Harmless

[Skie and Avery]

After the initial inspection of her injuries was over, Skie turned from the mirror and knelt on the hardwood floor by the bed. She swept the bed skirt aside, reaching for her pack and pulled it back just enough to shove it open. She pulled her clothes, clean and folded, from the depths and placed them on the bed in front of her just as Victor emerged from the bathroom. Having been raised in a society that considered clothing a sacrilege, the sight of the boxer in his boxers didn’t bother her. She could, however, appreciate the view. He had a rugged sort of handsomeness. Women might not swoon at his feet, but at the sight of his fighter’s form displayed before her, she found herself unable to answer at first. She swallowed, then smiled, nodding.

“Not that you’d get too far in this part of town.” she joked as she took the faulty clothes from him and replaced them in her pack. “Showing that much skin is just asking to be planked and boarded so close to the docks.” Her voice was cheerful and a little teasing, though she refused to meet his eyes as she brushed past him with a grin dancing on her face. In the bathroom, she set down her clothes, and tried to close the door, finding the same problems that he had. When no solution could be found, she shrugged. There was nothing she could do at the time to fix the door, and she didn’t think that Victor was the kind to peek.

She slipped out of the oversized pants easily, and found that once she had unwrapped a couple of lengths of the cotton, the rest unraveled easily. It fell in long loops around her feet, and she kicked it to the side, stepping towards the open shower. The tiles, grimy with both age and their previous use, were still wet and she stepped gingerly on them as she turned the water on. A small sigh of relief filled her when the hot spray hit her skin, and she wasted no time in scrubbing at her skin. She’d just gotten the last of the muck from the outside of her wing when a brisk wind blew in from the window she’d opened earlier, shoving open the door as it flooded the rooms with a deep chill.

Skie was stretching lazily under the hot flood, arching her back as she raised her hands to the ceiling. The water had soaked her hair back, flowing down her back. When the wind shoved it’s way in, it hit the front of her body with an icy breath that hit her almost as hard as Victor’s fist had earlier. With a sudden squeal of surprise, she dropped to her haunches, curling up into a ball against the freezing wind. Reaching up, she managed to stop the water, and crawled to the open cabinet where the towels were. A curse flew from her lips as she wrapped the terrycloth around her naked form, kicking out with her foot at the open door. It flew against the frame hard, with a slam. Time froze in Skie’s mind for a moment as the door rattled, the hinges popping on their loose, rusting nails. She tried and failed for a moment to scramble on the wet tiles, but her feet and hands merely slipped under her.

The door, freed from it’s hinges, came down on her with a bone-rattling thud.

[The Cinderella Man]

While Skie took her turn in the shower, Victor searched for something that would keep him busy and distracted. Most of the times he tried to be as much of a gentleman as the next man, but then again, most of the time he was also as much of a man as the next man, so his curiosity was undeniable. Succubus or not, his companion was a woman who was even now getting very wet and very naked and only a glance away thanks to the shabby door of the bathroom, and the boxer was only a man who last saw a naked woman when he paid for the show in the “Saddle Ablaze” whorehouse. Or rather the exotic tavern, as the owners preferred to call it; whorehouse was such a harsh term. It was no excuse for invading someone’s privacy, of course, but the temptation was there, coaxing him with amiable promises like a seductive vixen.

He fended such thoughts by staring out the window at first, but there was only so much that the Radasanth Docks could offer as an amusement. So instead of watching this uninteresting play of everyday life with tired actors on a monotonous stage, Victor turned his attention to his firearm. He was never too fond of any weapon save his fists, but he was slowly growing accustomed to the bullet-spewing six-shooter. If anything, that small piece of machinery poured some boldness into him; it was such a seemingly insignificant thing and yet it took down swordsmen and mages alike. In a world where a lot of people wanted another lot of people dead, having such a thing was quite a commodity. That was one reason why he decided to clean it. Another, much more important, was that fumbling with metal cogs and doodads was bound to give both his fingers and his mind some reprieve from Skie and the sloshing sounds that came from the bathroom.

So the half-naked pugilist took a seat at the table, made sure his privates didn’t peek out of his shorts, took out his gun and started to dismantle it. A merchant in the Bazaar once told him to keep the damn thing clean and oiled, but Victor never paid much heed to that. He treated the weapon no better then he treated himself and they were both still ready for action when necessary. However, with nothing better to do, he let his fingers do their thing, removing the moving parts, dusting them off, checking them even though he had absolutely not idea what to check for.

It was somewhere in the middle of this tedious ritual – when Victor was about to try and put the revolver back together again – that a gust of wind invaded the room. It threw the rugged curtains of undyed wool like unimaginative flags on a battlefield, bringing a brisk chill into an already chilly room. More importantly, it pushed its way through the bathroom door, sending it slamming against the wall. Victor’s reaction was instinctive, his reflexes snapping his head backwards and in the direction of the sound, but only for a second. Because in the corner of the bathroom, with her hands wrapped around her body in feeble defense against the cold, Skie was huddled and naked as the day she was born. A glance was all he got, though; the gentlemanly part of him kicked in like a good habit – or a bad one, depending on the perspective – and he was back to the metal parts overspread on the table with a new mental image to wrestle.

Not for long, though. Soon another crash came, similar to the first one, but by the time Victor turned around this time, the door was falling backwards and a pair of bare feet was skidding desperately on the wet tiles. And then, with a final thud, the damn thing fell on the winged girl beneath. Unlike back in the muddy yard, where he deliberated on whether or not to come to Skie’s rescue, the boxer moved with no hesitation this time; a door was, after all, a less formidable opponent then a bunch of thugs. Not nearly as heavy as the thugs either. The whole thing was made from a rather flimsy type of wood, light enough for Victor to move it with one hand. He opened the now horizontal door with one hand, finding the trapped Skie beyond it. Wearing only a towel that left very few things to imagination, the black-haired girl was not only a sight to behold, but a sight that had the ability to bedazzle and stun. That was probably why it took several seconds for Victor to offer her a helping hand.

“Well, you certainly have a stroke of bad luck today,” he found some words during the pause as well, speaking them as he pulled her up, trying his earnest not to stare. “First those goons attack you, then the blacksmith, then we land into a pile of dung and now the door. I hope the ceiling doesn’t crashing down next.”

Another rather awkward moment ensued. She wore naught but a towel, he wore naught by his shorts and they were holding hands, inches away from each other. A smarter, bolder, more charismatic man would’ve probably tried to take advantage of such a position. But Victor’s smarts were shot in the ring, his boldness was never something to brag about and he had about as much charisma as an average bum. And then there was the fact that she was a succubus, an amicable one, but a freaky one-winged creature nonetheless. So he let her go, turned away, sat back at the table and gave her some space to make herself decent.

“You should probably put some clothes on. It's pretty cold in here. And don’t worry,” he reassured her, his fingers suddenly mighty clumsy with the revolver pieces. “I won’t turn around.”

[Skie and Avery]

From under the rough wood, Skie sighed. She wasn't sure if she had the willpower to shove the thing off of her, when the light filtered in. The door moved aside, and she found herself staring up at Victor. The lines of his face were drawn in mild concern, muscles moving under the skin with a slight ease as he moved the faulty door out of the way. After a few moments of silence, with her body still trembling from the chill, her hand was wrapped in his again. The warmth of his flesh was inviting, the pulse she felt just under the skin almost matching her own speeding rhythm. As he pulled her up, she used her free hand to keep a grip on the flimsy towel that was covering her, biting her lip as something low clenched in the pit of her belly. She gave a nervous laugh, because he was right. Today had been one blunder after another, but the frustration and stress that normally came with bad days had no hold on her now. Skie was a woman who believed that people made their own fates, and if she had really thought about her decision this morning to go get in some personal hand to hand combat training, she wouldn't have gone. It had been a folly, but one that she was now rather pleased she'd made.

He left her standing in the bathroom, and she watched as he bent over his work with the gun that was used to save her this morning. A smile played along her features; she'd always had a thing for heroes. They say that girls tend to fall for men who remind them of their fathers, and perhaps it was the childhood encounter with Devon dan Sabriel where she'd seen her father at work with his sword that had affected her so much. She now carried the same steel weapon that he'd held when he faced up against the Forgotten Ones and while she wasn't a silly simpering maiden who was prone to crushes, the heroics of the day had her looking in Victor in an entirely different light. They now shared a comradery that only two people who have faced the darker circumstances of life together could have.

With a light sound of whispering cloth, she let the towel fall to the floor. She walked into the room, her footsteps on the bare floor quiet, until only the bed separated them. She thought for a moment about walking around in front of him, but her shadow, stretched lazily out beside her, stopped her. The single back wing on her back loomed like a dark chapperone, an uncomfortable collar to remind her of her monstrous heritage. A succubus would bring her naked body before a man to taunt him with it. Instead, she crawled onto the side of small bed slowly, sitting up on her knees as she stared at the back of Victor's head. A blush blossomed over her cheeks, reddening her ears deepest, and she looked down at the bedspread as she wet her lips with her tongue.

"Victor..." she said quietly, "I don't think I have such terrible luck, really." She drew a breath, smiling shyly as she began to desperately hope that he would turn to face her. "And I don't mind if you look."

[The Cinderella Man]

Even if Victor somehow managed to disregard the fact that she was a succubus, Skie’s demeanor did a good job at reminding him that the wing on her back wasn’t just for show. She was no more of a lady then he was a lord, that much was clear. It was something he should’ve realized way back in the courtyard, when she walked amidst roughnecks, looking for a fight like some poor bastard out of his luck. The mellow, decent part of him – a remnant of the time when he was a pious son of a pious father – persisted on considering all women ladies, but even now Skie was behind him, sitting on the bed, wearing naught but her skin. Telling him she didn’t mind if he turned around to witness her nakedness. The boxer didn’t know much of nobility and gentlemen and courtesans – it was never his world – but he was pretty damn certain that decent women didn’t parade their bodies like flags on a festival. Other kind did that, the kind that worked in places like “Saddle Ablaze” and lured the passersby with sultry winks and luscious skin.

“I do,” he answered, sounding more curt then he intended. His fingers continued with their job, but his mind was off someplace else, some place about five feet behind him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Skie. Whether it was the bewitchment of her magic or just mundane bodily attraction, Victor couldn’t say that he abhorred the thought of taking her bait. She was a beautiful woman – well, a beautiful succubus, but the concept was the same – and she was clearly interested in him, and that was more then a rundown pugilist such as him could hope for nowadays. Even now, as he tried to reason with this temptation, he could feel his manhood stir at the very thought of what was only a turn of a head away. And yet, she was also a stranger, somebody who he knew only by name and face, but little else. He barely felt comfortable enough to exchange words with her, let alone intimacy.

Despite his terse reply he could hear no sounds of motion behind his back, no shuffling of clothes. And it gnawed at him. The more he tried to focus on piecing his revolver together, the more his focus fled to Skie and the freshness of the scented soap that she brought back from the bathroom on her bare skin. His curiosity peaked. Reinforced with the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in months, it was like a magnet that kept tugging at him, begging him to turn around. “What harm can it do?” it whispered, and no matter how much he struggled, the answer was too slippery and elusive for him to grasp it properly. So he surrendered and turned around.

Skie wasn’t everything a man could want from a woman, but she was pretty damn close. In fact, if it weren’t for that ghastly wing that served as a constant reminder of her heritage, Victor wouldn’t be able to find a flaw on her. Her face was bonny, her full lips stretched in what could’ve been a cryptic smile. Her hair hugged her visage, damp locks falling over her shoulder in waves as black as night. Her skin was spotless, as smooth as sin and twice as tempting as it encompassed her womanly curves. And her eyes... The blue eyes. The black hair. It was a stunning combination, something that men died for.

His eyes wandered as did his thoughts, both following the same route every virile man’s thoughts did. He could see them in each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and sighs and bed sheets and sweat and touches and kisses and all that occurred between a man and a woman in throes of passion. It was his decency that pulled the reins back, bringing to surface what little chastity and honor was left in Victor. The boxer got up, walked to the bed and picked up one of the folded blankets. He didn’t exactly want to, but that was the safest route. And Victor always preferred to play it safe. He unfolded the blanket and draped it around her bare shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold like that,” he said once the woolen cloth concealed her nakedness. Their eyes met, but it was difficult to determine who was more embarrassed by everything that transpired. Her wing loomed from behind, an almost ugly thing when compared to the beauty of its owner. It would serve as a good distraction. “So, what’s the story with your wing? I’m not knowledgeable when it comes to your...kind, but I reckon your ought to have two of them, not one.”

He was pushing his nose into matters that were none of his concern, just like he said he shouldn’t. But between dwelling on the sinful fantasies and palavering of the past, the reminiscing seemed like the safer option.

[Skie and Avery]

She opened her mouth to speak when he wrapped the blanket around her form, but no words came out. Instead, she clutched feebly onto the wool from the inside, pulling it close around her. Her shoulders slumped slightly, her form bowing over as if the rejection was a true physical weight that was pressing against her back. It felt heavier than the weight of the fists that had pummeled her earlier in the day. Her blush only deepened, scoring her cheeks sanguine. His curt reply and the following questioning of her deformity only drove home the sting.

Great, wonderful. A whore and a gimp. Her thoughts were doing more at harming her than the morning's attacks had been and she had to calm herself with a ragged breath before she could answer him, her eyes still on the bedspread and not on his.

"I'm a twin, my brother has a wing on the opposite shoulder. We were born that way, though we don't really know why." Her frown turned into a smile, though she couldn't quite force the bitterness from the normally cheerful gesture. "He can fly with his. I never quite figured all that out, how he could fly with just one, you know? I can't. Then again, he's the King of the Beauty too, worshiped as a god among our people."

She finally raised her chin, as if living these past battles against her pride was forcing her to reclaim that pride again. Still, she looked past him, out the open window where birds without her strange condition were using their limbs to climb the skies. She had already said far more than she intended, too much to say to any stranger, but for some reason she felt like she could continue with all the dark thoughts she normally kept to herself. It was probably the fact that she wouldn't see him ever again, she told herself. The anonymity kept her talking, like a child telling secrets to an imaginary friend or a pet. Secrets that would keep.

"When we were growing up, he always hid behind me. I was the strong one, and he was the one to run and cry and now I see all these amazing things he's doing and the one thing I've been striving for for, well, all my life, and I fail horribly. Every step I take brings disaster." She chuckled, shifting her weight on the bed so that she could curl farther into the protective wrapping of the blanket.

"In my father and brother's histories, I'm merely a footnote."

[The Cinderella Man]

Melancholy tiptoed into the room like a deft assassin, drawing closer to them with each word that was spoken. Skie’s story was one of sibling rivalry, where she seemed to get the short end of the proverbial stick while her brother enjoyed all the laurels of her people. It was a story of life in shadows that her family cast, making her feel less significant, inferior, useless. It wasn’t a story that Victor heard before, but the conclusion was always the same. Good people got hurt, worthy shoved aside, playing their role in yet another sad tale. It was the way of the world nowadays, it seemed. The boxer couldn’t remember the last time he heard somebody speak of a gleeful upbringing or a past that didn’t summon the clouds of gloom.

But the bitter taste of sobriety wasn’t the only thing that presented itself as the winged woman spoke. There was something more tangible in the air then just the grim notion that the words brought, and yet something still so vague that Victor wasn’t certain which of his senses were picking it up. At first he thought it was just his sympathy getting the better of him, making him feel all sorry and commiserative as if he just heard the world’s saddest story. The fact that Skie looked like somebody sapped the life out of her only added to his pity. And there was the tone of her voice, honest and doleful, voicing her tale in soft, mellisonant tones. But in the end, it was the smell that gave her off. At first Victor couldn’t quite distinguish it from the scent of her skin and the one that rose from the sheets, but by the time she concluded so did his mind. He felt the scent once before, back when they were in a cart pilled with dung and she cast her spell. It was stronger then, more uncouth and mixed with the foulness of the droppings, but now it was pure, smooth, swiveling from the succubus like dancing cobras. And they brought his chivalry to the test.

Victor knew it was her wanton magic pulling him in, teasing him like a sly temptress. And yet despite this realization, he never wanted her more then at that moment. His eyes observed her for the longest time while the silence lingered. It should’ve been the typical uncomfortable silence, the one that occurs when neither knew what to say, but there was nothing uncomfortable in sitting next to her, watching her as she gazed out the window. His mundane, down-the-earth mind was warning him with the voice of reason, assuring him this was just another way for her to lure him amidst the sheets. But the longer that voice gnawed at the man, the less heed Victor paid to it. And when he spoke again, he wasn’t nearly as curt as moments before.

“Being a footnote isn’t that bad. I oftentimes find footnotes more interesting then the history books,” he said. His hand found its way to her knee somehow, though whether it was merely giving her a reassuring touch over the coarse wool of the blanket or aimed for something more, even its owner couldn’t tell. He smiled amiably; it wasn’t a beautiful smile on a beautiful face, but it did its job decently enough.

Skie was unsurprisingly much better at it, her smile relinquishing her some of the burden all this reminiscing seemed to put on her shoulders. It was a tender thing, that smile of hers, a bit coy but deadlier then a hook to the face. And just like a well-timed blow to the head, it managed to make Victor forget. It made him forget about the extra leathery appendage that was still very much there. It made him disregard the fact that she was a succubus. It made him forget himself and his nice guy gimmick. He wanted to kiss her and comfort her and tell her that her people were either blind or nitwitted for not worshiping her instead of her brother. He wanted to throw that blanket off of her and see her nakedness again. He wanted to touch her...

With such thoughts running rampant in his mind, it should’ve been no surprise that his manhood reacted accordingly. And yet it was a surprise, and one that snapped the man out of his stargazing abruptly, making him retract his hand and get back on his feet, turning his back to the reason for this fervor.

“I, uh... I should probably go check my clothes. See if they’ve dried.” It was a feeble excuse. His clothes were no dryer then her hair was, and it was still soaking wet, dripping dewy droplets on her shoulders. But he had to get away lest thoughts would turn into more then just fantasies of a lonely man. For some reason – whether it was her magic or his dry spell – her very presence tempted him unnaturally. The boxer never found himself in a situation in which he was unable to turn down a woman, but he was in such a situation now and he felt like escaping. He felt like playing it safe.

[Skie and Avery]

His words were kind, but that was the thing about words. They could be as kind or hurtful as you wanted, and they didn't even have to mean a thing. She had resolved to keep her gaze out the window, where clouds were slowly ushered behind the silhouettes of rooftops by a lazy wind. However, her gaze was broken by a sudden pressure on her leg. She let her blue eyes fall, until she could see the source of the warm, unyielding grasp on her knee. Her nervous smile was flooding the air with pheromones, as they came sneaking out of her pores like some natural perfume that was trying desperately to calm the situation. The seductive tear gas, like most of Skie's good intentions, were only making things worse.

Her gaze traveled up his arm, taking in the sight of his muscular shoulders. She could appreciate the beauty there, the strength in him that had been brought by fighting. She could also appreciate the movement in his boxers, just visible on her peripheral vision without her needing to lower her gaze any more. She opened her mouth, letting her tongue dart out and wet her lips before she spoke. Before she could find the right words, he stood. Had he not, would she have been able to find them? His back turned and she knew what would happen now. Even soaking wet, he would walk away, as fast and as far as he could. She would let him.

Something furious in her, curved and dark, came screaming to the surface. It was like an assassin's dagger, shimmering in the dark, threatening her. It was partly her own jealousy against Avery, on how he could always just take what he wanted, and partly her mother's blood. The Moontae creed was very clear on what should be done, the teachings of her childhood repeating in her mind. When you thirst, you drink. When you hunger, you eat. When you lust, slake it. There is no need to deny yourself, for that is an abomination. Nurture your body, your needs. There is nothing wrong with love, even if it is just physical.

Was it true? There was nothing wrong with loving someone, even for a night, her mother had told her once. There was nothing wrong with the way her father had fallen into her mother's arms. Narrowing her eyes for a moment, Skie reached out from under the blanket, putting her fingertips on Victor's arm. She didn't grab him, just let her fingers brush gently along his wrist. He took another step, but it was a small one. Once his foot had come down, as loud to Skie as a bolt of thunder, he turned slowly. The trail of his eyes puzzled her, and she looked down herself. When she had reached for him, the blanket had slid down over her shoulder, revealing again nearly half of the nakedness that he had so recently sought to cover. Her eyes blinking furiously in embarrassment, she grabbed the edge of the blanket to cover herself again. To her surprise, however, this time it was she who was stopped. Two steps, padding barefoot on the hardwood floor, and then a warm, trembling hand was covering her own.

She looked up, and the blanket fell.

[The Cinderella Man]

When looking in retrospective at the moments such as the one at hand, one always seems to find a throng of words to describe what happened. Pages had been written of such moments, songs had been composed, tales told with the intricate amount of detail. And yet when one is captured in such a moment, words were like fish in a mountain stream; slippery, swimming away in the frivolous river of thoughts, practically unattainable. And even when you’re positive that you have your hands safely wrapped around one, it wriggles out of your grasp, leaving you tongueless. But that’s not such a bad thing; sometimes, in moments of intimacy, words are not only unnecessary, but unwanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, that was what Victor felt at the moment. Skie had stopped him with nothing more then a touch of a hand. He wanted to fight her, wanted to fend off this burning desire that the succubus evoked, but he was feeling a little bit like a man with a parasol, trying to fend off a hurricane. For the briefest of moments he was strong enough to sustain this attack of passion, and then the blanket slipped from her shoulder and blew what was left out of his chastity straight out the window. And his stubborn resistance against her charms was done for. When she made a motion to cover herself again, he was the one that stopped her from doing so. The words kept their slip-and-slide journey through his mind, but his actions were speaking instead, pleading her not to do so. Their eyes clashed, but it was a passionate collision; vibrant with the heat that radiated from them but gentle enough to make something in their chest flutter. And all of a sudden the touch of their hands wasn’t enough to satiate their hunger.

Victor sat back on the bed, but no sooner then he got settled, their lips met just like their hands seconds ago. It was a kiss of relief, the last strike of the battering ram that finally brought down the gates that kept them apart. It was a tentative caress of their lips at first, as if neither of them was certain that the other wanted it. But once they got a taste of each other it was like tasting the sweetest wine; no matter how much you drank, it left you craving for more.

The boxer’s hands were restless, itching for contact, eager to explore the smooth skin of her curvaceous body. They advanced with prudence at first, the right ascending up the length of her arm and towards her bare shoulder while its counterpart reached up for Skie’s bonny visage. It touched her cheek, cupping it, drawing her nearer as if somehow the touch would make their kiss more intimate. And it did, for her countenance tipped ever so slightly under the caress of his fingers, allowing their lips to part and meet again. This time the kiss was much more passionate, the insatiable kind that made the lovers feast on each others lips until they breaths ran short and the heat made them feel like they were in a furnace. Her scent was all around them, the sweet perfume of her body that brought all sorts of madness into his mind. It made him forget again. For when now that they kissed and touched, he couldn’t recollect what sort of insanity overtook him to make him reject her.

They parted with a longing sigh, but the pause lasted for no more then a heartbeat before Victor kissed her again, this time on the side of the neck. Her skin was tasteless, and yet he couldn’t get enough of it, like a thirsty man that finally reached an oasis. It wasn’t too far from the truth. The world was somewhat of a wasteland for the prizefighter as of late, a desert filled with demeaning looks and rejection slips. Today, in Skie’s den, he had found his oasis.

[Skie and Avery]

It had been so long since she had felt desirable. In the shadow of the Beauty, she was the ugly one, the cancerous black sheep of their gleaming ivory flock. She had been chasing after redemption in the shadow of her father's legends for so long that she had lost herself to them. Words were so powerful, but now, here, they were so meaningless. His lips touched hers, and she sighed into him, letting her tense posture relax against his touch. She leaned her face into his hands, shivered in delight as his other caressed her bare arm. It was all so innocent at first, kisses and touches that even virgin children could experience with no shame. As his calloused hands slid to her shoulder and across her cheek, they were light, pulling her closer to him with their gentle nuances.

She, too, reached out in a tentative caress. Her hands slid along his own arms as if she were afraid that anything bolder might see her shamed again, his back retreating down the hallway. Almost subconsciously, she let her hands move from his shoulders, her fingertips dancing down his back as their kiss parted and he was leaning forward again. Her lips, already swollen with his kisses, parted again. She expected another brush to her lips, but instead his face ducked to the side, his mouth closing on the side of her neck.

"Oh..." The words came out like the strange child of a moan and a growl, her voice low and hungry for more. She could feel that clenching coming again as it had in the shower, and this time she would obey it. She pulled him closer, her eyes closing as his lips did amazing things against her bare skin. As her arms wrapped around his back, her own tongue darting out to lick his ear playfully, his hands became more bold. Her hair was fisted in one, her head pulled gently to the side so that he could have more sway. The other had moved from her shoulder, to her side. It lingered there, his thumb lazily swaying back and forth until it seemed that he had reached his decision. As his mouth moved slightly, taking his kisses to the turn of her neck where it met her collar, his hand cupped her breast, moving slowly until his thumb strummed almost teasingly over the rosy peak found there.

It was too much for one woman to bear. Her hands dropped from his back, to his waistline. There, she found the soft fabric of his undershorts, and she let her fingers curl around the top edges. It was a powerful feeling, to have the boxer's boxers in her hands, knowing that she could even the odds with a tug and leave them both in a fair position; naked before each other. She pulled back, ignoring the small growling protest from Victor before she stepped off the bed, pulling him to his feet with her. He was not terribly taller than she was; she merely had to rise to the tips of her toes to kiss him, rather than pull him down as well. As they stood before each other, Skie leaned in, gently biting the edge of his chin before she let their lips meet again. One deep breath, inhaling the utterly masculine scent of him, and then she had the courage to do what her burning body was begging of her.

She pulled down the edge of his shorts, and helped him to remove them quickly. When they both poised nude before each other, there was only a moments hesitation. Skie was drinking in the full form of Victor, and it was she who reached out again. She leaned forward, resting her hands on his hips. She laid a chaste kiss against his chest, and letting her hands grow fearless, she stroked him as she pushed gently on his chest to sit him back down on the bed. She bent to lean in for more of the kisses they'd been sharing. It was intoxicating, the way this man stirred dormant fires to life. She smiled again, happy as he took her hips and guided them to meet his. For a moment, Skie was tempted to claim he'd been made for her, as their bodies met perfectly in so many places.

She cradled him close, her voice lifting in pleasure and joy as for the first time, willingly, her world collided and crested with anothers.

[The Cinderella Man]

Insanity overtook him. It was the sweet kind of lunacy, the kind that differed little from inebriety. Small wonder given the fact that Victor was drunk. He was drunk on Skie, drunk on the perfumed magic her body discharged through its pores. He was drunk on the warmth of her body that collided with his own and he was drunk on the sounds she made that all sounded like an aria of love and passion to his ears. And he was drunk on her kisses, and her caresses, and her eyes that looked down at him, sharing the flames of passion that burned within them both. This intoxication had undisputed dominion over his mind now, compounding itself with every second that he spent in her embrace. It trapped him in the world of blurry colors and sizzling touches that seemed to scorch their very skins.

When she coaxed him into sitting back on the bed – this time naked as the day he was born – and lowered herself on top of him, it took every ounce of Victor’s self-control and willpower to prevent him from finishing the job before he even got a chance to start it. It had been months since the last time he felt the woman’s warmth, months since something beautiful was willing to share these most intimate moments with someone such as him. But it was as if Skie knew somehow, for the succubus didn’t seem in any hurry. She exhaled a sigh that was almost a whimper, a sweet moan filled with alleviation and yearning, and closed her eyes as her body started to move at a slow, rhythmic pace.

Coherent thoughts seemed impossible past this point. Somewhere in the back of his mind Victor Callahan still remembered all the sermons and preaching and the words of holy men that insisted on the sanctity of marriage and the consummation of such a holy matrimony. Somewhere in this chaos of passion and desire there was his credo, the promise he made to himself never to lie with a woman who didn’t wear his ring on her finger. But those thoughts were broken, fragmented, buried so deep that they failed to occur to him even now when he made love to a woman he had met mere hours ago. It could’ve been his longing that clouded his usually rational mind or it could’ve been her magic or it could’ve been the Goddess of Love herself intervening. It didn’t matter. Victor was so enthralled by now that, if Skie asked him to jump through the window headfirst, he would’ve done it. For her.

Caught in throes of passion, the pair exchanged kisses and touches at a pace that gradually grew in speed. At first their lovemaking was slow, a legato of long strokes and lengthy kisses as they breathed into each other. But passion was like an avalanche; once it started to move, it only grew in both velocity and power until it blew their minds away. Their lips started to meet in an almost haphazard manner, exploring whatever part of the body they could reach. He could feel her teeth grazing against his shoulder, her nails passing over the muscles of his torso, leaving a barely notable trail on the sweaty sheen of his skin. He responded by pulling them both in a sitting position, letting her arch her body slightly backwards and lean it on his muscular hands. He kissed her neck again, this time lingering only for a second before his lips continued their descent down her svelte body. They stopped only when they reached her chest, her breasts rising and falling, rising and falling, faster and faster as her body demanded more oxygen. And yet he made both her breath and her heart race faster still when his lips closed around her rosy nipple, licking the sensitive piece of hardened, responsive skin, nibbling it just enough to hear an unrestrained moan rise from the depths of her soul and past her lips.

Breathing grew shallower, more frantic. Sporadic moans and grunts were growing in frequency, soaked in satisfaction. It was a desperate race towards the inevitable climax that both wanted to reach, but that both wanted to postpone for just a little while longer.