Desire matters

The incubus stepped back with deliberate grace, dragging a fingertip along her collarbone as he moved, as if **** to lose contact. “Very well,” he said, voice heavy with amused restraint. “Let’s begin with the ink.”

Lila watched him warily, her body taut, every nerve strung with arousal and anticipation. She stayed exactly where she was—bare, flushed, her cock still half-hard and bobbing gently with each breath. But now her posture bore something else: power.

“The ink,” he continued, circling her like a patient predator, “is not just pigment. It’s a contract. Every word you write, every sentence you breathe life into, is bound not just by your will, but your desire. That’s the catch. The journal obeys the deepest hunger—spoken or not.”

Her brow furrowed. “So if I’m distracted, or afraid—?”

“It will still grant what it senses. Not what you think. What you feel. Which is why,” he paused behind her, breath brushing the back of her neck again, “you need control. Over yourself. Over others. Over me.”

Lila shivered. He wants me to lose control. He’s hoping for it.

But she didn’t flinch. She turned her head, lips brushing close to his jaw. “Tell me more.”

The incubus growled low—not threatening, but stirred—and moved to the side, gesturing to the journal. “Each entry writes reality, yes. But reality must have rules. Proximity. Duration. Scope. Without constraints, chaos takes root.”

He leaned close again, the heat of him nearly overwhelming. “The craving you just wrote? It lasts only as long as they can hear you. That’s proximity. You could change that. Write forever. Write everyone. But every expansion feeds the hunger behind the journal. The deeper you reach, the more… it notices.”

“It?” she asked softly, her gaze dropping to the cover of the closed book.

He gave a slow, reverent nod. “The journal was born from something older than lust. Older than language. It listens. And it lives. You start reaching too far, and it might start whispering back.”

She ran her fingers along the spine of the book. Her voice came out as a husky whisper. “So I have to be careful what I want.”

His eyes gleamed, lips curling. “But isn’t that the fun part?”

There was a pause, long and heavy with heat.

Then Lila stepped toward him, slowly. “I want more,” she said. “Keep going. Tell me what I can’t discover on my own.”

“And if I do,” he murmured, his breath catching as her hand ghosted down his chest, “you’ll let me have you?”

She smiled—wicked, assured. “No. If you earn it, I’ll let you devour me.”

His pupils flared.

But he held.

For now.