Chapter 2: Steam and Submission
The silence after was a living thing, thick with the smells of sex, sweat, and cold city air. Niamh lay between them, her body a map of their ownership—the fading marks on her thighs and breasts, the ache deep within her. The neon lights painted shifting patterns across the ceiling.
Klaus was the first to move. He slipped from the bed with a predator’s grace, not a trace of fatigue in his movements. He stood naked by the floor-to-ceiling window, a dark silhouette against the electric haze of the city, looking out as if surveying a kingdom.
“Get up,” he said, his voice casual but carrying an edge of command. “You’re sticky.”
Niamh let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Her limbs felt liquid, heavy. Stefan had rolled onto his back beside her, one arm thrown over his eyes. The post-coital guilt was already etching lines back onto his face.
“Give a girl a minute,” she murmured, stretching. The movement made her sore muscles sing a pleasant, exhausted chorus.
“You have thirty seconds,” Klaus replied, not turning. “Or I drag you.”
There was no humor in his tone. Stefan removed his arm from his face, his green eyes finding Niamh’s. An unspoken apology lingered there, but also a flicker of that same dark hunger. He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist.
“Come on,” Stefan said, his voice rough. “It’s easier not to argue.”
With a fluid motion, Klaus turned, crossed the room, and wrapped a hand around Niamh’s upper arm. His grip was like iron, unyielding. He hauled her off the mattress. Her legs wobbled, but he held her upright, his naked body pressed against her back for a moment, a reminder of his solid, unassailable strength.
He steered her towards the en suite bathroom, Stefan following silently behind.
The bathroom was a temple of frosted glass and chrome. Klaus flicked a switch, and recessed lights glowed, illuminating the steam that was already beginning to plume from the rain showerhead he’d turned on. The air grew warm and damp, carrying the sharp, expensive scent of his sandalwood soap.
He didn’t guide her gently. He pushed her towards the large, glass-walled enclosure. The main spray was hot, nearly scalding, and she gasped as it hit her skin. He followed her in, pulling the door shut with a definitive click. Stefan remained outside, a shadowy figure through the fogging glass, watching.
Klaus crowded her back against the cold, tiled wall. The contrast was shocking—the searing water on her front, the unyielding chill at her back, and the heat of him surrounding her.
“Open your mouth,” he said, his hands going to her hips.
She did. He wasn’t asking. He guided his cock, already hard again, to her lips. He fed it to her slowly, watching her eyes as she took him in. She relaxed her throat, a skill ancient as her kind, and took him deeper. The taste of herself and him was musky, primal. He gripped her wet hair, not yanking, just holding, controlling the pace.
He started to move, a shallow thrust of his hips. “Such a pretty little throat.”
The steam thickened. Through the blurry glass, she saw Stefan move. The door opened, letting a curl of cooler air inside, and then he was there with them, water sluicing over his tense shoulders. His eyes were locked on where Klaus disappeared into her mouth.
Klaus increased his pace, his cock hitting the back of her throat with each thrust. She gagged, tears mixing with the spray on her cheeks. The sound was raw, obscene, and it made Klaus’s eyes gleam with pleasure.
“On your knees,” Stefan said, his voice low. It wasn’t a suggestion.
Klaus pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop, his grip on her hair guiding her down. The tile was hard under her knees. Stefan turned her, positioning her so she faced Klaus, her back to Stefan. Klaus’s cock stood flushed and thick before her face. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a king awaiting tribute.
She leaned forward, taking him into her mouth again, her tongue working along his length. Behind her, she felt Stefan’s hands on her hips, spreading her. Then she felt his tongue, hot and flat, licking a broad stripe up from her soaked slit to the tight pucker of her ass.
She moaned around Klaus, the vibration drawing a gruff sound from his throat. Stefan’s mouth was relentless. He feasted on her, his tongue spearing into her cunt, lapping at her tender flesh, then moving back to circle her asshole. He was thorough, worshipful in a way that was utterly at odds with the violent possession of before. He was tasting her, learning her, and the dual sensations were overwhelming.
Klaus fucked her mouth in earnest now, one hand fisted tightly in her black hair, controlling the depth. She could barely breathe, taking him in gulps between thrusts, her own pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as Stefan’s tongue pressed insistently against her forbidden hole.
“Fuck, Stefan,” Klaus gritted out, his hips snapping. “Look at her. She’s a fucking dream.”
Stefan answered by pushing his tongue inside her ass, just a little, a soft, wet intrusion that made her scream around Klaus’s girth. Her hands scrambled against Klaus’s thighs, seeking purchase.
Klaus pulled her head back by her hair, his cock sliding from her lips. “Enough playing,” he growled. “Turn her around.”
Stefan’s hands were on her immediately, maneuvering her with vampire speed until she was on her hands and knees on the shower floor, the hot water pounding on her back. Klaus dropped to his knees in front of her, his cock poised at her lips again. “Suck,” he commanded. “Look at me while you do it.”
Behind her, she heard Stefan spit, then felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press against her ass. He wasn’t asking. He pushed, slow and inexorable, stretching the tight ring of muscle with a burn that made her see stars. She gasped, her mouth falling open, and Klaus seized the opportunity, sliding his cock back in.
She was filled, utterly and completely. Stefan sheathed himself fully in her ass with a low, tortured groan, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Klaus held her head still, fucking her throat in a deep, brutal rhythm. The stretch was immense, painful, glorious. Every nerve ending was on fire. She was a vessel for their hunger, suspended between them, and her succubus nature drank it in, thrived on it. Power, raw and carnal, flooded her veins—not just the physical, but the emotional torrent: Klaus’s dominating possessiveness, Stefan’s guilt-tinged abandon.
Stefan began to move, setting a pace that was hard and fast, each thrust jolting her forward onto Klaus’s cock. The sounds were filthy—skin slapping against wet skin, choked gags, groans of pleasure. The glass walls were completely fogged now, sealing them in a white, private world of steam and sensation.
“That’s it, brother,” Klaus rasped, his composure fracturing. “Fuck her. Take what you need.”
Stefan’s rhythm became frantic, his breaths hot against her back. “Oh god,” he moaned, the words torn from him. He was close.
Klaus’s thrusts became erratic, his grip on her hair tightening. “Swallow it,” he snarled. “Swallow every drop.”
He came with a shout, pulsing hot down her throat. She drank him down, the taste of his release triggering her own climax. It tore through her, a silent, convulsing wave that clenched around Stefan buried deep in her ass.
That was his undoing. With a final, desperate thrust, he came inside her, his body shuddering violently against hers.
For a long minute, the only sound was the drumming water and their ragged breathing.
Stefan pulled out first, collapsing back against the shower wall, his eyes closed. Klaus gently withdrew from her mouth, running his thumb over her bruised lips. He looked down at her, on her hands and knees, water streaming down her body, used and beautiful.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Look at you,” he said, his voice almost tender. “Perfect.”
He stood, turning off the water. The sudden silence was deafening. He fetched a large, black towel and wrapped it around her, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Stefan watched, a complex storm of emotions in his eyes—satiety, shame, fascination.
Klaus dried her with a surprising, almost clinical care. He then toweled himself off and handed another to Stefan, who took it numbly.
“You should feed,” Klaus said to Niamh, his tone now conversational, as if discussing the weather. “A succubus must replenish her strength. Even from creatures like us.”
He led her, still wrapped in the towel, back into the bedroom. A neatly folded set of dark clothes—a silken top and leggings—lay on the bed. “Put these on.”
As she dressed, feeling sore and profoundly alive, Klaus pulled on his own trousers. Stefan emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his previous clothes, his hair damp. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Klaus poured three glasses of bourbon from a decanter. He handed one to Stefan, another to Niamh. He raised his own.
“To new alliances,” he said, his blue eyes glinting with a hidden agenda.
Stefan hesitated, then clinked his glass. Niamh smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips, and drank. The liquor burned, a clean fire after the night’s decadence.
“What now?” Stefan asked quietly, staring into his glass.
Klaus sipped his drink, looking out at the waking city. The first grey light of dawn bled at the edges of the skyline. “Now,” he said, “we see what our little huntress is truly capable of. The fun has only just begun.” He glanced at Niamh, his expression unreadable. “Rest. Tomorrow night, we hunt.”