Read an Excerpt
Zara had been horny all damn morning. Throughout the last two business meetings she’d mentally undressed every person in the room, both men and women, and was surprised she hadn’t left a wet patch on her chair. It was typical enough for a succubus—lord knew she was used to it after three and a half centuries—but some days it hit her like a truck, leaving her practically unable to function.
She slid her chair back from the desk and let out a long groan.
“I need to get laid. Yesterday.”
The clock told her she had two hours left at work. She’d never make it. Good job I’m in charge. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and stepped into the small reception outside her office. Her receptionist, Gayle, glanced up from her Facebook page, then eyed the clock.
“Going home. Be a cutie and cancel my five o’clock?”
Gayle reached for the phone. “Mister Byron won’t take that well.”
Zara leaned in to brush her lips over the woman’s cheek. “Remind him of the Christmas party, then tell him I told him to fuck off.”
Gayle snorted a laugh. “Will do. Have a nice evening.”
“See you tomorrow morning, sweetie.”
* * * *
The weather was fair enough for September, so Zara decided to leave the car in her spot and walk home. Granted, she could transport herself to her lounge with nothing more than a thought, but too much of that led to a fat ass. Besides, it wasn’t far, and this way she got to window shop. Might even see something for tonight.
As she passed the second clothes store on her side of the road, a short black number caught her eye. Silk, and not a lot of it. It barely came beneath the mannequin’s ass, and it was a short mannequin. Cute, though. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. I am not checking out a mannequin. There isn’t enough horniness in the world. That said, it did have a nice rack.
A young couple walked along the pavement, hand in hand while they chatted about some television show. They had fucked recently and were exuding a multitude of scents that that only a succubus could pick up on, lust being the front-runner. The man’s hand brushed against Zara’s sleeve as he passed, sending a wave of heat downwards. She left the dress where it was and set off home before she jumped the next man she met.
Once she reached the empty lobby of her building she transported herself straight into her shower cubicle and threw her bag and shoes out into the bathroom before turning the water on. She gasped as the ice cold water worked its way through her work clothes, and shivered as it hit her hot skin. Another ten minutes out in the open and her clothes would have burnt away. She was proud enough of her body, but the police took a dim view of flashing.