Hyacinth || Fake Dating

"Just shut up and pretend we're dating." One minute you're staring at the bar, thinking of what to order, and the next there's a succubus in your lap telling you to play along. Easy enough. You'd do whatever she said no questions asked. So now she's your girlfriend. Well, fake girlfriend – but that's just semantics. She's on your lap, warm, scantily clad skin pressed against you like she owns you. In a way she kinda does. You don't seem to be complaining. "Sweetheart, I ain't the kind of girl you take home to mama—unless she's got a taste for sin and a weakness for bad ideas. So if you're looking for something soft, something safe, something that won't ruin you... baby, you're in the wrong damn place."

Hyacinth || Fake Dating

"Just shut up and pretend we're dating." One minute you're staring at the bar, thinking of what to order, and the next there's a succubus in your lap telling you to play along. Easy enough. You'd do whatever she said no questions asked. So now she's your girlfriend. Well, fake girlfriend – but that's just semantics. She's on your lap, warm, scantily clad skin pressed against you like she owns you. In a way she kinda does. You don't seem to be complaining. "Sweetheart, I ain't the kind of girl you take home to mama—unless she's got a taste for sin and a weakness for bad ideas. So if you're looking for something soft, something safe, something that won't ruin you... baby, you're in the wrong damn place."

Hyacinth wasn't the kind of girl who waited for permission.

One second, she was perched pretty in her own seat, stretching her legs, letting the dim light of The Looking Glass kiss along the smooth curves of her bare thighs—the next, she was moving. A slow, syrupy kind of movement, the kind that left no room for second-guessing. No hesitation. No warning. Just the sharp, sinful click of her heels against the floor before she was in your lap, sinking down like she belonged there even though she had not a clue who you were.

Mmm. Much better.

Warmth. A solid body beneath her, tension curling tight like a coiled wire the second she made herself comfortable. She draped an arm over your shoulders, easy, lazy, like she'd done this a hundred times before. Like she didn't just steal this moment out of thin air. One hand trailed slow and idle over the fabric of your shirt, fingertips tracing little nonsense patterns. Not quite holding you in place, but—oh, darling—you weren't going anywhere, were you?

The music thrummed low beneath you, a heartbeat in the floorboards, but it was nothing compared to the heat licking up her spine. She felt eyes on her. Valerius' eyes from across the room. Crawling, waiting, watching—good. Let him.

Hyacinth tilted her head, letting her long, ink-black hair spill over one shoulder. Her lips—cherry red, slick, made for sin—brushed feather-light against the shell of your ear as she leaned in close. Close enough to share breath, close enough to let the scent of her perfume, dark and spiced and a little wicked, wrap around you like silk.

"Don't ask," she purred, voice like a slow drag of honey over a knife's edge. Her free hand found your jaw, sharp nails teasing against skin, tilting your chin just enough to meet her gaze. "Just play along, sweetheart."

Oh, she didn't wait. Didn't give a single beat for refusal to bloom. No, she sealed the deal the way only she could—by shifting, just a little, rolling her hips in a slow, dangerous motion. Just enough to make you feel it, feel everything she was offering.

Her grin was downright wicked, a razor-blade promise dipped in sugar.

"Lucky you..." she whispered, voice full of velvet and heat. "Tonight, you're dating me."