Succubus Heat

Начало книги

Sleeping with my therapist was a bad idea.

I knew it too, but I couldn't really help it. There were only so many times I could hear "Why don't you explain that" and "Tell me how you feel." So, I finally snapped and decided to show the guy how I felt. I've gotta say, for a decent guy who had never cheated on his wife, he wasn't that hard to take advantage of. And by "not hard," I mean "ridiculously easy." His pseudo morals gave me a strong succubus energy fix, and when you consider that what we did was probably the most productive thing that ever took place on his couch, it was almost like I did a good deed.

Still, I knew my boss was going to be pissed, seeing as he was the one who'd ordered me to seek counseling in the first place.

"Do not tell Jerome," I warned my friends, tapping my cigarette against the ashtray. "I don't want to deal with that kind of fallout."

My friends and I were sitting at a booth in Cold July, an industrial club down in Seattle's Belltown district. The place was dark and loud, with crisscrossing pipes on the walls and ceiling forming the bulk of the décor. Because it was a private club, it didn't have to adhere to the city's public smoking ban, which was a perk for me. In the last few months, I'd found nicotine was one of the essential things helping me cope. Other things on the essential list: vodka, Nine Inch Nails, a steady supply of moral men, and an all-purpose bitchy attitude.

Читать дальше →