My imagination was on overdrive tonight, I thought hazily. I could almost feel the lips sliding a little on the wet flesh while the tongue caressed me. I could just about discern the occasional scrape of teeth, smooth and hard but being careful not to nick me. I stretched again, luxuriating in the imagined sensations, and it almost felt like the mouth fell off my breast for a second, only to recover and close back over it.
I blinked a little at that, wondering how steam could feel so real. Don’t drift off, I told myself sternly. Erotic dreams are fine until you drown in the tub!
But then the mouth started to suck, and I forgot everything else. With every pull, strong but gentle, with every small noise I made, and with every little shudder of pleasure that shot straight to my core, the warm wetness seemed to become more solid, more real. I gave a moan, and my hand sent my washcloth sliding down my inner thigh, as if it had a life of its own. It felt good smoothing over my skin; it felt better than good. As if every sense I had had been heightened and dialed up to eleven.
But not as good as it could have been.
Because it wasn’t my touch I craved. It wasn’t mist and steam that I wanted to have caressing me. I knew exactly who I wanted, and when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t even surprised to see a face emerging from the swirling steam.
Pritkin, I thought dreamily, recognizing the image my brain was conjuring up. I wish you were here.
The steam thickened once more, and the washcloth turned inward. I gasped because it felt almost like a tongue, a little smooth, a little rough, probing, questing. Like a lover beginning to learn your likes and preferences. Which was silly, because Pritkin already knew mine. A half incubus is a fast study, and he’d been an eager pupil!
Like the watery hands now sliding over my skin. They were only waves, I knew that, but they didn’t feel like it. Waves don’t have palms that cup you, or fingers that explore you, or the strength to part your thighs.
My knees fell open, lying against the tub on either side and the washcloth drifted away, no longer needed.
Yet the warm, wet caress abruptly intensified. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said that it really was a tongue now, the clever little muscle beginning to take over where the washcloth had left off. It might just be an underwater ripple, but felt like it had weight and substance.
A lot of substance, I thought, arching up, gasping.
I shivered again, hard, but not from cold. But from the feeling of being tasted, explored, and nuzzled by an overlarge nose. And then from—
Oh, God, yes! There! Right there!
My body twisted in pleasure as warm, flexible water wrapped around that elusive little nub, and began torturing it in the most delightful way. One that had me groaning and my body arching enough to threaten to come out of the bath. But watery hands held me down, one on each of my inner thighs, caressing, massaging, yet pinning me firmly in place, while I was thoroughly ravaged by a ghostly presence.
But it wasn’t a ghost. I knew them, thanks to my necromancer father, in all their forms and permutations. Had done so for as long as I could remember, and this wasn’t one. Wasn’t a man, either, although he looked like one, I thought vaguely, as a ghostly torso slowly coalesced out of the steam. I couldn’t see
the head now; it was busy underwater. But a strong back had formed and it was very familiar.
As was the much more distinct face that finally emerged from the bath.
“Pritkin,” I said breathlessly, finally realizing that I must have fallen asleep in the tub. Or maybe this was some new incubus ability I didn’t know about. Because my lover was half demon, and although he suppressed the hell out of it, those abilities did come out at times.
And they were glorious.
I lay there, watching water bead on a broad chest, powerful arms, and a well-defined nose and chin. The head was still somewhat hazy, as were the extremities, and there was no color to the body except for the pale steam still swirling around inside. But it was startlingly real nonetheless.
The lips moved, almost as if he was trying to say something, but I couldn’t hear. He bent closer and tried again, but the same thing was true. There were no sounds in the room except for the softly lapping water, the distant rasp of rain against the windowpanes, and the occasional creak of an old house settling in for the night.
He put a slowly emerging hand on the tub, just above one of my knees, and my head turned to watch it in fascination. Some soap suds had become trapped and were sloshing around under the transparent surface, making him look like he had white gloves on. And nothing else, I realized, as he rose partly out of the water, revealing the evidence of that fact in exquisite detail.
Golden light shimmered off of hard pecs, peaked nipples, and a six pack of ribs. Even the belly button hadn’t been forgotten, denting the surface slightly above an obvious Adonis belt. Water ran off the strange body and pelted down into the bath like rain, disturbing the water, but not enough. Because the real show was still hidden just below the surface, and twist and squirm as I might, it wasn’t enough to reveal it.
“Pritkin!” I complained—
For a second, before a hard mouth came down on mine.
It was the strangest sensation: the kiss familiar, yet not. And not just because the lips felt odd against my own. I’d have expected it to feel like kissing a water balloon, a thin skin stretched over boiling steam. But it didn’t. The lips were too firm for that, too warm. I wasn’t sure what they were like, because I didn’t have time to think about it.
I was too busy wondering why Pritkin didn’t know how to kiss me.
Not that it was a bad kiss, but compared to his usual it was . . . not clumsy, exactly, just . . . odd. As if he didn’t know what I liked. But he figured it out quickly enough, nipping my bottom lip, sucking on my tongue, then plundering my mouth so passionately that I forgot about everything else.
Until he suddenly drew back, and the impressive torso floated up out of the water. There was nothing underneath, after all, I realized, except for unformed steam. It was boiling away into the air, making him look like a genie coming out of a lamp, and was frankly disappointing.
But not for long. The steam started to thicken and come together as I watched, just as the chest had, forming a taut backside, powerful thighs, and the tops of thick calves. And, finally, the last piece of the puzzle emerged and . . . made me blink.