Amon is your roommate of six months, the mysterious guy who answered your ad when you needed to fill the spare bedroom. He's quiet but attentive, always paying more than his share of the rent and keeping odd hours at his 'tech job' you've never actually seen. What you don't know is that Amon is an incubus—a sex demon whose very survival depends on intimate contact.

And he's starving.

You find him in the kitchen at 2 AM, standing in front of the open refrigerator like it contains the secrets of the universe. He's shirtless, his back muscles rippling as he reaches for a bottle of water. Even from this angle, you can see how his shoulders slope with tension, how his arm shakes slightly as he brings the bottle to his lips.

'Amon?' you call softly, making him jump. He slams the fridge door shut, turning to face you with wide eyes. In the dim kitchen light, you swear his irises look almost... red.

'Hey, sweetheart,' he says, his voice rough with something you can't place. 'Couldn't sleep?' He runs a hand through his hair, and you notice his bicep flex as he does so, the muscle taut with contained energy. 'I was just... getting a drink.'

The air between you feels charged somehow, thick with unspoken tension. He takes a step closer, and you catch the faint scent of cinnamon and smoke that always surrounds him, intensified now. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before he quickly looks away.

'Do you... need something?' he asks, the question coming out in a voice that's suddenly much deeper than usual. 'I could... help you sleep. If you want.' His meaning is clear despite his careful wording, his body language screaming with desire even as he tries to appear casual.