Contains: F/F, Lesbian, Transgender, Supernatural, Succubus.
Arsa’s out in the hunt in the big city! And though her first run at Manhattan’s night life hurt feelings may abound, they’re not destined to last long with that sweetie-pie Reika on the case~
Smiling in the dim light, Reika sets Arsa’s feet back against the floor. Her hand squeezes against the subtle rise of Arsa’s knee beneath the hem of her skirt. “Don’t get too hung up on Marie. It’s better not to eat where you shit, you know? Besides…” Reika lifts her hands, tucking the loose strands of her hair back behind her ears, setting the intermittent bits of gray to shimmering in the darkness. “I think that desire sensor of yours might be broken.”
Arsa wads her fingers up against one of her eyes, willing it to say open. “What do you mean?”
The cheap springs of the twin bed creak beneath Reika’s weight. Leaning in, she rests an elbow on the wall above Arsa’s head, lifts her chin, and pulls her into a quiet kiss.
Lips press forward in greedy embrace, sliding across Reika’s with a sloppy, drunken yearning. Reika’s long hair spills free, tickling its ends over the soft swells of small breasts below. Arsa’s breath catches in her chest, and her body rolls against the scent of blackberries and morning dew. The fine hairs of her neck begin to tingle and, with an inopportune moan, she breaks the kiss.
They breathe against each other’s face in the quiet. The sleepy pull of a bellyful of alcohol seems to drag Arsa further and further down. Arsa’s tail moves in needy, curious flicks, heated, trapped between her leg and the mattress.
“You don’t have, like, some seduction power, do you?” Reika asks. “You’re not secretly making me want you, are you?”
Arsa wrinkles her nose. “That’s Succubi, not Skints,” she says, quietly vexed.
“Just checking.” Reika’s nails drag sensitive lines down the Skint’s tensing cheeks. She winks.
Arsa glances downward, down the slopes of her breasts and to the petite curve of her hips. Still hidden beneath her skirt, Arsa’s cock screams for her compliance, to give in, to just take this human. But she is still, at least for the moment. When thoughts of lemons flit across her mind, she thinks she might cry, but maybe that’s just the abrasive feel of the contacts.
“Is this ‘strictly business’ too?” Arsa asks.
The bedframe whines. Reika shifts her hips, making space for her hand in her tight jeans. She layers a gentle puff of air against the Skint’s face and Arsa’s lips part in response, as if she could drink this woman’s breath, thick with the smell of alcohol and blackberries, impossible to tell which is physical and which is not. When her hand returns, two damp fingers swab beneath Arsa’s nose, rousting the sleepy weight from her body with the potent, human smell of her arousal.
“I don’t know,” Reika says. “You tell me.”