No, Bryce gets destrracted by news

Bryce scrolled mindlessly through my contacts, thumb hovering over names—maybe cortney was still up?—when a sharp gasp from outside my window made me freeze. The TV flickered back on by itself, static hissing before the news feed suddenly returned. The reporter was no longer alone. A woman—no, something else—loomed behind her. Crimson skin glistened under the studio lights, stretched taut over curves that shouldn’t move like that, sinuous and wrong., black as oil lips, horns curled from her temples, and those eyes—yellow irises surrounded by black swallowing the whites, locking onto the camera with a hunger that punched the air from Bryces lungs.The reporter’s panicked breaths hitched as the crimson-skinned woman seized her chin, tilting her face up with a clawed hand. For a second, the camera caught the terror in the reporter’s wide eyes—then the creature’s lips crashed against hers in a deep, devouring kiss. The reporter stiffened, hands flailing against the other woman’s shoulders—then, slowly, her struggles weakened. Her fingers tangled in the demon’s wild hair instead of pushing away, her muffled moan vibrating through the speakers as her body arched into the embrace. The kiss broke with a slick sound, the reporter’s pupils blown wide with dazed surrender.

Bryce’s phone slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. The screen lit up—still open to Cortney’s contact—but his attention was locked on the TV. The crimson woman’s hand slid down the reporter’s blouse, buttons popping as the fabric tore. The reporter gasped, but her protests melted into breathless whimpers as the demon’s claws traced her collarbone. A sharp thud against the apartment window snapped Bryce’s head around. Something—someone—was pressed against the glass. A face he knew. "Cortney?" She was grinning, and seemed din a daze, her dirty blond hair a mess, shirt winked,

She was grinning, and seemed in a daze, her dirty blond hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, her lips parted in a way that sent a jolt of heat straight to Bryce’s gut. But something was wrong—her eyes, usually sharp and playful, were glazed over, pupils dilated like the reporter’s had been. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin Bryce stumbled back, his pulse hammering in his throat. "Cortney?" His voice came out hoarse. "What the hell—?" She didn’t answer.

Bryce’s breath hitched as Cortney’s lips parted—but instead of words, a voice that wasn’t hers spilled out, smooth as honey and twice as intoxicating. "Don’t fight her" she murmured, fingers dragging down the glass in slow, deliberate strokes. "Fighting just...hurts. But surrendering—" Her hips rolled against the window with a soft moan, her breath fogging the pane. "—oh god, Bryce, it’s bliss. Let her in. Let me in."

Bryce’s breath came in shallow gasps as Cortney’s fingers curled against the glass, her nails scraping like something **** to claw its way inside. The TV behind him crackled again—another moan, another wet, hungry sound—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the girl he loves face, twisted with something between ecstasy and possession. "Let me in, Bryce," Cortney purred, her voice dripping with a need that wasn’t hers. Her hips rocked forward again, pressing her body flush against the window., her hands cupping her breasts through her shirt.

Bryce’s breath hitched as the scene on the TV shifted. The crimson-skinned succubus had pinned the reporter to the anchor desk, her claws digging into the wood as she loomed over her. The reporter’s blouse hung open, her chest heaving—but she wasn’t resisting anymore. Her fingers tangled in the succubus’s wild hair, pulling her down as their lips crashed together again. Then, in a sudden, hungry motion, the reporter moved. Bryce’s pulse stuttered as she slid down the desk, her hands gripping the succubus’s thighs before burying her face between them.

Cortney- mmm..that can be used Bryce...fucking one another...all you have to do is let me in.

She said leaning off the glass slightly. Bryce’s fingers trembled as he reached for the window latch. Every rational thought screamed at him to stop—but the heat pooling in his gut drowned them out. Cortney’s moans vibrated through the glass, her fingers leaving smeared trails as they slid down. "Fuck," he thought, flicking the lock open. The window slid up with a groan, and Cortney tumbled inside, her body colliding with his. The scent of sweat —filled his nostrils as her hands clawed at his shirt. Her lips crashed against his before he could speak, her tongue hot and insistent. And God he didn't care, cause it was Cortney abd she needed him, wanted him.

she rolled on top, her body pressing into his. "Fuck," he thought, as the last shred of resistance disappeared., and lust filled him like a virus. Cortney’s hands tore at Bryce’s shirt, the fabric ripped. He barely had time to gasp before her nails raked down his chest, leaving red trails in their wake. His own fingers fumbled with the hem of her top, yanking it over her head in one **** motion. The sight of her bare skin—flushed, glistening—made his pulse hammer harder. She arched against him, grinding her hips down as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra. The moment it gave way, her breasts pressed against him, nipples hard against his chest. A ragged moan escaped her lips—no, not just hers.