10. Rusalka

10

RUSALKA

When I agreed to this deal with Azazel, I didn’t expect to feel so conflicted. I figured it would be an easy thing to manage this strange human’s tendency to commit to actions that would harm her. Simple. Then I met Belladonna and realized the strength of the metaphorical demons riding her no matter how hard she tries to escape them.

My girl doesn’t exactly want to be a martyr, but she seems to feel she doesn’t have any other choice.

Now she sits next to me, shivering in some combination of trepidation and want, as Zhenya straddles Danik and leans over to kiss Inna. Incubi and succubi can’t feed from one another the way we can feed from human dreams, but we’re all hedonists at heart. We love pleasure for pleasure’s sake, and no one gives pleasure like my Insomnior Court.

It’s impossible to relax with Belladonna’s conflicting desires practically screaming in my ear. I finally twist to face her. “There’s no shame in this.” I try to say this gently but can’t help the sharpness in my words.

“Are they?.?.?.” She swallows visibly. “Are they polyamorous? That’s what it’s called, right?”

“Danik is mated to a fellow succubus, and he isn’t romantically involved with either Zhenya or Inna.”

Belladonna turns those bright eyes my way. “He looks involved right now.”

“Pleasure isn’t taboo. There are those among my people who prefer to be monogamous, but many of the mated pairs choose not to be. His mate, Feofan, openly encourages him to find his pleasure where he may, and he does the same.” I tamp down on the tiny sliver of impatience I feel at explaining something as common as gravity. It’s not Belladonna’s fault that the other territories look down on us for this practice or that they reduce it to something of a joke. That’s not why she’s asking the question. She doesn’t understand. I can’t expect her to.

“But . . .” She presses her lips together.

“Ask.”

“But what about children? What if someone gets pregnant or gets someone pregnant that isn’t their mate?”

Again, I swallow past my instinctive snapping response. There’s no cut in her question, just genuine confusion and curiosity. I take a slow breath. “Children are sacred, Belladonna. We don’t have them as often as our ancestors did.”

“Why not?”

“There are a number of theories, but the most prominent among them is that with each generation, the human elements in our bloodlines grow thinner, and our propensity for plentiful procreation decreases in relation.” I rush on before she can offer to have a child again to fix that. “However a child comes about—and it’s always a choice, not a requirement—they’re a blessing. They are welcomed with open arms. Not only the biological parents are parents to them. We all are.”

“I don’t understand.” Her gaze tracks to where Inna has pulled off Danik’s pants and is sucking his cock deep into their throat. “I don’t understand any of this.”

She may not understand it, but she isn’t trying to fight the spell of desire being cast in the room. She almost melts into my side. I study her profile. “Do you have to understand in order to accept?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder, the move so trusting that my stomach lodges in my throat. “I want this, Rusalka. I want this freedom, this?.?.?. joy. I just don’t know how to take it. Every time I even think of trying, I have a chorus of voices in my head yelling at me that I’m going to burn in hell. I’m not even sure I believe in hell, and yet I can’t shake the fear.”

I tell myself to be patient, to wait, to coax her out of her shell of shame in a way only time can manage, but I can’t help responding to the desperation in her tone. “I can make them go quiet.”

“I want that.”

Across the room, Zhenya moans as Inna pushes two fingers into zir while they keep sucking Danik’s cock. The sound curls through me, an invitation and more. Normally, I would be in the midst of them already, stroking and touching and riling the entire group to new heights.

Instead, I’m sitting next to a quivering human who doesn’t know how to take what she wants and offering something I have no business offering. “It’s similar to what I did in your dream. I can magically?.?.?. smooth things over?.?.?. if you want me to. It will be a bit like being drunk or high. Everything will feel good, and you won’t want it to stop.”

The moment Belladonna draws in a sharp breath, I know what her answer will be. “Do it.”

“Belladonna?.?.?.” I sigh. It’s my fault for even bringing it up. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” She grabs my arm, her hand shaking. “Yes, please. It’s what I need.”

“First, ground rules.” I cup her cheek when she tries to turn away. “I understand the way shame feels like it’s holding you down, holding you back. But consent is nonnegotiable, little one. You won’t want to stop once I release your inhibitions, so we need to know where we have to stop for you.”

She blinks those big dark eyes at me and turns to where my friends and lovers are now fully naked and alternating between moans and giggles, the latter sound being Inna’s—they always giggle when they come. I allow the turn, allow her to see them in their glory.

Belladonna focuses back on me. “I want everything.”

“Easy to say, harder to understand.” I stroke my thumb over her cheekbone. “Tonight we’ll keep things simple enough. Penetrative sex?”

Her eyes get bigger. “Yes,” she whispers.

“Mmm.” I drag my fingertips along her jaw. I should stop for this conversation, shouldn’t be touching her at all, but I can’t seem to help myself when she leans so sweetly against my touch. “Oral sex?”

“Yes.” Belladonna quivers. “Please.”

“Kissing?”

“Yes.”

“Penetration of your mouth, your pussy, your pretty little ass?”

Her quivering becomes shaking, but she nods sharply. “All of it. Everything, Rusalka. I want everything.”

“That will cover tonight’s activities.” Even with verbal consent, I shouldn’t do this. Fool that I am, I can’t deny her. I lean in and press a soft kiss to her full lips. It’s a relatively chaste touch, one completely devoid of tongue, but I use the contact to press my power into her. It bumps up against her shame and then slides beneath and flowers inside her.

The tension bleeds out of her body instantly. She tangles her fingers in my hair and presses harder against me. “Oh.” Belladonna laughs, the sound free and light and stabbing me directly in the chest. She tilts back just enough to press her fingers to her lips. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

I’m not a particularly violent person—there are a thousand better ways to get what you want—but seeing the wonder bloom on her face makes me want to hunt down everyone who warped her concept of pleasure and love to remove them from existence. Shame kills as certainly as a knife. It’s harder to identify—a person can keep walking around while they’re dead inside—but no less real.

She leans forward to kiss me again, but I urge her to stand. “Go play, little one. Enjoy yourself.”

She pouts, all playful disappointment. “But I want to play with you.”

Fire sprouts around me, an external response to my need to give her exactly that. I want her. Desperately. She’s beautiful and kind and far too selfless. I could teach my sweet little human to be selfish, just a little, just enough to take care of herself. To demand the pleasure she’s due.

I simply . . . don’t want it like this.

My fire flickers in her dark-brown eyes and is evident in the way she presses her thighs together, in how she licks her lips. My magic can’t create desire where there is none—my girl wants me—but, though I don’t fault her this, I don’t want her when she has to be blitzed to act on wanting me back.

Romantic fool.

I ignore my own self-condemnation and turn Belladonna around to face my Insomnior Court. “Go, little one.”

She flounces. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and each bouncing step makes her ass jiggle. My mouth waters. I want to explore every inch of her with my tongue. I want to banish my court from the room and keep her all to myself. I want to turn her loose at one of the large parties just to see what mischief she would get up to. I want.

But I don’t do any of that.

Instead of going to the couch with the others to sink into them, I cross one leg over the other and lean back. I’m used to wanting. It makes desire sweeter to be denied.