Even fallen angels can wish for a miracle.
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As a succubus, preying on humans is Raschael's business, and mortal feelings are nothing but a waste of time. So maybe her king meant to punish her when he sent her out to hunt on one of the most holy mortal holidays. Or maybe he just wanted her far, far away, so he could banish Raschael's one and only friend.
Now Raschael must track down a missing fallen angel, and she doesn't have a clue where to start. Bigger predators are closing in, and Rasche's only lead is a Christmas stripper named Noelle.
The waitress ditched her tray of drinks and took Rasche by the hand, leading her into one of the back rooms. The Christmas theme survived even in the private show quarters, though with a more generous degree of full-on triple-X action. The small space Raschael’s escort chose had been decorated with the same garlands and wreaths, and a stocking hung by the door, but on top of the holiday trimmings there were also striking boudoir pictures. They all contained the same sweet, golden angel, but in much less “angelic” form. Heavy-lidded, lush with sensual intoxication, and grinning with scandalous intent, she frolicked across three of the walls, being as naughty as she could possibly be.
Raschael spun to address the woman personally. “Who are you?”
By way of answer, the woman nodded her head at the bright red stocking. Noelle, it read in sapphire-blue, glittery letters across the trim.
“Noelle?” Rasche asked. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Noelle replied with a brilliant smile. “It really is my God-given name. Honest.”
“All right, Noelle, then about Kyrie...she told you about me, I take it?”
“Oh, now, now.”
Noelle took Rasche’s hand again, stroking her fingers, and led her to the soft red leather seat stationed in the center of the room. She gestured for Raschael to sit and, before Raschael could stop her, climbed expertly up into her lap.
Raschael blinked. Since when does a human call the shots with me?
“First thing’s first, gorgeous. How about we get a little more...intimate?”
She raised a hand and snapped her fingers. The faded strains of Blink-182 from the main room became inaudible, as Lady Gaga’s “Speechless” flowed into the room’s own speakers. Noelle lowered herself over Raschael’s body, rocking in time with the sultry piano, wrapping arms around the fallen one’s neck.
Beyond her control, the stripper set off Rasche’s feeding instincts, and her hunger awoke. Forgetting herself for the briefest of moments, Raschael closed her eyes and let the first swell of carnal desire stir to life in her loins and chest. The dancer didn’t stop her when she lifted up her hands and cupped them over pert, soft buttocks.
Noelle smelled of warm vanilla. She had a luscious body, petite with classic curves, Renaissance in a way...but with eyes closed, Raschael’s mind made her Kyriel, little and lithe and naughty in the same white teddy and downy wings. Under her hands, Noelle’s round hindquarters might have been Kyrie’s slim, sweet ass instead, and the scent of heather rose up with the remembered sounds of Kyrie’s intoxicated desire from earlier in the evening. Rasche lowered her face to nuzzle a plentiful swell of tender breasts, and she sighed before she could stop herself, moving her body along with the other woman’s, yearning.
“Why don’t you tell me about your friend?” Noelle whispered in her ear, gyrating in slow, deliberate circles against Raschael’s body. “Why are you out searching for her on Christmas Eve, hm?”
“She ran away,” Raschael said. Her palms caressed the dancer’s ass greedily. “And I’m responsible for bringing her back before she gets in trouble.”
Noelle tsk’d her. “Now, now, Raschael. You make her out to be some sort of bad puppy.”
Rasche opened her eyes again as the other woman extended a leg and swung herself neatly around, facing away to grind her cute little rear down on the succubus’s lap instead. Noelle’s hands stole to hers and guided them up to stroke tits through gauzy white fabric. Raschael’s fingertips found stiffened nipples, and she teased them through the thin material.
“Who told you my name?” she asked. “Kyrie?”
“Mm, could be...”
Noelle’s hands closed, warm, over Rasche’s own, as the dancer welcomed her to knead, stroke, and caress. Rasche inclined her head to breathe in deep, relishing the scent of beautiful blonde hair.
“You said Kyrie had horns?” she ventured. It might have been wiser to pretend she hadn’t heard Noelle say anything about it, but if a mortal had seen past Kyriel’s mask, there could be trouble.
“Mm-hm, she sure does.”
The answer carried no hint at all of curiosity or suspicion. Maybe as a stripper, Noelle had no want to question her clients’ strange ways or odd features—being too nosy could cost her tips, after all—but it didn’t sit well with Raschael at all.
“Listen, honey,” she whispered. “I’m sure as hell enjoying this, and if I had the time to spare I’d be all over you in ways you can’t even conceive.”
“Mm-hm,” Noelle replied. Her hips rolled in languid, mesmerizing rhythm, and Rasche let out a little growl as she returned the motion in kind.
“Oh, sweetness, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t stand,” she said. “But not now. You will tell me if you’ve seen my girl, and where she is, and then we’ll see about making it up to you. Sound good?”
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