How to Make a Love Potion

Chapter 1

They Always Ruin It

IRIS

My mother always told me not to play with my food. She said it’s impolite, unbecoming of a young lady. Greedy, was her exact word.

She said I should be grateful for what I am given, to smile politely, and say ‘thank you.’

But what would she know? She starved to death.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Grey’s voice interrupts my concentration, cutting off the little energy I’ve managed to siphon from him.

“I can’t believe I’m fucking Iris Ashbourne.”

My eyes roll as I look down at him.

I wouldn’t call what we’re doing fucking. Hells, I wouldn’t even call this feeding.

For the last fifteen minutes, Oliver St. Grey has been kneeling in front of me, grinding himself against the top of my boot like a rabid dog. And for the past fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds, I have been imagining that he is anyone other than Oliver St. Grey.

At nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, with a newly minted reputation for collecting women like stamps, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I agreed to meet him here.

I thought he might be hesitant—boys are usually nervous their first time with me—or eager, sometimes too eager.

But I can say with certainty, I wasn’t expecting this.

Given Grey’s tendency to brag about his conquests, I expected him to be more… confident? Or maybe the word I’m looking for is skilled. And while, admittedly, his hand has found its way up my skirt, it has yet to locate anything of significance.

“Be quiet,” I command, pressing my foot into his crotch.

He whimpers before biting down on his lower lip in an effort to comply.

Gods, he’s so pathetic.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good grovel just as much as the next girl, but the easy ones really ruin it for me.

What’s the fun in getting them on their knees if they don’t make you work for it?

That’s not to say Grey is the worst I’ve ever had. That title goes to Melancholy Mike.

Of course, that’s not his real name. Just the one Elsie and I gave him, which he more than earned after crying every time I fed from him.

At first, it was kind of fun. The pent-up energy from his tears gave me more to draw from. But I had to let him go once I realized the crying was turning him on more than I was.

Shame really, he tasted good—salty.

Grey, on the other hand, tastes sweet. Almost sickly so.

I wonder if it has anything to do with all the groveling. Or maybe it’s his lack of a spine.

I can practically see him melting into a puddle on my shoe.

Ew.

Thank fate these are leather. They’ll need cleaning later.

Grey moans, gripping my hips.

“I think I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” I snap, pulling my foot back.

He falls forward onto his hands, peering up at me on all fours.

“What?” he asks, eyes bulging out of his stupid face.

Gods, I wish he’d stop looking at me.

He’s not ugly by any means. He has a great head of curls and a jaw that could cut through steel, but even with those pretty blue eyes, he’s not as pretty as I prefer.

Or I should say, he’s too pretty. Too shiny.

A perfectly boyish exterior slapped on top of a freshly shaven face and stuffed inside a crisp white collared shirt.

Everything about him screams, ‘I’ve never had so much as a bad hair day.’

I should’ve known that such perfection was too good to be true. But I guess this is what I get for trying something new.

“I said, ‘No, you’re not.’”

He blinks, rocking back to sit on his heels.

“But, I need—”

I press my foot between his legs, cutting off his words at the root.

“I don’t care what you need. We’re only here for what I need. Remember?”

He nods, gaze sweeping down until he’s staring at my feet.

“Good. Now, if you want to come on a girl’s shoe, you have to ask nicely, Oliver.”

His body stiffens, and his shoulders square as his palms fist in his lap.

It seems he does have some pride about him, after all. Too bad it won’t do him any good.

In a battle between need and pride, need always wins.

“I didn’t—”

He starts with an excuse, but ultimately chokes on it as I increase the pressure on his groin.

“Ah, ah. What did I say?”

Grey whimpers, and I can’t tell if it’s pleasure or pain he’s feeling, maybe both.

Honestly, I don’t really care.

“Please…” he whispers, eyes fixed on the floor.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

He hesitates, negotiating with himself. But I don’t have time for his existential crisis.

“Say it.”

“Please,” he murmurs, and I softly stroke my foot over the bulge in his jeans.

“Again.”

His head falls back, and he grabs my ankle to keep me from retreating.

“Please,” he says, this time more sure of himself.

“Again,” I demand.

Grey crumples, rubbing his face against my thigh and clawing at me as he rocks his hips gently into the crest of my foot.

“Please, Iris. Pleeeease.”

He draws out the word until it grates on my nerves, and I sigh.

I have half a mind to deny him. Leave him pent up, lying stiff in his pants on the potion lab floor. But I’m starving, and it’s clear there’s no hope for my release. So, his will have to do.

“Ugh. Fine.”

His rhythmic grinding resumes, now at a more urgent pace.

I stand there, arms crossed, waiting as he pleasures himself.

Until eventually, his frantic thrusts and muffled grunting are replaced by a string of curses.

And just as my ankle begins to ache, his body tenses, and he lets out a strangled, “Ohhh, fuuuck.”

His power swells, drawn together by the energy concentrated between his legs. I take it in, siphoning it off as he empties himself into his pants.

The draw begins slowly, lust leaking out of him like blood from a shallow wound. But it flows more freely as I carve him open.

“Oh, Iris.”

Grey moans, and my lip curls as a bitter fragrance perfumes the air, like dirt and rust.

He hisses through his teeth when it starts to burn, but he’s too caught up in his own meager excitement to pull away.

His pleasure doesn’t amount to much. Not nearly enough to justify the trouble he’s put me through. But a girl has to eat somehow, so I don’t stop until he is half-limp, propping himself up on a nearby desk.

He collapses to the floor as the connection is severed, and I watch with mild irritation as he groans into the linoleum.

“Enghh…”

I shake my head. You’d think a wolf his size would have more stamina.

“You good, Grey?”

He grunts something unintelligible, but I can see the sloppy grin on his face as I toe him with my heel.

It’s always the meatheads. They’re all talk.

I step over him, snatching my bag off the desk as I head for the door, but my balance falters when he grips my foot.

“What the—”

I start to curse as I shake him off, but his eyes are shut, and he’s still grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t go,” he mutters, half asleep.

I shake him loose.

I’m not interested in watching him stitch himself back together, and the potions lab is empty at this hour. There won’t be another class until morning. He should be fine to lie here for a while.

I check my reflection in the assortment of half-empty beakers on my way out.

There’s a bit more color in my face now that I’ve fed, but I can already feel the hollow sensation growing in my stomach.

I’ll be lucky if this lasts me until tomorrow.

From the back of the room, Grey moans, a contented sound, like a baby mewing in a crib.

“You’re welcome!” I call back, yanking the door open and joining the stream of students shuffling through the halls.

I ignore the heads that turn as I hurry down the steps of Harpy Hall and out onto the cobblestones.

I don’t have time for their stares, even if it does make my skin crawl.

Trinity Hall, though plainly visible from just about anywhere on campus, is at least a ten-minute walk.

And in these shoes, it’s usually fifteen.

Between that and the first-years standing stock-stiff in the middle of the walkway, I’m going to be late again.

I shoulder my way around them as they idle in place, blocking the flow of traffic and staring at the clock tower.

If I weren’t in such a rush, I might feel some sympathy for them. It took me an entire term to shake the awful feeling every time the old iron bell rang. Even now, there’s a quiet chill on my arms as I catch the giant eye glaring down at me.

It blinks, blood red and watching, before transforming back into the clock face and displaying the time. But the first-years do not move.

To curry favor with their “watchman,” they are told to hold still if caught outside when the bell rings.

It’s a silly superstition that has become more of a tradition than anything else.

But tonight, it is nothing more than a nuisance as they wait for the bell to chime its final note before continuing on their way.

I pick up my pace as the crowd starts to move, but I don’t get very far before there’s a dog nipping at my heels.

“Ashbourne!” a voice calls after me.

I don’t slow. Mostly because I don’t have time. The clock tower now reads 11:45 PM. But I also know that voice. He can keep up if he wants to.

“Ashbourne! Wait up!”

Behind me, footsteps quicken, and soon after, a fluffy black tail wraps around my hips, and an arm drapes over my shoulders.

“Are you ignoring me now, princess?”

His arm tightens around me, crushing my face to his chest.

“Ugh!” I wedge my hands between us and push him off. “I’m late, Cross. I don’t have time for your baseless flirting.”

“Baseless?”

He feigns offense, clutching his pearls, which, in his case, is a string of silver chains and pendants wrapped around a leather choker with the Cross family crest engraved in the center.

“Baby,” he coos. “You insult me. You know you’re my favorite succubus.”

His head juts into my line of sight, a slick grin spread across his face.

I promptly shove it aside.

“Every succubus is your favorite succubus. And I told you to stop calling me that.”

He shrugs off my rejection.

“That’s not true. I only have room in my heart for one.”

I groan as his arm comes back around me.