Page 13 of Rub

He laughs, and the sound makes me feel like a big bag of happy goo.

I am in so much trouble.

Or my heart is.

Baklava, Al. Just focus on the baklava.

Making pastry from scratch, especially phyllo pastry, is a balm against stress for me. The process of mixing and kneading the dough, proving it, kneading it again… It’s not a quick process, but it’s a calming one. After washing my hands, I begin.

Behind me, Kaami sits in the collection of cushions he’s created. Silence stretches between us, and I flick him a glance over my shoulder. He’s holding the TV remote, turning it over inhis long fingers, studying it. “This is very different to the last one I saw,” he says, somehow aware I’m looking at him.

“How long has it been since…” I peter off and bite my bottom lip. Is it bad etiquette to ask a djinn questions about their time in their…well, in Kaami’s case, mason-jar-type thing.

He chuckles. “Since I was released from my prison?”

I blink. “Prison?”

“A confined space I’m prohibited from leaving unless granted permission by a master.”

Oh fuck. Yeah, prison.

I swallow. “I?—”

He shrugs. “It is as it is. The life of djinn is not all musical numbers. Those moments of release though…” He smiles, the expression wistful, and steely resolve knots in my chest.

No way in hell am I going to be responsible for him being imprisoned again. No way.

“But,” he continues, placing the remote back on the coffee table and then stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, “to answer your question, it’s been twenty-four years since I was immured by my last master.”

A cold lump fills my throat. I wasn’t even born when he last was free.Oh God, Al, what have you got yourself into?

His smile stretches wide, both dimples on dangerous display. “And then you released me.”

“And then I released you,” I echo, trying to comprehend twenty-four years of being confined in…whatever other existence he experiences when not released. “Wait, if you were last released twenty-four years ago, why haven’t you eaten for a millennium?”

He shrugs. “None of my masters before you thought to offer me food or permit me the freedom to eat.”

I stare at him, the phyllo dough forgotten for a moment. “Are you serious?”

I want to punch every master he’s ever had. Hard. In their faces.

“I don’t need to eat to live,” he says. “But I do love food so much. It is one of life’s greatest joys and pleasures.”

Delicious heat prickles my skin at the way he sayspleasures. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me.

Or maybe I’m imagining the whole thing, and he sees me only as another master binding him to my bidding…

“Please,” I wave a flour-dusted hand at my fridge, “help yourself to anything you want.”

His eyes glow a deep violet, and he dips his head slightly. “Thank you. Whenyouare ready.”

Tight lust ribbons through me, and I turn back to the neglected ball of dough on my counter.Focus on the baklava, Al. The baklava.

“Ready when you are,” I croak, thumping my fist into the pliable dough. Yeah, like that’ll alleviate the craving eating me up right now.

Behind me, Kaami lets out a low chuckle, and I hear cushions fall to the floor. “In that case,” his murmur caresses my senses a heartbeat before warm fingers brush against the back of my neck.

Concentrated pleasure shivers over me, and my nipples harden, aching to be touched. Sucked… A soft whimper falls from me, and before I know what I’m doing, I turn. My thighs kiss his as our hips align, and I gaze up at him.

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