Page 60 of Lessons with the Mothman

"Elias?"

His head was shifting between my palms, pressing one side and then another into my rubbing fingers. "Hmm?"

"Why do you…live up here?"

His eyes opened and then slid shut once more. "You mean in my attic?" he asked, and I pursed my lips at the way his languid tone had been lost at my question.

"I suppose so, yes."

He sighed and shifted away, and if it hadn't been for how tired my body was, I would've tried to wrap my legs around his hips to keep him close. But he only moved to my side, his arms tugging me to his chest, almost like a teddy bear, and one of his golden wings draped over us like a blanket.

"The house had been neglected for decades, went into foreclosure, and still stood abandoned. It was going to be demolished. But I could tell how beautiful she'd been once. It seemed a shame that she should be buried."

"You bought her."

"I did. For a while, it seemed like even that wouldn't save her. She'd been alone too long. We couldn't risk fixing the roof without the walls coming down, and it would've been a waste to do anything inside with all the leaks as they were."

"You like a challenge," I said.

His mouth grazed over my forehead, right at the line of my hair, breath teasing against the new strands. "I do."

"This was a long time ago," I noted. It had to have been, as there was no sign of ruin now.

"Quit fishing for my age," Elias murmured, and I huffed a laugh, pressing my face into the soft fur of his throat. He was half hard, cock nuzzled against the crease of my hip. "I don't need a huge house. But she needs someone to take care of her. Without any expectation."

"Are houses meant to stand so…empty?" I asked.

Elias shifted slightly at the question. "I could sell her and move, but what if the next owner let her fall to pieces again?" he reasoned.

I stroked one hand down his chest, nails combing lines through his fur, and breathed his scent deep into my lungs, letting it fog my thoughts and build heat in my belly. His coremata tangled around my fingers and joined me as I took his length in a gentle grip. He groaned, bucking into my hand.

"Elias: bartender and business owner, rescuer of old manors, and deliverer of orgasms," I teased.

He grinned and leaned back enough to catch my eye. "Would you like another?"

"Not yet," I said, surprised to find that might not have been entirely true. I squeezed him in my hand, studying the way he swelled and his coremata quivered. "Are there any rooms you've left the same the whole time?"

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips, and his body shifted in subtle movements, his cock thrusting inside its soft sleeve, fucking into my hand. "A couple."

"Which ones?" I asked, starting to turn my wrist, twisting my fingers over the weeping flared head of his cock.

"Victoria," he groaned, brow furrowed and lips damp and parted on uneven pants. "Is this important?"

"You interest me," I said, shrugging and, incidentally, pulling on his length.

"Ughhn. The-the east wing second-floor lavatory, and…" His throat flexed on a swallow, and he thrust more urgently into my hand now. I loosened my grip, and he ground out, "And the third-floor linen closet."

I laughed. "A bathroom and a linen closet? That's what you were satisfied with?"

"Victoria, please," he hissed, hands scratching softly over my back, his body hunching to kiss and lick and bite over my shoulders and throat as he fucked my hand. "Please."

"What do your friends think of your house? Do you entertain them in all your little puzzle piece rooms, or up here?"

"Huh—uhnn." He glanced at me blankly, and then his eyes fell shut once more, pace slowing down to savor my hand as it tightened around him.

"Your friends—Rafe, Hannah, you know," I prompted.

"They haven't been here," he rushed out, back arching now, head thrown back. "Oh, I—Fuck! Don'tstop," he snapped out.

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