Page 15 of By the Fae

“You too?”But why did I ask that?

They shared a look, knowing smiles on each of their faces, but didn’t answer the question.

“I heard he fucked a minotaur once,” offered Alina.

Her friend looked at her, “No way?”

She nodded, anit’s trueexpression on her face. She turned to me. “So, you’ll be safe from Goldie’s advances. He can’t touch you. Not that he would without your permission. He’s pretty big on consent, but he’ll be booted out of the company if he does.”

“Yep,” said Shell. “We call it the Golden rule.”

Chapter 6.

Goldie

It was a shame I had to pay the thirty-silver entrance fee.

The bouncers nodded to me like old friends as I made my way inside. Even the guy on coat check welcomed me back, despite me never usually bothering with a shirt, let alone a jacket. I took a seat at the main bar on the first level. I didn’t buy a drink. Wouldn’t be there long enough.

It was early. Still quite quiet. The dance floor was empty save for a group of overloud sirens, one of whom wore a veil and a sash that read,‘Same Cluck Forever’, and a satyr who, I was convinced should have been banned a long time ago. Pretty sure he had his hand down his pouch.

I may have been the easiest lay in all of Remy, but even I drew the line at public self-pleasure.

Okay, there was that one time. More than the once actually, but the main difference was everybody involved had consented. I’d never touch myself while watching a bunch of women in bandage dresses gyrate and drink themselves into the next realm. I’d wait until I got home. Like a normal person.

I checked my watch and puffed out a breath. Three minutes. I’d been there three minutes. It never normally took this long.

“Hey beautiful,” the fae barman said, placing his hand on my forearm. “Can I get you a drink?”

I looked up and met his eyes. We’d fucked before, more than once, but I struggled to remember anything more than his gorgeous face. Did I come on it?

“What time do you get off?” I asked. I didn’t have the inclination or patience for subtlety.

“Six,” he said. “But I’ll go on break at two, if you can wait that long.”

I lifted a shoulder. I probably could wait the four hours. Physically, I meant. Usually the urgency to fuck — the itch — is too consuming and needs to be scratched right away. Often, I could barely wait until we got back to my place, or theirs. We’d end up fucking in my car, or theirs, or behind the dumpster, or in shop doorways. Not the main show, of course, just a quick blowey or finger bang. An appetiser. A precursor to what would await them at mine. Anything to scratch a bit of the itch. Relieve some of the gnawing discomfort.

But recently the itch had been absent. And the weirdest thing; I hadn’t missed it. I hadn’t had sex in four months. And I wasn’t gagging for it. I was a nymph. I should be desperate. I hadn’t even stroked myself that often, and when I did, none of my go-to bank images seemed to get me there anymore.

“Whiskey,” I said to the barman. If I was going to be there for a while, I might as well take the edge off.

Four months without sex. It was definitely a record.

He poured the drink and set it down in front of me. I took a sip, placing it back down, watching the way the ice clinked against the glass, feeling like every depressed action-movie hero.

I checked my watch again. Eleven minutes. Setting records left, right and centre today. Maybe I’d lost all my Oread charm. Could that happen? I resumed staring into my whiskey.

“Oh, sweetheart, rough day?” came a silky, feminine voice from beside me. A succubus. Perfect. She flattened her palm against my bare stomach and drove her fingers down my abdomen.

I’d fucked her before, too. Cara? Clara? Clarice? Flawless fuchsia skin, sleek purple hair, tits that defied gravity, legs that went on for centuries.

I grabbed her wrist, pinning her hand to me. “Rough few months.”

She moved into my body, pressing those tits against my arm, and whispered right into the shell of my ear, “Do you need to be nursed or punished?”

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Ordinarily those words, from a creature that gorgeous, would have my cock leaping into action. But nothing. He just laid there against my thigh, useless, flaccid.

This had been a terrible idea. I should probably finish my whiskey, go home, and get high with Taur. Tell the beautiful succubus I wasn’t in the mood, that I’d made a mistake. Try again another night.

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