Page 29 of The Turning of the Tables

“Okay, last one,” Elliot said from the floor, oblivious to my pants-related problems.

This one went the same way as the last three, muscle and sweat damn near driving me up the wall with how close Elliot was to me and what I knew he could do to me with that strength and those rough hands.

He was pretty good with wood, too.

The rest of the table was pretty much assembled, with the sliding wooden frame on the bottom there to allow for the addition or removal of up to three leaves—which would allow for larger séances… or whatever. I’d asked how that would work with the carving, and Elliot had shown me one of the most complicated folding diagrams I’d ever seen—he, Mason, and Ward had come up with a design that would be functional with any number of leaves—it was damn impressive.

But that part Elliot was going to do with Ward, Mason, and Beck present so that he didn’t mess anything up.

We just had to flip the table, put the leaves in, and then we’d be done.

It probably also meant that I’d then be done with Elliot, because I’d have no reason left to see him. Other than sex, anyway, but just texting him for that seemed… desperate? Like I was breaking Rule Two?

Both those things would be true.

Elliot stood, and together we flipped the table, thenpulled apart the two halves, and I passed him the leaves to set into the middle. Even without having been carved, inlaid, and stained, it was beautiful. I could imagine what it would look like stained, and I decided that whatever Ward was paying him couldn’t possibly be enough.

“You’re staring at it,” Elliot remarked, and there was something in his voice that I couldn’t identify.

“It’s stunning,” I told him.

He laughed. “It’s not finished yet.”

“It’s still stunning.”

“Are you trying to flatter me, Seth?” That tone I recognized. Flirty. A little husky. The voice he’d used when he started laying down the ground rules.

“N-no,” I answered, stammering because one of his rough, hot hands had suddenly slid up the front of my t-shirt and was spread against my belly.

“No?” He sounded amused.

I shook my head as his other hand joined the first, this one wandering its way up my torso to rub one nipple. I’d been slightly hard all day, and this sent me straight into a full erection.

He pushed me forward, and the top of my thighs hit the edge of the table as he stepped into my back, Elliot’s answering arousal pushing against my ass.

I knew where he was going, planning to fuck me up against the table he’d just made, and the idea was unbelievably hot except for a few very important details.

“Elliot,” I managed.

“Mmm?” His hum was a growl against my back.

“You met Rayn, right?”

“Yes?” His hands stilled.

“He’s a contact psychic.”

A beat of silence, then, “And if he touches this table?—”

“Exactly. Also ghosts.”

“Ghosts?”

“Sylvia and Archie. I can’t see or feel them, but they could be here, and, well… I’m not really into exhibitionism.”

He slid his hands out of my shirt, and even though that’s what I was asking him to do, I nevertheless felt a slight pang of disappointment.

“So then we’d better pack up and go somewhere else,” he said, his voice still low and gravely.