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Chapter 13
“Remember, just get up before dessert and take your knickers off in the loo. When you come back to the table, give your old bully boy a present. He’ll barely be able to wait until the check comes, guaranteed.”
Violet blew a hard breath out her nose, squinting in the bright, overhead light. “Don’t you think you should focus on what you’re doing? I won’t have to worry about taking my underwear off if I’m in the emergency room because you waxed off half my labia.”
The vampire rolled her eyes, taking up the tongue depressor of wax once more. Violet wasn’t sure how she’d let Geillis talk her into this, and half-suspected that she’d fallen prey to a vampire glamour.No, you didn’t. You’re letting her do it because you’re a horny idiot.The voice in her head, she had to admit, was right, at least this time. Geillis had asked if she’d made sure to be freshly waxed for the big night, and she’d responded with a typical deer-in-the-headlights look of panic, for even though she was certain it wouldn’t actually matter, she’d never been waxed in her life and now that the idea had been put out into the universe, she desperately wanted to be. That sort of pricey salon service was definitelynotin her budget, even as a splurge, and so Geillis had volunteered, insisting that she’d had salon experience over her vast, long, vampiric life.
It wasn’t until she was laying on the kitchen table, naked from the waist down with her knee pressed to her ear, that she remembered Geillis had been turned in the 1980’s and was around the same age as Violet’s mother.
“Just hold bloody still, I’m almost finished!”
She closed her eyes and held her breath as the waxing paper was pressed to her skin, trying to focus on the exact scenario Geillis described, the one that had caused her to be in such a position. She wanted to be stretched by his big bullcock, wanted him to fuck her into next season with those measured, pounding thrusts, but lately, the notion of him bathing her sex with his hot tongue was all she could think of, and her judgment had abandoned her.Tonight. Something’s going to happen tonight.She had lost count of the dinner dates and mid-day lunches, the romantic excursions through the quaint little town, and the gallery visits in the city. He’d wanted to get to know her, for her to get to know him, for them to know each other outside of the milking facility and the heightened sexuality that had permeated their interactions for the previous several months, and she appreciated his circumspection more than she could articulate . . . but if the night didn’t end with her screaming his name as she came around his cock, Violet was certain she was going to perish from terminally unmet sexpectations.
* * *
Their first date had been at a cozy little trattoria around the corner from her apartment in the city, and he’d been a perfect gentleman.
Bridgeton boasted a multi-species population, like most large cities, and although humans were the majority, she had begun to pay closer attention after his comments about majority culture as she went about her days, noticing the goblins and trolls who were nearly invisible in the backdrop of the city’s hustle and bustle. She’d discovered that her little corner bodega carried a small selection of items similar to those she’d seen at the Food Gryphon—kelp-flavored crisps and oddly-colored drinks, all stuffed on the lowest shelf at the back of the store. Violet had watched open-mouthed one evening as a petite goblin with wide hips and a sleeve of colorful tattoos, clutching the hand of a small child entered the store while she was leaning into the ice cream case, moving with purpose to the back aisle. She had stepped back with her strawberry crunch cone, watching surreptitiously as the goblin woman bent, releasing hold of her child and practically needing to kneel to load her shopping basket with items from the bottom shelf.
She’d let the woman go ahead of her in line as the little boy grew fidgety, and the whole episode had left her discomfited. She tried to imagine being forced to do all of her grocery shopping at the over-priced mini-mart without having half a dozen other options, and remembered the conversation she’d overheard in the locker room one day as Kirime and one of the other technicians bemoaned the skyrocketing property market in Cambric Creek.No wonder other species want to move there.
He’d met her at the restaurant that Saturday night, standing sentinel on the sidewalk as she scurried across the street, blushing that he’d beaten her when she lived right around the corner.Of course mister always-in-control is punctual, why are you surprised?!She asked about where he’d lived in the city, realizing from his description of the neighborhood that it wasn’t terribly far from her own apartment, explaining why he’d been immediately familiar with her suggestion.
“My ex-wife kept the townhouse,” he went on, eyes dropping to the wine glass before him, “and my business is in Cambric Creek, so I tend to not have much reason to come into the city these days . . . until now,” he conceded, flashing her one of those brilliant smiles, transforming him into a softer version of himself for the space of a heartbeat.
“What happened?” she’d blurted, desperately needing an answer to the question that had been turning over in her mind since that first night she’d met him for coffee. She had come home from the coffee shop that night nearly floating over the way the evening had ended, immediately bee-lining to her laptop to stalk him online. She wasn’t especially proud that she had developed a knack for digging up dirt on people, but over the years she had discovered a talent for rooting out extended family member’s social media, long-outdated resumes, and forgotten accounts with only the barest hint of information on her target. She knew his birthday, and now she knew his name. It was more than enough.
In the end, she’d found his ex-wife first.
Most people’s accounts were set to private these days, circumventing online snoops like her, but the glamorous woman with the crimson smile had public-facing everything. Profile after profile, different social platforms that all linked together, Violet paged through the highly-curated, glossy life of her bull’s former spouse, feeling more and more like a drab little mouse with every click.
Her mind had supplied her with the image of someone tall and slender, like the tiefling at the coffee shop, clad in expensive business attire with a stern expression, identical to his, well-matched in profession. The voluptuous beauty posing beside a green-tiled swimming pool—her long, ebony hair wrapped in a turban with oversized, ivory sunglasses hiding her eyes and red-painted lips stretched wide—bore no resemblance to the phantom lover she’d dreamt up. Human-looking, save for the cow-like tail that swished behind her and the curious, dark shadow of her back, which wasn’t turned towards the camera in any shot.Well, he doesn’t dislike human anatomy, at least you know that much. As she toggled back and forth between social platforms, scrolling through the endless feed of selfies and staged photos, Violet noticed the complete absence of real life—no family outings, no milestones or pets, no hint of the man with whom this smiling woman had once shared her life. The oldest photo in the feed was dated three years prior, and in those first few dozen, the other woman’s make-up was a bit more subdued, her eyelashes not yet lengthened with extensions, her lips stained a dark berry-red.He said he’s been divorced for two years.
She had recognized the mark of someone reinventing herself and understood the compulsion well. It would have been easy to do, had she found that dream job she’d been expecting right out of school—filling her social feeds with artsy, black and white photos of Bridgeton and her life in the big city, the over-priced burnt coffee from up the street balancing on a ledge overlooking the high rises across the water. It would have been easy to hide her humble beginnings and human family . . . just as this woman had completely hidden away any hint of whom she might have been, when she’d been his wife. Her had stomach tightened and flipped, unliking the idea of him being the life that had been worth hiding.
There were no photos of him to speak of, and no social media accounts she could find under his name, which didn’t actually surprise her a bit. Too brusque, too professional for that. The closest revelation she stumbled on was a comment on one of the oldest pictures in the other woman’s feed; a clueless, inappropriate comment from someone who appeared to be a relative, damning evidence that he had existed at all.I’m so sorry to hear about you and Rourke.She’d straightened in her seat at the discovery, quickly clicking on the profile of the commenter. A dozen or so photos of landscape and several children, all girls, all with the same, swishing tails behind them. The pictures had no filters and were of an odd, hasty composition, the mark of an older user who was unfamiliar with the photo platform’s highly curated vibe.
Searching the woman’s name, she quickly turned up a profile on CrowdJournal, more widely used with her own parent’s demographic.Paydirt. Hundreds of photos, going back years. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.Veleena’shandfasting. The album only consisted of half a dozen photos, and only one with him. He towered over the bride, looking as neat and severe as he did when he loomed over her every Friday, if not a bit younger. The bride herself was a revelation. Clear-eyed and smiling softly, with none of the dramatic makeup or brash confidence on display in her current photos, she’d gazed up at the big minotaur before her looking like a completely different person.
Violet had gone to bed that night wondering what had happened; if this other woman had decided to become someone new before their marriage had ended, if they’deachbecome someone new, and the people they’d become after their vows simply hadn’t worked together. Violet found that she couldn’t think badly of the woman in the photos, for she herself seemed completely different compared to the person she’d been only six months earlier; before she’d known about minotaur milking farms and vampire restaurants, when she’d been ignorant to the way her neighbors of different species lived and had been blind to her human privilege. She’d not be able to go back, that was certain, no matter how much her mother and Carson Tinsely from up the street might have wished it, so she could not fault this other woman for reinventing her life in a way that made her happy, and she clearly seemed happy in the multitude of photos.
His mouth had pressed and his head had cocked consideringly. “We had very different priorities by the end. It wasn’t any one big thing, it’s not like someone was cheating or anything like that, we just . . . it was one of those things. She wanted to travel, I was just starting my business. All of her friends were single, I was always working . . . we drifted apart and pretty soon we were strangers who happened to live together. I was far too boring for her, in any case.”
“Well, I have great news for you, because I’m the most boring person I know.”
The rich sound of his laughter had spilled over her like a thick flood of dark chocolate, warmer and more vibrant than the quiet huffs she’d heard at the farm, melting her insides in a way that was becoming deliciously familiar as he caught her pinky with his index finger on the edge of the table. “You don’t bore me. Not in the slightest.”
If she’d thought at the time that the two bottles of red wine they’d shared would have lubricated the path back to her bed, she might have been disappointed. He’d walked her to the door of her building, and the invitation to come up had never had a chance to escape her mouth, swallowed up by his lips as they’d been. His mouth was wider than those belonging to any of her previous partners, wide enough to engulf hers completely, but his lips were soft and his wide tongue hot and rough, and he’d kissed her until she was clinging to him and dizzy.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” Deep and dark, his voice had rumbled against her exactly the way she’d suspected it might, as she’d fisted the front of his shirt in an attempt to stay upright. “I enjoyed spending time with you, Violet. I hope we can do it again soon.”
* * *
Soonhad been four days later, when she’d met him for a pre-dinner drink at a crowded happy hour pub in Cambric Creek’s bustling downtown, before walking hand-in-hand to one of the many farm-to-table restaurants the town boasted. She’d been keenly aware of their size difference when he’d lifted her like a doll, as she struggled to climb onto a bar stool designed for a much larger species. His thickly muscled arm had scooped her up in a blink, a huge hand in the center of her back until she balanced upon the seat sufficiently.
“What’s that drink with the soda and syrup you make for kids? With the cherries?”
The server, a fleet-footed faun had cocked their eyebrow, making the piercings there bounce. “A lulabelle?”
