Page 14 of Changeling
Rizpah outright laughs in my face. “Don’t pretend for even one second that you know where any of this goes. You didn’t even know the shopping happens on Saturdays. Now get out of my kitchen.”
“But—”
“Shoo.”
* * *
I hoveroutside the door to room sixteen, silently cursing Ivaz and Rizpah both for their parts in bringing me to this awkward moment. I lift my hand, but a little gasp stops me from knocking. Leaning in, I listen closer.
Quick, panting breaths. The slick, rhythmic sound of a fist working flesh. A low moan.
My response is immediate and involuntary. Blood rushes to my groin and plumps my organ. I let out a gasp of my own, surprised at my body’s reaction. I run a brothel, for imp’s sake. This should be so ordinary as to be boring.
But for some reason, it isn’t.
I picture Sebastian lying back on the silk sheets, pumping into his hand, and desire gnaws at me. It wants me to thrust open the door and finish him off. To taste him in every way possible.
I bite my tongue—hard—to shake myself out of it. This is ridiculous. He’s just a man like any other, only worse because he’s faeborn. I need to drop off this food and leave.
A rush of tingling pleasure seeps from the tiny cracks between door and wall, permeating the air. I’ve no choice but to take it in; my body won’t let me refuse such a scintillating meal. Crisp and luxuriously filling, the remnants of his passion feed the demon’s boundless appetite.
I’m glad my hands are full, or I’d be tempted to stroke myself in the middle of the hallway. Not that our particular sort of clientele would object to such a display, but I don’t make a habit out of public performance.
I give an irritated huff—because now I’m uncomfortably hard beneath my black silk skirt—and bang on the door with my elbow.
A startled yip from within makes me chuckle. Serves him right. If I’m uncomfortable, so shall he be.
“One minute.” His voice is pitched slightly higher than I remember. I picture him frantically cleaning up, throwing on clothes, hiding the evidence. A pity. I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked, faerie or not.
Scampering footsteps approach the door and stop. A deep intake of breath. The door swings open, and a flustered Sebastian, his clothes and hair still in slight disarray, appears. His eyes widen upon seeing me at his threshold.
I take my time looking him over and grin. He flushes beautifully under the attention.
“I’ve brought food and drink, along with my apologies as host for leaving you to fend for yourself. That wasn’t my intention. Though I’m glad to see you’vetaken things in hand.” I smirk as I let my eyes travel his length. He’s even prettier when he’s embarrassed.
Sebastian shrugs as if he isn’t bothered to be caught red-handed, but his rosy cheeks give him away. He holds out his hands, and I hand the tray over.
“It’s not a problem,” he says, turning his back to me and setting the food on the chest at the foot of the bed. Has he already discovered what lies inside? Perhaps he’s just finished trying one out for size.
I step into the room, and an odd sensation grips me. This is my property, my brothel, and yet somehow it feels different with Sebastian’s things strewn around: a leather satchel, his boots, a tattered coat. The bed has been completely made over since last I saw it, the blankets, sheets, and covers woven into a Sebastian-sized nest, a circle of comfort with the biggest pillow burrowed in the middle to be snuggled in. His fragrance lingers in here, and not just of his recentactivities, though that aroma is divine, but the sugary scent of his skin, like fresh-baked sweetbread on a Sunday morning. I inhale and savor.
Sebastian turns back to me with a hint of caution in his gaze. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” I answer a little too quickly to be believable. “Here.” I thrust the bottle of wine toward him, eager to make my exit. It’s not often I find myself on such unstable footing within my own home.
As he takes the bottle, his fingers brush mine, warm and soft. I’ll be damned if he didn’t do it on purpose.
“Where are your tail and horns?” he asks, voice confident now. The little minx has somehow realized he’s got the upper hand.
“My magic hides them when humans are on the premises.”
Sebastian gives a wistful sigh, holding the wine to his slender chest. “It must be nice to know how to use your magic. Mine just buzzes around my fingers pointlessly. I’d use it to bring my wings back if I could.”
What must that be like? To have magic you can’t wield and wings you can’t conjure.
When I don’t say anything, he shrugs again. “Well, thanks for this.” He lifts the bottle. “You want some? I could pour.”
That brings me back to my senses. Why am I still here? “No, thank you. Good night.”
