Page 31 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Stuff like that,” I say with nod she can’t see. “And you know. Partners.” I add as if it’s just as benign as the other two.

Her skin is blazing hot under my hand.

“Would it be weird if I told you that Oren and I may have negotiated sharing you if you were so inclined?” I ask with just a hint of the sadistic humor that always seems to come along with my own desire. I feel a wicked smile curve my lips as they brush her ear again. “That would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

“S-super weird,” she chokes out.

I withdraw my hand from where I pressed it into her pulse points, backing away from her and slipping my fists in my pockets as I lean against the doorway. “Anyway,” I say, immediately shifting back to the casual warmth I’ve maintained with her all day, feeling a giddy sort of tension throughout my whole body as I leave her high and dry. “There’s your requested allotment of weirdness. Kind of a steal, if you ask me. Your turn.”

I’m such a bastard. I know I’m a bastard. But, I can’t lie: as I watch the subtle tremor in her hands as she frees another waffle from the iron, I can’t help but bask in the chaos I’ve left her with. Imagining her mind racing through the images of taking my cock in her mouth while Oren fucks her round, ample ass has me adjusting myself while her back is turned to me.

I watch her body for the subtle tells. Watch her squeeze her thighs closer together, see the little stretch of her shoulders and torso as that little flip goes through her stomach. The same that curls through my own stomach.

Something a little feral warms up inside of me. Something a little mean in the best way. I want to make her squirm, make her beg and then make her come, again and again and again.

“Lil-lith,” I say in a playful sing-song. “Your turn.” I repeat.

ㅤ

Ifucking knew it. I knew Damien was evil. I totally called it.

I don’t dare look over at him as I pour another portion of batter into the waffle iron. I swear I can feel the sadistic glee rolling off of him like a miasma of fuckability. And I don’t want him to see how flushed I am. I don’t need a mirror to know that I’m crimson from my decolletage to my damned ears.

I take a few more moments to recover, waiting until some of the heat ekes out of my body before I lean against my counter and look at him. He looks perfectly at ease, his hands in his pockets as he leans against the doorway. His smile is easy, but his two-toned eyes are heavy-lidded as they scan me.

I want to climb him like a fucking tree. Then I want to make him call Oren so I can climb him like a tree too. I’m going to build a tree house out of sad, talented men and I’m going to live there forever.

“You alright?” he asks. “You seem a little... flustered.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to wind up tackling you to the ground and you’re never going to get to hear about any of my weirdness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he says, giving me that sharpened, crooked grin.

He must know it’s an idle threat somehow. If I’d not lost my necklace the night before, I’d already be leaping into his arms. But until I do some research on the transferability of my curse, I can’t fuck him. Even though I really want to.

“Last night at The Nocturne, I encountered a presence...or an entity,” I say.

“Like...an evil one?” he asks, seemingly happy to move on from flustering me. Maybe he does really mean it when he says he wants to know everything he can about me.

I lift a hand in a so-so gesture as I continue. “So, I don’t really specify good or evil when it comes to presences,” I say. “There’s usually a sort of density in the energy. It’s like when you’re floating on one of those blow-up air mats in a pool and someone tries to get onto it with you. There’s a sort of displacement. Denser entities tend to be more powerful; lighter ones are more like impressions.”

“Alright. And this one… Was it powerful?”

“Yes,” I say. “I shooed it off, but in the process...”

I reach up to my throat again and frown as I feel the absence there. “I had this necklace that’s been passed down through my family since the 1800’s. After I dealt with this thing, the necklace broke. But it was really precious to me. I haven’t felt right since.”

His expression sobers. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “That must feel fucking terrible.”

He’s so genuine in his expression of care that tears prick my eyes and, to my abject horror, start spilling onto my face before I can force myself to turn away from him. I press my palms against my eyes to stem the flow, and just like that I fall apart into a heap of humiliation and fear and heartache.

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry,” I hiccup, turning away from him.

“Hey, don’t be,” he says. I feel him, warm at my side, only seconds later.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I sob. “I swear I’m not like this, like…ever.”

I hear him wrestle the waffle iron plug out of the wall with one hand as he curls the other behind my head and pulls me against his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says. “That’s a huge loss, right? I mean it’s not like you can just replace something that’s been in the family that long.”