Page 31 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

I’d never made human food before, but I’d seen my friend Lochran make pancakes a handful of times. It didn’t seem too complicated.

Only a few ingredients.

How hard could it be?

***

Pancakes were fucking hard to make.

The first batch was crunchy on account of all the eggshell I forgot to remove. The second batch was a gluey mess—too much milk. The third batch almost broke my teeth—not enough milk.

Just as I was about to attempt the potentially catastrophic batch number four, the back door rattled. A glum BooDini glided in, its sheets drooping with exhaustion as if it had been up all night, eyes widening in horror as it took in the state of the kitchen. Its cutout eyes narrowed into a scowl as it waved its arm furiously at me.

“Sorry,” I muttered, shoving a mixing bowl aside in a half-hearted attempt to clean. “I was just trying to make some pancakes for Jen and me.”

BooDini seemed to soften somewhat at my statement and shooed me toward the table before it waved its arms like a conductor. Eggs cracked themselves into a bowl while milk and flour measured themselves out with precision. A whisk bobbed out of the drawer, floating into the bowl and expertly combining the batter.

I slumped into a chair, rubbing the back of my neck.

The mouthwatering scent of pancakes filled the kitchen, thick and sweet, and—judging by the soft creak of floorboards overhead—it was enough to rouse Jen from sleep. BooDiniplated up the stacks of pancakes and floated them over to the table just as a loud yawn sounded from the living room.

Jen walked in, and I had to physically stop my jaw from going slack. Gone were the baggy sweats and oversized T-shirt. In their place was a tight tank top clinging to her curves, barely-there shorts that showed off an expanse of soft, supple skin, and her ever-present, threadbare black hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder.

Eyes still closed, she stretched—lifting onto the balls of her feet, arms reaching skyward in a lazy arch. She was so damn short, the tips of her fingers didn’t even come close to grazing the doorframe, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

My gaze dragged down, following the slow pull of movement—over the taut lines of her calves, the flex of muscle as she balanced, the rounded curve of her thighs. All I could think about was kneeling at her feet. Running my tongue up the length of her legs. Pressing my mouth against the place barely covered by those tiny fucking shorts.

My fingers pressed into my thighs, my pulse hammering as her tank top rode up, exposing the tempting curve beneath her navel—skin that begged to be tasted, to feel the slow scrape of my teeth before I—

Cool it, Devlin. She isn’t interested. She is just the first woman you’ve spent any significant time with who isn’t affected by your incubus touch. That is all. Just a novelty. Nothing more.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away, but the image of her was already burned into the back of my mind.

Jen finished her yawn, freezing mid-stretch as her hazel eyes landed on me.

A flush crept up her cheeks, and she fumbled with the zipper of her hoodie, dragging it up to her neck in a quick, jerky motion.“Sorry,” she mumbled, not quite meeting my gaze. “I thought you might be out exploring the town.”

Leaving the cabin hadn’t even crossed my mind. The vague plan for my day had been to hang around until Jen was ready to impart some dating wisdom, then move on to scene two.

“If you want me to go, I can...” I said, awkwardly trailing off.

Jen slid into the seat opposite me, her gaze flicking to the steaming stack of pancakes. “You made breakfast?” A note of surprise laced her voice. “I thought incubus demons werenotoriousfor their inability to cook human food.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “For a witch, you seem to know an awful lot about incubus demons.”

“I’ve known a few in my time,” she said, her tone clipped.

A sharp prickle of jealousy flared in my chest, unexpected and irrational, at the thought of one of my kind touching her, of another incubus feeling the heat of her skin, tasting the desire on her lips, drawing pleasure from her body...

It was ridiculous. I had no claim over her. No reason to care. Besides, I had a mate out there somewhere. A witch of my own.

A witch who doesn’t want you, Devlin, a cruel voice called from the depths of my mind.

A low, throaty moan slipped from Jen’s lips, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. The sound wassinful—soft, breathy, laced with the kind of satisfaction that sent a sharp jolt straight to my cock. I clenched my jaw, grateful for the solid wooden table concealing my very obvious reaction.

Fuck.

Ifthatwas the sound she made over pancakes, what would she sound like when truly lost in pleasure? When her breath caught in her throat, when her body trembled, when she came apart beneath someone’s touch—beneath my touch...

---