on her.“Fewer distractions. More… absorption.”
“You talk like a fucking poet.” She pushed off the frame and closed the heavy wooden door.The click of the latch was final.“Let’s cut the shit. You’re an incubus.I’m half. We both know what this is.”
“A transaction of essences.”
“A fuck,” she corrected, and pulled her leather top over her head. Her breasts were full, the nipples already hardened in the cool air. “You got a name, or should I just keep thinking ‘Fancy-pants’?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Kaelan.”
“Jackie.” She unzipped her skirt, let it fall, and stepped out of it. She stood naked before him, unselfconscious, the faint amber glow of her spent hellfire still visible as a slow pulse beneath her skin, like a cooling forge. The orc’s cum trickled down her inner thigh. “You gonna get undressed, or you planning to critique the artwork all night?”
He shed his clothes with the same deliberate grace. His body was lean, almost gaunt, all tensile strength. The angry red of his cock hadn’t subsided; it looked painful in its rigidity, a prominent vein throbbing along its length.
She didn’t wait for an invitation. She crossed the space, pushed him back onto the silk-draped pallet, and straddled his hips.The silk was cool and slippery under her knees. She took his cock in her hand, guiding the hot, smooth head through her wetness, already slick from her last climax and the remnants of the orc.
She sank onto him in one slow, continuous motion. He was narrower than the orc, but longer, and the heat of him was different—a focused, penetrating burn that seemed to seek her core. She seated herself fully, letting her body adjust to the familiar-yet-alien intrusion. A sigh escaped her, not of pleasure yet, but of completion.This was the baseline.This was where she started.
She began to move, a slow, rolling grind of her hips. Her hands braced on his chest, her blonde hair falling around her face as she looked down at him.His red eyes watched her, calculating, even now.
“You think you can keep up with a succubus?” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her own lips.
“I am not attempting to keep up,” he said, his voice even, undisturbed by her movement. “I am waiting for you to exhaust yourself on a source that does not diminish.”
His arrogance was a spark to tinder. Her inner muscles clenched around him, a vice-like grip, and she saw his nostrils flare. She picked up the pace, riding him harder, her hips slapping against his. The slow burn inside her began to build again, fanned by his cool disdain.Her skin started to illuminate from within, the hellfire responding to the challenge. It was a faint corona, outlining her form in the dark room.Then he moved.
It was fluid and shocking.His hands shot up, not to her hips, but to her wrists. He caught them, his grip like iron bands, and in a motion that seemed to defy physics, he flipped their positions. One moment she was on top, riding; the next she was on her back, the black silk cold against her shoulders, her wrists pinned above her head by one of his hands.
He didn’t pause.He drove back into her, his hips snapping forward with a force that stole her breath. The angle was different, deeper, each thrust punishing a new, exquisite spot inside her. The slow burn exploded into a conflagration.“Fuck!” The word was ripped from her throat.
He leaned over her, his pale face hovering inches from hers, his red eyes glowing like lit coals. His rhythm was relentless, a precise, piston-like machine. “You see?” he hissed, his breath cool against her heated skin.“You feed on lust.I am lust. You cannot drain a desert.”
She bucked against him, not to escape, but to take him deeper. She wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, meeting every driving impact.The power dynamic had shattered, replaced by a pure contest of energies. Her hellfire blazed, the amber light filling the stone cell, chasing the shadows into the corners. The heat radiating from her body made the sweat on his skin sizzle.His composure broke. A snarl twisted his perfect lips. His free hand groped between them, his thumb finding her clit and pressing down with brutal, circular precision. The dual assault—the deep, spearing thrusts and the ruthless manipulation of her nerve cluster—was too much.
Her climax detonated, not as a single wave, but as a series of shockwaves, each more violent than the last.She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that echoed off the stone. Her back arched off the pallet, her cunt clamping around his cock in rhythmic, milking spasms. The hellfire burst from her in a final, silent explosion.The guttering candle snuffed out instantly. The black silk sheets beneath her head smoldered, filling the room with the acrid scent of burning fabric.As her body convulsed, she felt his own control rupture. With a guttural sound that was nothing like his earlier voice, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself to the root.His coolness fractured, replaced by a sudden, shocking heat as he came. His release was a flood, jetting into her in powerful, continuous streams, a seemingly endless geyser of incubus essence that her body drank in greedily, the stolen energy merging with her own.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the absolute dark. The smell of sex, ozone, and burnt silk was overwhelming.Slowly, his weight shifted off her. She felt him move away, heard the faint rustle of fabric. A moment later, a match scratched and flared.He re-lit the candle. The small flame revealed the room: the scorched sheets, her own limbs splayed bonelessly, his lean form standing beside the pallet, already composed, looking down at her with restored detachment.
“Absorption,” he said quietly, echoing his earlier word.Jackie pushed herself up on her elbows. She felt profoundly full, both physically and energetically.The buzz under her skin was now a deep, resonant hum. She was, for the first time in hours, genuinely sated.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice hoarse. She swung her legs over the side of the pallet, feeling his cum begin to seep out of her.She found her clothes, began dressing with slow, deliberate movements. “Not bad, Fancy-pants.”
He watched her, making no move to dress.“You are a singularity. A succubus who doesn’t merely leech, but amplifies. You turned my own energy back on me, intensified.”
“That’s the half-blood special,” she said, zipping her skirt. “Takes a licking and keeps on kicking.” She looked at him, her vibrant green eyes meeting his red glare.“You know your way around the black market. Heard anything about a missing Stygian orchid?Supposed to glow in the dark. My friend’s looking.”
Kaelan’s head tilted.The transaction had shifted again, back to information. “An investigator?The one with the locs?”
“Yeah.”
He was silent for a moment. “As it happens,” he said, “I have.It passed through here. Purchased by a collector who favors… living art.A man named Silas. He operates from the Goldstone Repository in the old city.”
Jackie memorized the name.She gave a single, sharp nod. “Thanks.”
She finished dressing and walked to the door. As her hand touched the latch, his voice stopped her, softer now.“Jackie.”
She glanced back.
“Your hunger,” he said.“It will return, stronger. Feeding like this… it teaches the appetite new depths.”
She offered him a small, sardonic smile, her infectious laugh nowhere to be heard. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
She opened the door and stepped back into the corridor, leaving the scent of ozone and burnt silk behind. The deep, resonant hum of stolen power moved with her, a satisfied beast temporarily at rest.She had a name for Ashanti. And she had, for now, quieted the storm inside her own skin.It was enough. For the next few hours, anyway.