Soul Stripper

Book 0: Soul Stripper Romance

by Katana Collins

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

"What a ride! I can't wait to see what happens next in this fantastic new series!" --Caitlin Crews, USA Today bestselling author It's called Sin City for a reason. Nowhere else are the temptations so great, the sex so good, and the demons so bad. . . By day, Monica is a barista in a local café. It doesn't pay a lot but it puts her up close and personal with her sexy boss, Drew. Unfortunately that's as far as a succubus can go unless she wants to take his soul. Monica needs mind blowing sex to sustain her and she finds her victims every night at a local strip club where she's an exotic dancer. But when her powers begin to diminish and her fellow succubi start turning up dead, all bets are off. Monica realizes she's the one immortal who has a chance in hell of making things right. . . "Sexy, dark, and imaginative. . . Will leave readers on their knees begging for more!" --Logan Belle

Release date: June 1, 2013

Publisher: Aphrodisia

Print pages: 352

Sample

The smell of coffee always turns me on.

Well, it might not be the coffee as much as it is my manager at the coffee shop. Drew. I liked to repeat his name in my head. Drew. Drew. Andrew Sullivan—one of the best men I’ve ever met. Which might not be saying much for him considering the degenerates I hang out with. I wiped down a table with a few stains, thinking about those dimples of his. He always had the faint aroma of coffee on his clothes. And under his cotton T-shirts, I could see the slightest ripple of muscles. Long and lean. The muscles of a soccer player.

I stood there wiping the same spot over and over, my nails scraping against the tabletop. I imagined Drew’s lips gently brushing against the dip in my neck. His growing erection pressing into me as he tenderly nibbled the soft skin above my collarbone. Monica, Monica, he’d moan....

“Monica?” His smooth voice snapped me out of my dream. “I think that table’s clean.” His lips curled into a playful smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. He turned his attention back to the faucet, wrench in hand, fixing the constant drip that had been annoying all the baristas over the past week.

“Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, Drew. I’m sort of lost in my own thoughts today.” My eyes traveled to his tight ass; his signature dirty towel was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans. Disoriented, I turned to move on to my next task and slammed into a customer closing in on the table I just cleaned. His iced coffee spilled onto my chest. Ice dribbled down my white T-shirt, and cold coffee covered my now-tight nipples.

“Oh shit.” I looked up at the regular customer whose caffeinated beverage I was now wearing. He looked angry—which for anyone else might have been a problem. But for me? This was an easy fix for any succubus over a century old. That’s what I am—a succubus. And whatever notions you have in your head about succubi are probably wrong. Just because I am a minion of Hell doesn’t necessarily make me an “evil” being.

I used to be an angel and am apparently the only angel-turned-succubus known within the demon realm. I guess this sort of makes me a celebrity. They call me the golden succubus—the nickname makes me cringe. It’s a bit too reminiscent of a particular “golden” sex act.

I looked up at the angry man standing over me and felt the tingles as my succubus magic handled the situation. My bottom lip pouted naturally when I spoke. “I am just so sorry.” As I took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on my nipples pushing out my wet T-shirt. “I’m such a klutz!” Running my fingernail along his forearm, his face softened.

“It’s really no problem.” He flashed a smile after licking his lips. “We should really get you out of that shirt.” He lifted a hand to his mouth, and I noticed a wedding band on that ring finger of his.

Fucking men.

I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, Drew stepped between us, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “You can go have a seat—we’ll bring you another coffee.”

“Iced coffee.” The married man smirked and looked past Drew, meeting my eyes.

“Iced coffee? What’s the matter—can’t take the heat?”

“It’s Vegas, man. Who drinks hot coffee in the middle of the desert?”

Drew’s mouth tipped into a barely visible smile. “I do.”

The customer ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “Fine, whatever man.”

Drew was still standing protectively in front of me, and I touched his arm lightly, an attempt to break him from his aggressive stance. As he rocked back on his heels, Drew’s face cracked into a friendlier smile—one that was much more appropriate as the owner of the coffee shop. He clapped the man on the bicep in that weird way men do to each other. “Just messin’ with you, man. Have a seat. I’ll get your iced coffee.”

Once the customer was out of earshot, Drew swiveled around, his smile entirely gone, replaced again with the anger I had seen a moment ago. He leaned down, his face suddenly close to mine. “Do you have to come on to every friggin’ customer?” He grunted and pushed past my shoulder, heading back behind the counter.

“Me? I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, Drew—but that guy came on to me. Not the other way around.” I was whispering so not to create a scene in the crowded café.

“You don’t even realize how much you flirt.”

I paused, taking in his vibe. “We’re not talking about him anymore, are we?”

He snorted and slammed some of his tools around, not answering right away. After a few seconds of silence, he stood with his hands on his hips, not meeting my eyes. “That was a long time ago, Mon. Trust me, I’m not exactly sitting at home pining away over you.”

“Six months is not that long ago.” Ever since I started working for him here at the coffee shop, I knew he was bound to ask me out at some point. He managed to hold out longer than most men—almost two years after we first met, he invited me to dinner. And I for some stupid reason still have a conscience—that little bit of angel left in me—and had to say no. I couldn’t take that risk with Drew’s soul.

He sighed. “It is in the dating world. You should know that.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’m happy you’ve moved on.” I swallowed. His lips pressed together and one eyebrow twitched into an arch. Maybe he knew I was bluffing, maybe he didn’t. It didn’t exactly matter anymore. We held each other’s gaze for seconds too long. I broke the eye contact first and joined him behind the counter, pulling out a new cup of ice for the customer’s replacement coffee.

Drew cut me off, taking the cup from me. “Why don’t I refill this for you? You’re still a little bit—eh—indecent.” His eyes flicked toward my breasts.

“Oh. Right.” I glanced down at my shirt. Brown stains covered my hard nipples. “And—I really am sorry. About spilling the coffee,” I clarified quickly. “I feel off my game today. Spilling stuff, drifting off, daydreaming . . .”

Drew smiled at me, turning back into his normal self. “It’s fine, Monica. Really.” He tossed me the hand towel that was hanging in his back pocket.

I smiled back. “Well, feel free to take the refill out of my hips—oops, I mean, tips.” I smirked, exaggerating the flirting.

He rolled his eyes. “There you go again.” He smiled, lines creasing around his mouth. “I have an extra shirt in my office, if you need it.”

I headed to the bathroom. “No, it’s fine. I think I have one in my bag.”

I shut the bathroom door and slid the lock to the left. Can’t have anyone walking in while I’m shapeshifting. In actuality, my shapeshifting is just a mind-trick on mortals and immortals. A mirage of sorts. I took a look at the reflection in the mirror. My dark blond hair still looked in place, parted on the side with a slight curl at the ends. But my shirt was a mess. I focused—closed my eyes. A familiar prickle surrounding my body as I shifted into another clean, white shirt.

The idea of stealing souls for Hell makes my stomach twist. Even though I am technically a demon, you could say I sort of play for both teams whenever possible. Ethical souls are the nutrition. They’re like eating fresh vegetables and free-range chicken. The bad souls, well, they’re the fast-food equivalent. I’m essentially sustaining my existence on this mortal plane on a diet of chocolate and potato chips. My body certainly craves something better, but I allow the indulgence only when absolutely necessary.

I looked away from the mirror. I wasn’t always such an immortal vigilante. There was a time I accepted my fate as a succubus. A time in my existence I wasn’t exactly proud of.

Maybe I should try a new hair color—go blonder—surfer bleach blond . . . like Drew’s new girlfriend, Adrienne. Ugh. I couldn’t even bear the thought of it—Drew with a girlfriend. A blond girlfriend. It was just so . . . so . . . obvious. I mean, okay, my hair was blond, too, but mine was natural. I hadn’t changed my looks much since my angel days, partially because I liked my cherub features but also because the art of shifting takes a lot of power. It simply takes less energy to adjust the looks I already have in people’s minds rather than create a new vision entirely.

I thought again of Adrienne and her platinum blond hair. The sort of white blond that looked as though it had been singed at the bottom—brittle and crisp. It just screamed Pamela Anderson. Sighing, I walked out of the bathroom to finish up my closing shift duties.

I finished cleaning the tables and restocked the sugar, and as I carried another bag of arabica coffee beans to the front, I inhaled their scent and thought of Drew. That sweet smell that hits you at the back of the throat. That scent will get me through the end of my night job. The strip club doesn’t always have the nicest men . . . or the nicest smells, for that matter.

“Aren’t you going to be late for the club?” Once again, Drew snapped me out of my thoughts.

Nine p.m. Which meant yes . . . I was going to be late. I flashed him a smile. “Yes, probably. With any luck, I’ll be fired.” I laughed to myself at the thought. Lucien would never dream of firing me. I’m his best dancer and the closest thing to a sister that he’s got. As my ArchDemon, Lucien is in charge of Nevada and the entire Southwest region. He may seem threatening to most, but when he pitches his fits, I only ever see a petulant teenager stomping his feet and raising his voice.

Drew took a few steps closer to me and placed his rough hand on my elbow. They were the hands of a carpenter. A hard worker—rough and masculine. “Maybe you should quit. I could give you a raise here.” His green eyes grew wider with hope—and perhaps a slight hint of desire.

My mouth tipped into a sad smile. “You can offer me a thousand dollars per night?” Not to mention the easy access to men’s souls. The strip club is the best way to meet bad boys and avoid the good ones. The degenerates that come into that club give me just enough energy to keep running. I glanced back up at his green eyes, his warm breath tickling my lips. Drew’s soul was clean. Pure and totally Heaven-bound. Sure, he was quite the flirt—even with a girlfriend. But that alone doesn’t warrant a one-way ticket to Hell. He deserved better than me. Even still, when he was this close to my body, my ethical stance became fogged.

Drew chuckled, and his laugh reminded me of water bubbling over a fountain. “No, I definitely can’t offer you that.” His hand was still on my elbow, and his fingers moved in gentle circles over my skin. “But I can give you unlimited coffee and an extra two dollars an hour.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” I teased, “but somehow I’m not so sure I can sustain my life on coffee.”

“I could find other ways to keep you happy here.” His breathing became more shallow and his face lowered closer to mine. I knew he was just reacting to my succubus pheromones. It wasn’t Drew talking—it was simply his carnal desire coming through. No man can resist a succubus in heat. And though I rationally knew this, I still couldn’t pull my gaze away from his. I could feel the need from deep within my body, an itch to have sex with someone so deliciously pure and good. I looked down at my nails and they were glossier, with a sheen most women paid good money to get. My powers were running low, which meant only one thing—I needed to sleep with someone tonight. Everything about me was designed to draw in humans. I’m like a shiny, intricate spiderweb, waiting to catch my prey. As my body requires a recharge, my hair gets shinier, my eyes become more vibrant, and I emit a pheromone unlike any a human has ever produced.

We stayed there, eyes locked, as the bell above the door chimed. I sensed Adrienne’s aura before even hearing her acrylic heels clacking against the floor—another succubus perk. Being able to sense most auras—human and demon. I quickly broke away from Drew’s grasp and grabbed my bag.

“Well, hey there, handsome!” Adrienne came up behind Drew and wrapped her orange, faux-tanned arms around his shoulders. Her platinum hair fell into her eyes, making her black roots even more painfully obvious. Ugh, a typical Vegas girl, I thought. Which was admittedly ironic, since I was the stripper out of the two of us. Her aura shone as a bright red. That usually meant one thing—adultery. I’d seen her aura just the other day and it had been green. She must have recently finished the deed. I inhaled, and though I couldn’t smell the stench of sex on her, there was something different about her scent.

Drew’s face faltered and he withdrew his hand from me as if my touch burned. His eyelids drooped in that way that a man’s does after watching golf for a few hours.

“Hey, back at you, gorgeous.” His voice sounded genuine, for the most part. It strained a little bit on the word gorgeous, but that also might have just been my imagination.

Without thinking, I groaned. Adrienne darted an agitated look in my direction and Drew’s head dropped to the side, his eyes rolling at me in a chastising way that made me feel like a teenager.

“Oh, um, sorry. I can’t find my costume for tonight. I thought I had it in my bag.” Adrienne narrowed her eyes at me, obviously not buying my story. Maybe I’m not as smooth as I thought.

Drew sighed. “Don’t mind Monica, babe. She’s our resident cynic here at the café.”

I shrugged at Adrienne. “Well, I’d better get going. See you tomorrow, Drew.” I rushed past them, bumping her shoulder in the process.

But before exiting through the door, I saw the married man from earlier. The one whose coffee I spilled. His eyes went directly toward my tits, acting as though if he just stared hard enough he’d develop X-ray vision. I ran up to him, grabbing my card from the bottom of my bag. “Here,” I said, handing him the card. “If you’re interested, I’ll be dancing there tonight.” It simply had my stage name, Mirage, listed with the strip club’s name and information.

His eyes sparkled and he licked his lips as he glanced down at my card. “Oh, I know this place,” he said.

I looked back again at Drew to find him staring at me. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyebrows knitted in the center. Good, I thought, be jealous. I turned and headed for the exit, glancing over my shoulder one last time to look at Drew. Instead, I found the married man staring at my ass. Sometimes it was just too easy being a succubus.

The itch between my legs simply would not go away. As I drove down Las Vegas’s dusty roads, I knew I had to take care of my desire, and soon. I hoped the married coffee shop guy would show up, or I’d be forced to sleep with one of the other regular assholes who frequented Hell’s Lair. That’s the name of the strip club—real original, huh? I shifted myself into my stripper look while driving, which was becoming increasingly hard to do as my powers lessened. I made my hair a dark brown—almost black—as I tried to decide which costume to wear tonight. Schoolgirl seemed too obvious. Cowgirl was so overdone here in Nevada. And dressing like an angel hit a little too close to home for me. Maybe a 1950s housewife character tonight? Or even better—I’ll go vintage chic. Classy but naughty. I shifted into a tight black dress that was backless but left something for the imagination. Underneath, I put on lacy black underwear that was styled in a retro fashion, with thigh-high stockings that had a seam running up the back of my leg and a garter belt. As the finishing touches, I added a pillbox hat, black elbow-length gloves, and a long cigarette holder. Like the one Audrey Hepburn had in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I had to make my shift gradually so that the other drivers on the road didn’t notice anything funny. Luckily, Lucien’s club isn’t in the heart of Vegas. Being off the beaten path makes it a little easier to not only attract the scum of the earth but it is also perfect for bringing in the immortal crowd.

I parked and ran inside, feeling completely out of place. The costume didn’t even look like a stripper’s costume. Grabbing one last look at myself in the full-sized mirror at the entrance, I had to admit it was unusual for a dirty strip club but still incredibly sexy.

I walked into the dark, smoky club and saw a few of the girls dancing on the stage. Hell’s Lair was frequented by both mortals and demon-folk, and the seats around the stage reflected the lowest of low from both worlds. The floor was slick with oil, grease, and probably bodily fluids that I didn’t let myself think too hard about. To the right and left of the stage were two bars. I crossed next to the crowd of men who were circling around the stage, each turning to look at me as I made my way past them, the smell of my sex hitting their noses—among their other regions. I nodded at T, our bartender and bouncer, and he winked in my direction. T got his name because he wears jewelry like Mr. T, and although he has a similar coloring and height, that’s where the resemblance ends. Where Mr. T had muscles, T simply has fat.

Standing in front of the stage entrance blocking my way was Lenny, the annoying new manager Lucien had hired to run the place. He stood there, arms crossed over his man boobs, tapping his foot with his eyebrows knitted together. I inwardly rolled my eyes. He’s shorter than me, probably somewhere around five foot four, and his greasy black hair combed over his balding scalp resulted in a zebra striping pattern along the top of his head. His belt was cinched tightly around his hips, and his belly spilled out over top. I could guarantee that at some point during the night, his shirt would come untucked, revealing his dimpled belly fat.

“You are late! Again!” He pulled out his clipboard and scribbled something down.

This time I rolled my eyes so that he saw me and brushed past him to go backstage.

He followed at my heels like some sort of balding, ugly puppy. “Monica! Monica! Are you even listening to me? I’ll fire you if you continue this pattern.”

At that threat, I twirled around to face him. A slow smile spread across my face. I spoke quietly and calmly—and continued to give him a biting smile through my gritted teeth. “No. You won’t fire me, Lenny. You can’t and you know it. Now get the fuck out of my dressing room.” I sat down at my mirror and dabbed on some lip gloss.

His chin dropped to his chest, creating even more jowls. “You’re on in fifteen minutes,” he muttered, dragging his feet behind him.

For tonight’s music, I chose an old jazz tune with a lot of bass. The curtain opened and the spotlight warmed me. I started center stage, and as the first beat began, I smoked my cigarette from the long holder, taking the time to inhale deeply and slowly. The smoke streamed from my lips and swirled around the top of my head. After slipping the gloves off one at a time, I tossed them into the audience. As I slowly pulsated my hips to the rhythm, the dollar bills shot high into the air like statues in my honor. Starting with an older gentleman to my left, I allowed him to unzip my dress and peel it down over my body. His knuckles shook nervously as they brushed the smooth flesh on my back. When it reached my ankles, I opened my legs to him and stuck my hip in his face. Giving me a shy smile, he tucked a twenty into the garter belt. I danced away, moving on to the next man in the crowd, but not before I let my fingernail travel down the older man’s cheek.

I stood at the edge of the stage, moving my hips in rhythm to the music. At the back of the crowd, I met eyes with a sexy man. Despite the dark bar and bright spotlight, I could see him clearly. Thank you, succubus vision. He had dark brown hair that tickled the tops of his ears and thick eyebrows that sat low over his eyes. I held his gaze for a few moments. He broke eye contact first and turned to leave the club. Some men just can’t handle a forward woman.

Pivoting, I found my next tip, and that’s when I noticed him against the edge of the stage. There, in the front row, was my married man from the coffee shop. His knuckle was raised to his lips, and low and behold—he had no wedding ring on his finger. Tsk, tsk. My lacy panties grew even wetter. He was no Drew, but he was definitely hotter than most of the men in this joint. Not to mention the most nervous. The beat wore on, the neon lights hit his eyes, and I sauntered over to him, crouching down so that my breasts were in his face. I was sure he could smell my sex from where he stood below me. I took another drag from the cigarette and blew it into his face. He drank in the smoke—and his eyes flashed with lust. I was his cocaine—his drug of choice, sweeter than any alcohol, more addictive than nicotine, and far more dangerous than any hallucinogen. I passed him the cigarette and he took a drag as I unhooked my corset, letting the straps drag over my arms and fall to the floor. My nipples puckered as the men around me gasped.

Through my peripherals, I saw more dollars fly into the air. I winked at my married man and continued on to collect the rest of the money. I moved fluently around the stage and finished my dance in nothing except heels, thigh-highs, and the pillbox hat.

After my set, I quickly shifted into my original dress, sans the panties and corset, and headed back out to the club. Every man I passed called out to get my attention. Propositioning voices circled around me as I walked straight for my married man. I was done waiting. I needed my fix now. The needy feeling was not one I ever got used to—an itch that is so uncomfortable, if we wait too long, it actually becomes painful. With the types of men I sleep with, I’m lucky to make it forty-eight hours before I need to find my next fix.

Ignoring everyone else, I plopped myself down on his lap. His eyes darted around the club. “My name is Erik.” I smiled to myself watching him glance nervously about.

“Really?” It was less of a question and more of a bored statement. No need to feign any interest. “Well, Erik, I don’t give a fuck what your name is.” I took another drag of my cigarette and looked into his mundane brown eyes. “Buy a private dance.”

“Oh, um, well . . . I-I don’t know about that. You see, I’m a newlywed and I was just curious about this place . . .”

“Erik, please.” I rolled my eyes. “You knew what you were getting into by coming here. Especially after a personal invitation from me.” I lowered my face so that my lips brushed his as I spoke. “So . . . buy a fucking private dance. Now.” I paused once more, giving a second thought to how forceful my voice was. “Unless, that is, your wife satisfies you fully.”

If the stress lines around his face were any indication, I’d bet that he was sexually frustrated. But for a moment, his face softened at the mention of his wife. I thought he was going to push me off his lap. Go running back to his wife for some plain old meat-and-potatoes missionary sex.

Instead, he simply nodded, drool practically dripping from his lips. “She’s a prude. Only ever cares about her work.”

I sighed. Men are such shits. In the couple of centuries that I’ve been around, that’s never changed. I guess I couldn’t be too annoyed by him though—it was that lack of morality that would give me enough energy to survive the next couple of days up here on Earth. I grabbed his hand, leading him to the back room. I yelled to Lenny as I passed the pot-bellied manager. “Gotta private one here, Lenny.” He marked something on his clipboard.

I shut the door behind me. “Money first, Erik.”

“Right. Uh, how much again?”

“Four hundred dollars. Plus tip.”

“Four hundred? Dollars?”

“Plus tip.”

He gulped. “Wow, I don’t know that I have that much . . .”

I slipped my tongue in his ear. “Trust me. I’m worth it. What I’m about to do to you would typically cost much, much more.” I pressed my breasts into his back.

“You’re killing me. . . .” He groaned and exhaled between barely open lips. It was unclear whether he was referencing his wallet or his libido.

Ha. “Oh, sweetie. If you only knew.” I nibbled his earlobe.

He reached into his back pocket, opening up an expensive-looking leather wallet. A few wallet pictures of a baby fell to the floor. I bent to pick them up and studied the beautiful child smiling back at me. She couldn’t have been more than six months old. A knot formed in my throat, and I instinctively placed a hand on my stomach. “Is this your daughter?”

Erik grabbed the photograph and tucked it into the folds of his wallet. “Nah. It’s my brother’s kid.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied his aura. No shift in color—he was telling the truth. I sighed, my tense shoulders relaxing.

He handed me the cash without any more debate, plus an extra twenty. Cheap-ass. You don’t come to a strip club with several hundred dollars in your wallet and plan on leaving here innocently. It definitely made me feel better about what was to happen. Nevertheless, I always marvel at how easy it is to get men to cheat on their wives.

He sat in a chair in the middle of the room. I slowly undid the buttons of his shirt and slid it down over his shoulders. Surprisingly, he had an amazing body. Much more fit than I thought he would be. Grabbing his bottom lip between my teeth, I sucked on it while undoing his belt and lowered his pants. They dropped to the floor with a clunk.

“What do you have in those pockets? Rocks?” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. He was already hard, standing at full attention.

I left him in the chair, his pants pooled around his ankles, and danced around him, lifting my leg over his shoulder. It offered him close-up view of my sex peeking out from under the black fabric of my dress. “You want to taste me, don’t you, Erik?”

He cleared his throat, allowing his eyes to . . .