Succubus - Part 4

Mary sits in cooling bathwater, trying to wash the wreckage out of her skin. Over at the club, Michael slumps in a back booth like a gutted man. Aubrey leans across the sticky table and pokes at his open wound for fun. Michael can’t read the grin on her face. Doesn’t matter—his lips find hers anyway, hard and hungry, tasting sweat and spite and something worse. Mary bursts through the front door, breathing fire. Joanna just laughs and points down the hall. When Mary sees Michael with Aubrey’s tongue in his mouth, the floor drops. She spits the question at him anyway—how the hell could he? Aubrey smiles, fingers tracing his neck like she’s marking meat. Tells Mary she was the consolation prize. Mary’s fury spikes, then settles cold. She steps forward, voice low and velvet over steel. So this is what you want? Take it. Michael’s hands answer before his mouth does, sliding over bare skin and cheap glitter. Aubrey keeps egging him on, hungry to watch the whole mess burn. Pleasure comes in bruising waves, rough, filthy, and impossible to slow. He knows this trade-off might gut him later. Still, he keeps diving in—mouth, hands, everything—because tonight he’s decided the ruin tastes better than regret.