Page 18 of The Satyr Next Door
She'd stayed. Watched.Wanted.
And me, brazen, shameless. I'd given her a show worthy of the old festivals, stroking myself under the stars like some ancient fertility god drunk on his own power. Daring her to look, daring her to stay, daring her to want what I was offering.
Which she had. Until the very end.
But now, in the pale wash of morning, doubt curled in my gut like poison.
What if I'd gone too far? What if she'd only stayed frozen because she hadn't known what else to do, hadn't known how to process the sight of her supernatural neighbor pleasuring himself in full view like some feral beast? What if, come daylight and coffee and the return of rational thought, she wanted nothing more than to forget the way I'd exposed myself?
I cursed again, dragging myself upright on unsteady legs.
It had been too long since I'd wanted someone like this. Too long since restraint had been part of the equation, since I'd had to consider another's comfort alongside my own desires. Satyrs don't hide our hungers. That's our nature, our gift, our curse. We revel in pleasure, celebrate it, turn it into song and worshipand art. But humans... humans carried centuries of shame about bodies, about desire.
And Gina,BellaGina with her careful life and her responsible smile and her children sleeping just rooms away, she wasn't just human. She was a mother. A professional. A woman who'd built her world on structure and order and doing the sensible, appropriate thing.
What if my wildness was too much for her? What if I'd shattered whatever fragile trust we'd been building with my shameless display?
I raked both hands through my curls, sighing heavily. The sheets beneath me smelled faintly of her anyway, of soap and skin and that indefinable sweetness that was purely Gina, though she'd never touched them. My traitorous mind had been conjuring her into every corner of this house for days, and last night's performance had only made it worse.
I rose on unsteady legs and walked to the window, blinking against the brightness of full morning. Her balcony was visible across the small space between our houses, but the curtains were drawn tight as a wall. No glimpse of dark hair catching sunlight, no ceramic mug raised in greeting, no sign that she was even awake yet.
My chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to panic.
Had I scared her back behind those curtains? Driven her into hiding with my lack of restraint, my assumption that she wanted to see what I had to offer?
But then memory came back like a balm, the sound of her whispering my name through the glass. Soft. Breathless.
She had wanted me. I’d felt it in every tremor, every glance, every choice to stay instead of flee. But want in the dark often turned to regret at dawn. And gods help me, I couldn’t bear her regret. Not after finally finding someone in this place who looked at me and sawCalinstead of asatyr, who touched me like I was worth the risk.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass. I’d meant last night as truth, as offering. A satyr doesn’t pretend. I wanted her to see me,allof me. Flesh, hunger, need.
But maybe I'd shown too much too soon. Maybe I'd forgotten that humans needed time to adjust, to process, to convince themselves that wanting something wild wasn't a betrayal of everything they'd been taught to value.
Maybe today I should keep my distance. Let her breathe. Prove I had restraint if she needed it.
Even if every cell in my body ached to hear the soft slide of her door, the clink of her mug.
Then… sound.
The squeal of hinges. The thud of wood.
The gate.
I stiffened, turned, and there she was.
Not on her balcony. In my garden. Stepping through the gate I’d mended with my own hands. No basket this time. Just herself, her hair loose around her shoulders like silk, sundress the color of ripe apricots making her glow in the morning light.
The sight of her knocked the breath from me.
I’d been watching for her above me, ready for her retreat. I hadn’t dared imagine she’d come closer.
“Gina,” I rasped, her name reverent on my lips.
She paused inside the gate, sunlight glinting off the small gold hoops in her ears. When she looked up and saw me standing shirtless at the window, she smiled. Small. Nervous. But real.
Relief surged so fierce it hurt. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t hidden. She’d chosen me.
I was down the stairs before thought caught up, hooves silent on the stone path. She watched me approach with wide eyes and lifted chin, steady despite the nerves.
