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I’d push her against the wall but wouldn’t give her what she wanted. I’d take it slow. I drag my hand down my cock with excruciating slowness. I’d make her beg me for it. I’d tease her clit with my thumb while I entered her slowly. Torturously slowly. Then I’d drag her ass-cheeks apart to open her all the way to me, and she’d lift her leg around my hip.
Please. Please, Layden. Make me yours. You’re all I’ve ever wanted in this fucking world.
Then she’d run out of patience, reach down for my cock, and drag me inside her, squeezing my balls for good measure for making her wait.
I squeeze them, imagining her hands on me and groan. Distantly, and only because of my enhanced hearing, I hear the faintest of cries.
In the shower, she’s coming.
I jack myself harder, needing this moment of togetherness with her. Even if she’ll never know about it. Even if it’s twisted. My hand is nothing like her pussy or her mouth, but it’s a small meal for a starving man.
I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of her mouth on me when she was at my feet earlier, begging for my cum. Finally, finally abandoning herself to me in every way.
Desperately, I grab a napkin from a box on the desk beside the computer and roughly jack myself into it as one last burst of her scent perfumes the air.
Fuck.
I’m breathing hard as I crumble the napkin and toss it in the bin underneath the desk.
The first time this happened, I remember feeling the euphoric sense of momentary repletion. But I was also so confused I’d shoved my dick back in my pants quickly, worried she’d come back in and find me and know what I’d done. Of course she didn’t. She went to bed just like she said she would. The next day, I tried to pretend I hadn’t been imagining her naked and wet and trembling beneath my touch.
Now, after tidying myself and zipping my pants back up, I turn back to the computer and try to shake off the memories of the past, what happened earlier, and my constant wondering if, every time she showered and I was overwhelmed with that scent, she was thinking of me or if it was just a habit to de-stress, as mechanical as scratching an itch. Everyone talked about self-care these days. I was all for her taking care of herself. Truly, it was none of my business. She didn’t need to know I was the monster hovering at the edge of her life, feeding off her scent.
I start clicking through camera feeds near the river, but my mind’s not really in it. There’s nothing on any of the feeds anyway. Occasionally some homeless folks are near the river, but no blonde women skulking around. Ammit might have put a hoodie on if she’s smart, so I try to watch for those, too.
Maybe she’s holed up somewhere for the night? Did she figure out we blocked off the exits to the city? All the cops will have her description and photo by now.
I jump when Phoenix’s door slams open against the wall with as much violence as she did when she closed it. She swings into the computer lab with as much force, freshly showered, her hair wet and only the vaguest scent of what she was doing in the shower still clinging to her.
“What have we got?” she asks, sitting down in the chair beside me and not looking my way.
I try not to stare, putting my attention back on the computer screen. I swallow before saying, “Nothing yet. I’m watching the river, but we can’t be sure how far she went up or down the bank. Or if she’s holing up somewhere for the night.”
Phoenix just wakes up another console besides the one I’m working at. “Well, we won’t stop until we find her. Vlad has more surveillance on this city than fleas on a stray dog’s ass. She’s got to show up somewhere.”
I nod. “Colorful as always.”
She smirks but doesn’t take her eyes away from the screen.
“I missed you,” I say into the quiet room, eyes on my own screen. “And this. I’ve missed this.” I don’t elaborate. But I can tell she gets what I mean when, a long time later, I hear her sigh and get a quiet, “Me, too,” back.
Chapter Sixteen
PHEONIX
10 Years Ago
Sabra came over first thing the next day, and Layden was just as quick at picking up the principles of mage-craft as he was at computer languages.
We’re standing in a large circle Sabra has chalked in the center of the courtyard, explaining the arcane symbols she’s writing on the ground.
“The interlocking circles represent the different planes we’re attempting to breach. If this curse was placed by a dybbuk—”
“What’s a dybbuk?” Layden asks.
Sabra looks surprised he doesn’t know. “A person possessed by a spirit from another plane. So if your curse was placed by a dybbuk, it will have an inter-plane dimension that we’ll need to crack. Do you remember anything from when they laid the curse?”
Layden’s excellent at keeping a straight face as he lies. “No. It happened when I was very young.” I told him I didn’t want to tell Sabra more than was necessary. “I don’t remember anything. But I can do this… I don’t know how I know how to do it, but I can.”
