No Rest for the Wicked (The Q Collection, #1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  No Rest for the Wicked (The Q Collection, #1)

  No Rest for the Wicked

  Acknowledgements

  Meet the Author

  What's Next

  No Rest for the Wicked

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  Insomnia would be an improvement...

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  Imagine you’re an Incubus, a demon who needs sex not only to live, but to sleep. Now imagine you haven’t had sex in over a year. Welcome to my nightmare. I am hungry, I am tired and the only way I’m getting any much needed shut-eye is to get laid. The problem is, there’s only one woman I want: my no-nonsense assistant. The one woman I’m terrified to touch, because she’s the one woman I can’t live without.

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  For Dan, my very own devil-in-disguise

  No Rest for the Wicked

  EVER WONDER WHY MEN fall asleep after sex?

  Because shooting our load releases a shit-ton of a hormone called prolactin. Sure, it mixes with a couple of other hormones to make for the best go-sleepy-bye cocktail ever, but mostly it’s the prolactin. Now, for human males, sex isn’t vital for sleep. Hell, overindulging on burgers and beer is enough to knock out their lightweight asses. But for an incubus? Well, we sex demons need our prolactin cocktails. Without sex, we don’t sleep a wink.

  And I haven’t had sex in over a year.

  Fuck, I’m tired.

  “Boss? Are you awake?”

  My assistant, Bianca, hands me my second triple espresso of the evening and then neatly places a stack of papers on the desk in front of me. I stiffen as she brushes against me. Was that her breast I felt against my shoulder? No. That would never happen. My sleep-deprived brain is playing tricks on me again.

  I blink my weary eyes at the paper, at the line after line of nonsensical gibberish she’s forcing me to look at. “What are these?”

  She hands me my reading glasses. “Résumés for the head bartender job.” She’s all business. “Rob leaves for Europe in two weeks. You can’t put this off any longer.”

  I stare at the glasses in her outstretched hand. Stupid human body. In my true form, I am a specimen of physical perfection—tall, healthy, 20/10 vision. In my human form, shit, I’m still a specimen of physical perfection, but having to disguise my demon eyes means my eyesight kinda sucks.

  Bianca stares at me like I’m dense and waves the glasses under my nose. I take them and resist the urge to throw them out the window. I wonder how she’d react if I showed her what I truly look like without the dumb glasses or my human façade? As demons go, incubi are pretty standard fare. Red skin, horns, tail, cloven feet, abs you could wash your laundry on. But unlike most of demonkind, incubi are blessed with pretty faces, too. So pretty in fact that many of my incubi brethren are models here in the human realm. No, not the fashion show–type models. With their crappy vision, they’d walk off the end of the runway. But the hot guys you see in those fancy eyewear commercials? Yeah. They’re demons.

  With a sigh, I slide the glasses up my nose and then reach for my coffee. The hot, bitter deliciousness slides down my throat, and it takes but a moment for the extra-strong caffeine to take effect. My mind clears, focuses. Résumés. Bartender. Check. But before I begin, I cast one last glance in Bianca’s direction and catch her adjusting her bra strap.

  I stay caught.

  She has her back to me. I watch her delicate fingers slide under the neckline of her shirt to fidget with the strap holding up her big, beautiful breasts. My fingers twitch, so does my cock. A few months ago, my insomnia made me stupid, made me forget to bite my tongue when she leaned over my desk and gave me a front row ticket to the best show in town. I’d blurted out, “Fuck, you have great tits.” But instead of crying or quitting or threatening to sue for sexual harassment, she’d laughed, and then she’d grinned and said, “Don’t get too excited. It’s just a really good bra.”

  I’ve been dying to test that theory ever since.

  She shrugs as if still uncomfortable, but stops fidgeting and straightens her collar. She’s wearing a blouse today, pale pink with little black skulls printed all over it and silver skull buttons. Metal. As. Fuck! I always love the way Bianca dresses, but I thank God especially on days like today. Yes, God. He created these wondrous beings, after all, gave them breasts. Breasts that fill out that blouse to the point I fear—hope—the buttons will burst, and they’ll spill out into the open....

  I straighten in my chair and clear my throat. I don’t have time to daydream. Résumés. Bartender. So tired.

  I’m Rugaal, by the way, or Ryan as I’m known here in the human realm, and this is my club, Grind. My office is conveniently located above the main-floor bathrooms, with a large glass window overlooking the dance floor and bar.

  I say convenient because, as an incubus, especially one who’s not currently getting any, I require the people around me to have sex instead, and you’d be surprised how many people have sex in nightclub bathrooms. Every time someone gets some, and I mean everything from heavy petting to full-on down-and-dirty bumping uglies, a buttload of sexual energy is released into the ether, and if an incubus just happens to be nearby, thanks for the meal. And while devouring the sexual energy of others doesn’t feed me as well as having actual sex with an actual human, it’s enough to keep me alive.

  Tired, but alive.

  So why don’t I just have sex with someone and get a good night’s sleep?

  Because thirteen months ago, I hired Bianca.

  I’d skimmed over her résumé before she ever set foot in my office, so I knew she had the qualifications I required, and her letters of recommendation glowed brighter than an angel’s ass at Christmas. The job was hers. Sight unseen. But then I saw her.

  And she was nothing like I’d expected.

  Dressed in blue jeans and combat boots, and a faded Hellboy T-shirt that barely contained her magnificent breasts, she walked into my office and set up shop in my heart. She didn’t look the part of the person I’d read about in all those glowing letters, but then I spoke with her. I listened to her sultry voice as she told me exactly how she was going to help me make my club a success. Bianca was cute and nerdy and sexy and clever. And right then I knew.

  I was in love.

  And being an incubus in love means I can’t get it up for any other woman in the world.

  Believe me, I’ve tried.

  I can get it up for her, though, as the tent pole in my pants is currently demonstrating, but the sad truth is Bianca is the best damned assistant I’ve ever had, and as much as I crave the taste of her pussy in my mouth, the smell of her sweat-slicked breasts in my nostrils and the feel of her soft, plump body in my hands, I won’t risk losing her.

  I try to focus on the work in front of me, but I can’t. I can’t sit still. I get up and pace my office. For over a year I’ve kept my feelings—and my hands—to myself. If only she’d make the first move. But I know she never will. Her work ethics prevent her from sleeping with the boss. Besides the “great tits” incident, she’s never even flirted with me.

  I stop pacing and stare at her through the glass wall that separates my office from her desk in the reception area. Her fingers fly over the keyboard of her computer, her fingernails painted bright red. The phone rings, she answers it, quick and professional, and then she leans forward and bops the nose on the limited-edition Batman bobblehead that sits on her desk, the one I bought for her after I caught her drooling over it in the back of a comic book. One corner of her mouth lifts in a l
opsided grin as she watches the head bounce around. She’s such a dork.

  I want her.

  I know my exhaustion is riding me hard, but that’s not why I want to fuck her. At this point, a decent night’s sleep would simply be the cherry on top. I ache for her. I long for her touch, to feel her hands on me, her mouth on me, her tantalizing voice close by my ear. I want to know how it feels to be inside her tight, wet pussy, to feel the rocking of her hips as she straddles my lap and fucks me slowly, to feel my balls slap against her thighs as I take her from behind and fuck her hard. And maybe she’d be into it, fucking a demon. All those comic books she reads have to count for something, don’t they? Don’t they prove she’s already a little left of centre?

  I need to calm down. I need to remember all the reasons fucking her is a bad idea. And I need to ignore the squeezing feeling around my heart and swallow down the disappointment and regret I feel every time I convince myself to look away from her. I sit back down and try to focus.

  Résumés. Bartender. Fuck it.

  She’s worth the risk.

  “Bianca.” My impatience makes me ignore the intercom at the side of my desk and just yell out to her instead. She holds up a finger to signal she’ll be a moment. My palms sweat. I’m nervous. I’m a fucking demon, and this human woman makes me nervous. But then, I am about to ask her to let me fuck her every which way come Sunday for the rest of her natural life. I remove my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  She pushes the door open and sticks her head through the doorway but doesn’t come in. “Yes?”

  I motion for her to enter and take a seat. I stand and pace again.

  Her brow furrows as she watches me. “I’m cutting you off,” she says. “No more espressos for you or you’ll never get any sleep.”

  I laugh at the very real possibility of being awake for an eternity, although it has nothing to do with caffeine. Then I see the direction of her gaze drift south until she’s staring directly at my erection, eyes wide, jaw slack, blatantly ogling. She raises a hand to her chest, the tip of her tongue sweeping over her red lips. Desire flashes through her expression, and it heats me all the way through to my core.

  I burn for her.

  Eyes still focused on my cock, she says, “The club opens in fifteen minutes. Did you want something in particular?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I want you.”

  She slowly drags her gaze up my body, as though she’s never noticed before that I’m six feet and five inches of well-muscled male. Or maybe she has. The sultry look in her eyes as they meet mine says she’s noticed a lot of things before tonight, and suddenly it hits me. I’m not the only one around here pretending to be something I’m not. A hot-blooded vixen has been hiding behind the exterior of my cool, calm and capable assistant. “You want me for... what, exactly?”

  I groan. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  Her lips curve into a seductive little smile. “Nope.”

  I pause for a moment, unsure how to proceed. What, exactly, do I want from her? Sex obviously, but what else? My pulse races as the answer screams inside my head, in my heart.

  I want her to know I’m an incubus, to touch my demonic body, to skate her delicate fingers over my hot flesh. I want her to know what I taste like, fire and heat and sex and love, to see my horns and tail and hooves and not be afraid of me. I want her to want me. Rugaal, not Ryan. Demon, not human.

  I want her to love me.

  I swallow hard. “I want you to be your usual calm self. And lock the door while I pull the shades.”

  With the door locked and the windows darkened, I feel more confident. I am a demon, after all. We prefer the shadows. Downstairs I hear the DJ fire up the music. Loud, thumping, sexual.

  Perfect.

  Bianca sits down again and watches me, her gaze less carnal. More curious. At least she’s not afraid. Not yet.

  Exhaustion makes me fumble the buttons on my shirt. Frustrated, I rip it apart.

  She laughs. “Want some help, boss?”

  Do I? “Yes.”

  “What would you do without me?” she says as she stands and plucks the tattered remnants of my shirt from my pants, strips them off my arms and drops them to the floor. Her hands brush against my sides, and she recoils, burned. “Your skin is so hot.”

  That curious light fills her gaze again. She presses her fingertips against my abdomen. I suck in a breath and smile down at her. Her cool fingers against my heat feel heavenly. Her palms slide over my naked chest, graze across my nipples. I shudder with delight.

  She’s standing so close I can feel her breath brush over my skin when she speaks. “Are you always this hot?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  I press a finger to her lips and silence her. “All will be revealed soon enough.”

  She nods. I drop my hands to my waist and unfasten my belt buckle. She watches as I unzip my pants, as my cock springs free of its confinement. She reaches out, and I moan as she wraps her hands around my hard length.

  “I always knew you’d be big, but holy fuck.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Knowing she’s thought about me naked makes me happy, and the look of wonder on her face as she handles my cock with such reverence is amusing to me. I can’t wait to see her reaction once she knows my true size. Can’t wait to hear her screams of ecstasy when I fuck her senseless.

  If she’ll let me.

  I settle her back in the chair, then toe off my shoes and kick off my pants, remove my watch and set it on my desk. I stand before her in all my glory. Her tongue sweeps over her lips again and I long to taste it. To taste her.

  “I want you to see me.”

  Her gaze dances over the full length of my naked body and back again. “I can see you. Quite a lot of you.”

  I’m nervous again and wring my hands. “No. I need you to see the real me. Please. Don’t be afraid."

  Her brow furrows the way it always does when she questions my sanity. “Okay.”

  I shake out my fingers and try to relax, close my eyes and concentrate. I slow my heart, my breathing, and meditate. My façade slips away. Bianca gasps as I begin to change. My feet morph into hooves and add six inches to my height. My short-cropped hair lengthens until it flows down my back, the colour changing from brown to black. My muscles expand, my biceps, my thighs, everything becoming more defined, more rigid. My skin takes on its natural blood-red hue. Horns grow slowly from the sides of my head, curling and twisting much like a ram’s. My cock thickens and grows another inch, and my balls grow heavy with my inexorable need to bond with her, to claim her as mine. Finally, my—

  “Holy shit! You have a tail?”

  My eyes pop open as I feel Bianca’s cool touch at the base of my spine, her fingers gliding along the length of my tail as it grows to its full extent. My heart stutters in my chest.

  She’s not afraid of me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I grin at the look of sheer amazement on her face. Turning, I take her hands in mine, answer the question I see in her eyes.

  “I’m an incubus.”

  Her brow creases in thought. “Incubus? That's a sex demon, right?”

  I stroke my fingers down the side of her face, touching her the way I’ve longed to for months. “Yes.”

  She raises one brow. “So, I guess this means you want to fuck me, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  She reaches up and presses her hand against my cheek. I lean into her touch and close my eyes, savouring the feel of her soft skin.

  Until she slaps me. “It’s about damn time!”

  My eyes pop open, I’m confused. “What?”

  She anchors her hands to her hips. “When you told me I had great tits, I thought I’d finally gotten your attention, but then... nothing! Not only have you never mentioned them again, but you freeze every time I get close to you. In the
end, I just put your comment down to a slip of the tongue because you were going through caffeine withdrawal.”

  I snort. “I freeze whenever you’re close because it’s the only way I can stop myself from tearing your clothes off and having my wicked way with you. And it wasn’t caffeine I was lacking. It was sleep. Why do you think I mainline the triple espressos in the first place?”

  Her brow creases. “You have insomnia?”

  “Insomnia would be an improvement. Bianca, I haven’t slept since I met you.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Exaggerate much?”

  “No. Really.” I give her a quick lesson in demonology.

  Her mouth hangs slack. “So, you haven’t slept. At. All?”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Nope.”

  “Because you want me?”

  “Because I want only you.”

  She stares at me with a look of sheer bewilderment, a look quickly replaced with resolve. She squares her shoulders. “Right then.” She unzips her jeans and pushes them down her thighs. For a moment, I’m too distracted by the white lacy panties she’s wearing to question her actions. My mind clears when she sits down to unlace her boots, hiding the sexy scrap of lace from my sight.

  “What are you doing? Stop.”

  Still bent forward, her hands cease pulling at the laces. She looks up at me. “No. I’m not letting you stay awake another minute longer than you need to. If it’s my fault you haven’t slept in all this time, then it’s my responsibility to fix this.”

  I can’t help but grin at her commanding tone. “I’m not talking about that.”

  “Then what?”

  I crouch before her and take her boot in my hands. “I wanted to undress you myself.”

  “Oh.” She blushes, and it’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen. My confident, efficient assistant, so used to doing what needs to be done before I even ask that she didn’t even consider that I might want to get her naked with my own two hands.

  I slip her boot off her foot and begin unlacing the other. “And my lack of sleep isn’t your fault. I should've had the guts to fuck you sooner.”