+ + +
+ + +
+ + +
jess's social network:
THE DEVILIN FEY (Incubus Story.01)
A short story, in which a demure young woman unleashes the "devil in" her, through the intimacy with an incubus—her incubus.
* Recommended for readers who are seeking something "different" in the "paranormal romance" genre
* * *
“…the author really hits her stride in paranormal stories.”
* * *
Chapter I: Zac
He shared some physical likenesses with the stranger in my dreams. The pale, moonlit skin. Light, ash brown hair. A well-proportioned, good physique.
What a mix-up.
Nobody dared to say anything about a famous alumnus of Art Ex University. Zac was the NYT-Bestselling Author of Seduction 101: All The Dirt on Women. It was obvious his entire existence centered around putting females ‘in their place’.
I was writing an exposé for the widely-read quarterly school magazine, entitled, Zac Walsh’s Portrayal Of Women. It focused on the derogatory, negative social impact of the publication (complete with a hot pink cover of a platinum blonde bombshell with her heart shaped tushy, high up in the air), and why anybody with half a brain should take him for the scum he was.
He must have heard about it. He sent me an e-mail, saying he wanted to meet me in person. I didn’t feel like replying, so I didn’t.
In the next e-mail, he said he wanted to share his perspective, and be quoted as an original source in the write-up.
It would be “a unique opportunity” — I couldn’t argue with that. I decided to be upfront, professional, and beat it after that.
We met at Bound’ry, a trendy upscale restaurant in the heart of town. I picked my best little black dress for the occasion, a chiffon tiered one shoulder by BCBG Max Azria.
Zac had a...presence. There was something in the way he carried himself. His medium layered hairstyle with side swept bangs exuded a daredevil, roguish kind of attitude. He looked younger than his twenty-nine years.
It made me think: maybe he was the stranger I had been dreaming about, for the past week or so. Sometimes, the stranger and I would be making love. I seemed to hear his soul: it was struggling, seeking something.
The crazy sentimentalist in me went one step ahead: perhaps I had been lucky enough to find ‘the man of my dreams’...literally?
Zac’s light grey eyes met my green, speckled ones. We had just been seated at the table.
“You know, Miss Fey,” he said, leaning in on my last name. “I think you and I are going to end up in the same bed, by the end of the night.”
He sounded more confident, than lewd. Still, I was going to stay on the smart, safe side.
“Really?” I replied. I even arched my boobies up a little bit, a subtle tease. “That’s charming.”
I took a sip of my drink before firing off some questions about his publications, all of which he calmly responded to with incredible rationality.
“I’m guessing you’re single?” Zac said.
“Is there anything wrong with that?” My tone was a tad bit...condescending.
“No — it’s a pity though. You make good company.”
If this smooth-talker thought he could flatter his way into bedding me, I was going to show him otherwise.
“Funny how you don’t say that of women, in your writing,” I pointed out.
“It’s a matter of intelligence, or lack thereof.”
“That says something about most of the women you meet.”
“Well, I guess you’re not most women.”
That comment got my defenses down. I tried to look nonchalant, though I was rather pleased inside. It wasn’t something I heard often.
Which got me right where he wanted.
* * *