NOVEL NEXT v2 CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT: (18+) In which the preparation of a home-cooked meal encounters multiple surprises, suppressed by magic and science alike.
Father John Hayes didn’t much enjoy the clandestine entrance to his girlfriend’s loft apartment. He had to circle the old warehouse building to the loading dock, step over a chain barring the way and duck under a half-open garage door—no mean feat considering his height. Then he had to hope that Una, or her landlord Jay, had remembered to leave the freight elevator unlocked.
Jay Sigma might be a sketchy little weasel, but at least the dude is serious about security, John thought. And Una needs that, with powerful bad guys gunning for her. Despite his reluctance, John had to admit that the loft was the most convenient place for a date, or for any moment they could spend time together—though it had been a few weeks since he’d spent a full night there. They were both busy; Una with her strange new job as a government agent alongside Susan Miller, and John with the parish he’d inherited from her.
Where else we gonna meet? The question nagged at him as he crouched to slip under the garage door, trying not to brush the bouquet of wildflowers he carried on the oil-stained ground. Not at the rectory, now that our parish is open again. Not at the Haven; too many people know us there, and gossip spreads.
Ever since Monsignor Albert’s insinuation that he could rip John’s collar away if their forbidden liaison became public knowledge—or any kind of liability to the Archdiocese or Albert’s projects—John had felt a chill of apprehension before every rendezvous with Una. Taboo, man. It’s exciting, but it makes me feel like a damn teenager sneaking behind my mom’s back…
The gate of the freight elevator stood open, with the lift waiting for him as if someone had sent it down to fetch him. He glanced at the shielded camera in the corner and the keypad beside it. Wait, what was the code Una gave me? Better look it up. But once he stepped all the way into the cage of the lift, the pad lit up green, and the doors slid shut.
John looked up at the camera again as the lift shuddered upwards, towards the third-floor space that served the succubus and the hacker as workspace and living quarters. Does Jay have some kind of facial recognition system? Or is someone watching me? Una said Jay was gone all weekend, over at some tech event in Queens…
The priest studied himself in the dull, barely reflective metal wall of the elevator. A white dress shirt, black slacks, and polished loafers. His dark suit jacket, folded over his forearm. The bright splash of flowers in one hand, a bottle of chilled rosé in the other, and an uncertain smile on his face. But the collar of his office, nowhere to be found; he’d left it at the rectory, of course.
The warm brown of John’s skin looked slightly sallow in the harsh light of the bare bulb above; his dark eyes stared back, deep-set beneath thick eyebrows. He lifted the cold bottle of wine and ran his fingers across his cheeks and down the nape of his neck. The stubble he normally kept at bay had grown into a faint shadow on his jawline, and the short, curly black hair atop his head would need a touch-up soon. He sighed. Don’t have the luxury of looking my best; too busy. But come on, Father Hayes… you know that just means you’re not making time for it… or for us.
With a jolt, the old elevator stopped at the third floor. The doors rattled open, revealing that the safety gate up here was open, just as on the first floor. Because she’s expecting me, he told himself. Not all that careless. Just relaxed.
Una and Jay’s loft was a vast space that occupied the entire third floor of the warehouse, with a warren of storage rooms, workshops, and bedrooms at the back. The main area was an open-plan kitchen, dining area, and living room that stretched from wall to wall, with a view across Brooklyn rooftops through enormous industrial windows, glass divided by dark, metal muntins. Outside, the sun’s last rays touched the brick facades of the neighboring buildings, while the sky darkened from azure to purple.
John stepped into the section of the massive loft that served as a foyer. The scent of cooking food filled his nostrils: oil, sizzling vegetables, wine, spices, and meat. Floating over it all, John smelled something like dough, or pastry. His mouth watered, and his mind marveled: She’s cooking? Really? Making me dinner?
The thought stirred him in ways he couldn’t quite articulate, a mixture of romance and uneasiness. Father Michael had always proved himself terrible in the kitchen—he never cooked unless he absolutely had to, and even then he often ended up burning something. But Una’s not Father Michael. If anyone knows that, it’s me.
If the odors of food hadn’t seduced John into the loft, the sight of Una Belmont would’ve done the job. Una stood facing away from him, leaning over the kitchen counter—a long slab of stainless steel atop cabinets of dark wood that looked like expensive walnut or cherry. The succubus wore a black apron, with almost nothing else beneath. John stopped, transfixed, taking in the sight of her luscious, heart-shaped ass and the long, muscular line of her back; the swell of her hips and the dimples just above, where the straps of her apron rested, tied together at the small of her waist.
The demoness seemed unaware of his presence. But she’s cooking practically naked, John thought. Is this an invitation? An offer? He licked his lips unconsciously, and took another tentative step towards her, setting the flowers and wine down on the long dining table. Faint music played an old-timey tune, a woman’s clear tones vibrating in French: La vie en rose, he realized. Edith Piaf.
The sound of the priest’s footsteps echoed in the cavernous room, but Una didn’t turn to acknowledge him. John’s pulse hammered in his chest as she bent over to check something in the leftmost of several ovens; the skimpy thong she wore beneath the apron did little to obscure the shape of her sex. He felt a surge of heat and pressure below his belt as she wiggled her rear, bending further and sticking out her ass as if to give him a better view. His breath caught in his throat; a moment later, Una straightened up, still apparently ignorant of his presence.
She has to know I’m here, he thought, moving around the central island to approach her. She must have heard the elevator and my shoes on the floor. Maybe she’s teasing me? Or testing me? John watched Una’s face as she took up a whisk and began beating a bowlful of egg whites vigorously, but she only smiled absently. Then he saw her beautiful yellow eyes, out of the corner of his own vision—they flickered towards him, then away, trying not to look.
Aha. So we’re playing surprise, are we? He grinned, enjoying the tension between them. Well, I can play along. He quietly loosened his belt, letting it dangle free of the buckle; next, he slipped a hand inside his slacks, and adjusted the angle of his cock, already stiff and growing more rigid by the second.
Una hummed along with the song’s chorus. “Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Il me parle tout bas…” She set aside the whisk, then pushed herself up on her tip-toes, reaching for spices in a rack overhead. As she strained for them, John marveled at the lines of her calves and thighs, and the way her back flexed making her breasts rise as well, bare beneath the black cloth.
He moved in close behind her, until he could catch her smell mingling with the delicious aromas of food: sweat, soap, and something else, something sweet and spicy, like cinnamon mixed with a hint of musk. John let his pants drop, freeing the brown length of his erection. As Una sank back onto her heels, his hands closed gently around her hips, and he pressed the length of his member against the thin strip of material that covered her slit.
“Et, dès que je l’apercois,” Una sang softly, “Alors je sens en moi…” She turned her head slightly to make eye contact with John, a knowing smile curving her lips; then her expression shifted to surprise as if for the first time noticing John behind her.
“Honey,” he murmured, using his thumb to tug the thong away and press the head of his cock into the cleft of Una’s pussy. “I’m home.”
Una gasped and arched her back, pressing back against John and grinding her ass against his crotch, trying to envelop him. “You’re home early,” she managed, her voice catching as John’s tip nudged her clit, then slipped lower to rub against the slick folds of her opening. “I was planning to serve dinner… before… ah…” Her breath caught again, and John thrust into her, feeling Una’s tight, silky wetness envelop him. The whisk clattered to the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” said the demoness, drawing the word out into a long moan. She pushed back against him to force his dick deeper inside her. “John. Oh, Johnny…”
John exhaled and tightened his grip, pulling Una closer. “I brought wine… and flowers.” He reached up under her apron and grabbed one of her breasts, cupping his fingers around its generous swell. “Didn’t expect to find you… cooking French cuisine.” His hips rolled, pumping slowly, sliding the length of his cock in and out of Una’s cunt.
Una whimpered softly. “I’m sorry it’s not done yet, Father Hayes. I just… wanted it to be perfect for you, because I haven’t seen you in so long.” Her fingers curled around the edge of the countertop, gripping it tightly as she rocked back against him. “I missed you, John. Missed you… fucking me. I’ve been so hungry.”
He groaned, squeezing her breast and speeding up. “Partake… of my flesh, woman.” His other hand snaked around her hip, and his fingers brushed over the damp fabric between her legs, searching for and finding her sensitive nub. Una screamed and thrashed, her hair coming loose from a clip to spill around her shoulders; the ties of her apron were quickly coming undone as well.
“I’m going to… oh John, take me. Make me your wife and your slut!” Una threw her head back, her lips parting, and her yellow gaze roaming the ceiling. John’s hand on her breast moved higher and gripped the strap of her apron, tugging it downward to free her other nipple. His mouth closed on her shoulder and neck as the tempo of his thrusts increased, his balls slapping against her with each stroke.
John Hayes was a tall man, and Una’s current form was considerably shorter—as he’d noticed it often was when they met for sex—with warm golden skin dotted with freckles and an ass that begged for attention. To reach a better angle, he gripped her by the hips and lifted her off the ground, then set her on the countertop before thrusting into her again, burying himself to the hilt as pots and pans clanged.
“Oh! John!” Una’s cry rose, high and sharp. “Yes—unnh, yes, like that!” Something began beeping, but the demoness beneath him writhed and clenched her inner muscles in ways that sent a shudder of pleasure up his spine, and distractions faded away.
His cock pistoning rapidly in and out of Una’s slick cunt, John felt his body tingle with warmth and the rising pressure of impending orgasm. Una’s cries of ecstasy grew higher pitched, more incoherent. Abruptly, the smell of smoke drifted into his nose, and the beeping became a shrill alarm. John glanced over to see that a pan on the stovetop had burst into flame, and a cloud of black smoke wafted towards the ceiling.
Una’s fingers clutched at his arm; her head turned, and she stared at the fire with a dazed expression. “What? Oh, shit, the souffle—” The spell broken, the pair of them disentangled, and Una rushed over. “Oh, damn it! I should have—” Flames danced across the pan and leaped to the burner beneath.
“Rehcu zanaanu!” Una snapped, with a circular motion of her hands. John blinked in astonishment as a cloud of steam gathered itself into existence just above the pan, condensing from the air and falling on the flames in a patter of hissing droplets. The smoke gradually dissipated, but the beeping alarm kept going.
Una scowled. “I think I might salvage…”
Before she could finish, two small, flying objects buzzed around the corner, each carrying some kind of cannister. They swooped low over Una’s head and sprayed the stovetop liberally with fire-extinguishing foam, spattering the demoness, every dish and utensil on the counter, and a good part of the floor.
“Hell’s fucking bells!” Una waved her hands at the drones. “Robots, go away! Security, deactivate! Code Sigma 811!” One flew off, but the second hovered stubbornly. “Go! Go away!” The machine whined and spun in place, spraying the walls and floor.
John stepped over cautiously. The drone was about the size of a small dog, and he reached for it, intending to grab its frame or cargo cannister rather than the whirring rotors. It evaded him, darting to one side and continuing to spritz foam. Finally, after he raised his hands and backed away, the thing shot up and disappeared into the darkness of the loft’s rafters.
“That’s Jay Sigma’s idea of fire alarms?” John wiped at the white mess that covered his slacks and shirt. Una had turned off the stove and stood staring in dismay at the wreckage.
“State-of-the-art, apparently,” Una muttered, then took off her apron to use it on the counter, standing naked save for her tiny thong.
John watched in admiration for a moment, then blinked. “Sorry if I came at a bad time.”
Una rubbed her forehead, then smiled and dropped the apron. “Obviously I’m the one who should apologize,” he said, stepping towards him with her arms open. “I haven’t cooked a fancy meal in a… very long time. But I guess I got a little distracted?” She stretched to kiss him softly on the cheek, then on the lips.
John returned her kiss, his arms slipping loosely around her waist. “I don’t think the fire was your fault. I was the distraction.”
“Mmm, but I wanted that distraction,” Una breathed, pressing herself against him. “I wanted to pretend to be your little homemaker, cooking for you. Waiting for you to get home and bend me over and fuck me hard.” She kissed him again, her teeth catching his lower lip and tugging at it, drawing out an appreciative growl from her partner in domestic fantasy.
John’s hands slid down to cup her ass and squeeze her against him. “And did you get what you wanted, little lady?” He felt her nipples, firm and erect, poking into him through his soaked shirt.
“Almost, dearest,” the succubus murmured into his chest. “You didn’t come at a bad time. It’s just you haven’t come at the right time… yet.” She slid both hands around his waistband and drew his pants down, pulling him down with them towards the messy floor. “But you’ll have the rest of the night to make it up to me. Won’t you?” She kneeled and tugged John’s shoes away from his soles, then helped the big priest pull his trousers the rest of the way off.
The succubus straddled him, caressing him with her fingertips. “Now, where were we…?”
“Don’t we need to deal with dinner somehow?” John Hayes rasped, his eyes locked onto Una’s swaying breasts. He felt the warmth and weight of those heavy orbs as they brushed over his skin; he inhaled deeply, taking in Una’s scent and the lingering odor of the extinguisher foam mixed with smoke and food.
Una’s hands reached his cock and brought it back to full attention with gentle, hurried strokes. “We can order takeout,” she murmured, guiding him towards her opening, already glistening in anticipation. “I know a place that’s fast and good.”
Then she was around him again: hot, velvety, and tight. John moaned as she lowered herself onto his torso, her breasts hanging above him and her yellow eyes nearly glowing. The look on her face was half-lidded, dreamy, utterly seductive; he had to wonder how many lovers had felt trapped by that stare—not the expression of a former priest, or a newly reborn woman, but a far more ancient visage of mingled pleasure and hunger.
John sat up as much as he could and cupped a handful of one ample breast, then sucked its dark brown nipple into his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth and eliciting a gasp of delight from Una. Then she put a hand on his chest, running her long fingernails across his pectorals, and pushed him back down, riding him harder, faster.
The priest’s hands gripped her thighs, and he thrust his hips up in rhythm, meeting her halfway. The demoness cried out, throwing her head back as her hair whipped back and forth, covering half her face. Una undulating, her hips gyrating into an impossibly sinuous motion, and John grunted in response—her movements stimulated the base of his shaft while the muscles inside her cunt squeezed and released him at irregular but maddeningly pleasant intervals. His eyes fluttered involuntarily, and a shudder went through him, starting at the base of his spine and radiating outward.
“Johnny,” Una Belmont whispered, and he caught a glint of her feral gaze in the fading light from the sunset outside. “Do you mind if I… pop my tail out?”
He shivered, remembering the sensation of the slender appendage wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing and stroking. The way it felt when she slid its slick length in and out of him while he lay helpless beneath her… John licked his lips, tasting her lip balm and his sweat. “Not… at all…” His voice sounded strange in his own ears: desperate, hoarse.
Una Belmont smiled, showing her white teeth, and her eyes flared bright yellow for a fraction of a second. She lifted and slammed down, impaling herself on his cock and making him arch his back and cry out. Again, a second time, then a third. Accompanied by a wet squelch, the succubus’s torso spasmed; the fleshy base of her ass seemed to bulge outwards as something emerged from it, a dark tapered length that wriggled free.
John’s eyes widened as the slim appendage twisted and coiled, seeking him out. He gasped when it wrapped around the underside of his cock, just below the ridge of his glans. The warm smoothness tightening around his base sent sparks of pleasure down his spine, but held back his mounting pleasure as well.
Lord, make me pure, he prayed silently, even as the demoness atop him rocked again, her pace increasing with a steady rhythm. But not yet. Not… just... yet.
