Her voice was at his ear. Low. Warm. The voice of a succubus who has been patient and is now being practical.
She looked over his shoulder at Soha's face.
Soha was looking up at her — the dark eyes wide and wet and carrying a specific furious helplessness, her hands on his shoulders, her pregnant belly pressed between them, her entrance pressing back against his cockhead with the involuntary muscle memory of a body that had already orgasmed once and had very strong opinions about what came next despite everything its owner was saying.
"You're going to become addicted to his cock," the succubus told her.
Her tail flicked.
"It looks delicious."
"I don't—" Soha started.
"Hm," the succubus said.
She humped her hips forward.
