It isn't that the sex HAPPENS, in all of its frequently bizarre combinations, it is the way Hamilton writes about it. As Dementia says, if she did general description as slavishly as she does her sex scenes, Hamilton would be describing the wallpaper in every room. All of which makes me wonder who Hamilton thinks her readers are, and why they read the books, because the current crop seem to be written with sexual stimulation as a primary goal. I know that's not why *I* read Anita Blake...
All of which brings up the fragment behind the cut, which was mostly the result of putting a couple of characters from very different sources in the same room. It happens to be pretty close to the edge of the most explicit sex I will ever care to write, but mostly it is just amusing.
Isabelle was hungry. Isabelle was ALWAYS hungry. If you were a succubus who made the mistake of developing a conscience, hunger was simply part of being alive.
The problem wasn't that food was hard to come by, but rather that the portions were small, and the quality was miserable. Most men just didn't have the energy to spare to make her a really decent meal. That meant she had to either take just enough to barely survive, or take so much that her source would never fully recover.
Sometimes she tried to find people who deserved to be crippled or killed, but that was not a good choice, either. Such meals satisfied her hunger, but the energy always felt tainted, and the sex involved in such a feeding always made her feel unclean.
The dream, of course, was to find someone with so much natural energy that she could sate herself without doing permanent harm to her donor. She had heard of powerful wizards who could keep a string of succubi well fed, but had never met such a creature...
Isabelle looked up from her drink and double checked her glamour in the mirror behind the bar. She looked perfectly human, and her wings were invisible; all was as it should be. As she watched, a waitress brushed against one of her wings, took a half step backwards, and shook her head as if a momentary thought had flickered and vanished. Isabelle smiled slightly at the proof that that spell was working as well.
There was a small commotion at the door, and Isabelle saw a man in a khaki uniform and a baseball cap walking toward the bar, to the accompaniment of calls of, "Hey, Sheriff" from various patrons. The man was young, and big, and moderately good looking, but he also fairly crackled with energy. Isabelle tossed down her drink and tried not to look too predatory. The Sheriff held a brief conversation with the bartender, accepted and drank a glass of water.
"Hello, Sheriff," Isabelle said, launching her best seduction charm as she spoke. "Would you care to take me somewhere private and question me?"
The Sheriff looked at her, ran his eyes quickly but thoroughly from head to toe and back again, and smiled. "Sounds good to me," he said.
The Sheriff's house was only a few blocks from the bar; they made their way to the bedroom exchanging kisses and haphazardly removing clothing. Isabelle maintained just enough control of things to make sure she stayed on top; her wings made a singularly painful mattress. And then he was inside of her and she was kissing him deeply and she finally was able to open herself psychically and begin to feed.
She was careful at first; even though the man seemed unnaturally strong, she didn't want to draw energy too quickly and risk going too far. When it seemed that she was not weakening him at all, she took a chance on letting the flow increase. Again, it didn't seem to weaken him; if anything, he seemed to be getting stronger the more energy she took. She opened herself still further, and found she was getting lost in the sensation; a part of her mind realized that a normal man would be reduced to a dying husk in minutes at this rate, but she was too besotted to stop.
The man pulled his feet back beside his hips, rose to a sitting position, and then again onto his knees; energy was pouring out of him, pulsing with their movements, and she was trying and failing to draw it all it. She felt as if she would burst into fire at any moment, and she was terrified, and yet it felt SO wonderful...
The man was changing; his hips and shoulders were getting wider, and the hands that cupped her buttocks seemed to be as large as dinner plates. The energy flow was impossibly great; Isabelle was certain that if she dared to open her eyes she would see her skin glowing white hot, and she felt that she was only seconds away from being shredded to her component atoms.
And then it was over, and the two of them were panting against each other in what felt like a boneless heap, still somehow impossibly upright; their bodies were swaying slightly in an echo of recently concluded rhythms. Isabelle suspected that she HAD been blasted into her component atoms, and that the universe had reassembled her out of gratitude at its amusement. She was sated beyond anything she had ever dreamed of, overflowing, flooded. She realized that her glamours had been clompletely blown away by recent events, and that it would be some time before she regained enough control to recast them. She hoped it wouldn't matter.
She realized that the skin pressed against her cheek, breasts, and belly was smooth and oddly slick, but the skin against her forearms and hands was extremly rough and... Ridged? What in seven hells? She opened her eyes to find her cheek was pressed against an elongated throat covered in yellow green scales. She pulled back her head and blinked in bewilderment. Her partner lifted his head and craned it back on an impossibly long neck to look her in the face; Isabelle found herself staring into enormous yellow eyes in a crocodillian head, complete with a long toothed mouth that could have engulfed her entire head with ease. She also realized that thier upright position was made both possible and necessary by the fact that her partner had sprouted a tail larger than one of her legs.
"That," rumbled a voice so deep that Isabelle felt it in her belly as much as heard it with her ears, "Was unexpected."
Isabelle blinked again. "You've never shifted shape before?"
The creature chuckled, and Isabelle's whole body trembled at the sepuchural rumble. "Never during sex."
"Oh," Isabelle answered. There didn't seem to be much else to say.
The creature continued to look into her eyes. Its face wasn't built for human expression, but that deep voice made up for it. Isabelle could HEAR the grin in his voice when he asked, "Wanna do it again?"
October 9, 2004