Chapter 38
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Beck
“He signed it?”
That evening, back at the Grecian, Zephyr and I were puttering around the suite. He’d paused mid-stretch in front of the picture window, framed by the last blush of twilight. One leg lifted beside his head in a flawless standing split, his body a study in tension and grace.
Holding the pose, he stared at me like he wasn’t the most captivating thing in the room.
I’d been bringing him up to speed on what happened after I’d kicked him and Colette out of my office and into a long lunch.
Contractual negotiations weren’t exactly riveting, but since Zephyr had a vested interest in this one, I wasn’t surprised by his curiosity.
It flattered me, the way he studied my face with a sort of awe, like maybe I really was the hero he fancied me to be, or at least a devil he could trust.
“He signed it.” I raised my bourbon in a lazy toast before sipping. “Every page. Every clause. With a flourish, even.”
Zephyr didn’t have a taste for alcohol, or maybe I didn’t have the kind he liked. Either way, he seemed content with our chatter while watching the city transform under nightfall. I was content watching him.
“What happens now?” he asked, lowering his leg into a more relaxed position.
“I convinced him to use the Dollhouse as collateral,” I said. “Sweetened the deal, hopefully enough to scare off this phantom bidder. But in case it doesn’t, I built in a failsafe.”
His brow furrowed. “What kind of failsafe?”
I paused, considering how to explain something I didn’t fully understand myself.
My power wasn’t flashy. There were no flames, no glowing sigils, or pages signed in blood, but I knew its shape.
What was written became real, but I couldn’t simply dictate my whims. If I took, I had to give and ensure everything balanced in the end.
Like the scales of justice. I could think of nothing more just than reducing Maslow to the sniveling heap he was.
“It’s a kind of magic,” I said. “Maybe it’s in the writing. Or the paper. Could be in me. I’ve never been completely sure.” I offered him a slanted smile. “But it works.”
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “And then?”
“Then it’s over.” I took another drink. “Maslow gets his property, and the deal is done.”
“He’ll be happy about that,” Zephyr murmured. He hugged his arms around himself, and the pause that followed felt terribly fragile. When he looked at me again, his eyes were full of hope, and that was fragile too. An infant thing.
“What happens to us?” he asked.
The question was unexpected. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I wasn’t sure which “us” he referred to. The dancers at the Dollhouse? Or him and me?
“Who do you mean?” I asked tentatively.
“Everyone. The other guys and…” His gaze dipped, and he looked up at me through his lashes in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. “And us.”
I’d thought about it before. If I fixed Zephyr’s problem, he would no longer need me as the solution.
Standing here now, that fear was no longer a vague unease I could brush aside, but something deep and personal.
Giving Zephyr freedom might set him on a path that would carry him away from me entirely.
Earlier in the day, he’d lit up while talking about performing and the joy he used to find in it. I wanted that for him again. I wanted him to chase that feeling, to reclaim what had once made him feel alive.
But the thought of him joining a circus troupe and chasing dreams across the country, or across the world, while I stayed behind…
Watching him vanish into curtains and crowds I couldn’t follow...
It hollowed me out.
I’d only just gotten him here. Just learned the feel of his body beside mine. Just started to understand how much space he’d taken up in my chest. The idea of losing that—of losing him—felt too close, too real.
Abandoning my glass, I walked to where he stood. My hands found his arms, and I ran my palms slowly down them.
“You’ll be free,” I said. The words caught slightly in my throat.
Zephyr’s forehead crinkled. “To do what?”
“Anything you want. Everything you want.”
Pausing, I considered the weight of that statement. It wasn’t freedom if it came with strings attached. I wasn’t liberating him only to force him into a new cage, even if that cage was a penthouse suite at one of the nicest hotels in Vegas.
But I should offer, shouldn’t I? Open the door and let him choose.
Swallowing, I forced myself to say, “You can stay here. With me.” The statement left me too exposed, so I nodded toward the window behind him and added, “And the view.”
He smiled, and I turned him away before my offer became a plea because maybe I needed him. Maybe he was everything I wanted. And my pride couldn’t take it if he didn’t feel the same.
Facing the glass, I stepped behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He melted into the space where he fit so well, tucked between my shoulders with his head tilted so his hair brushed my cheek.
He might have been looking at the lights, the signs, the splendor, but I was looking at us. At myself holding onto someone for the first time in decades. I enjoyed it. Enjoyed Zephyr and everything he represented. Something different. Something new.
We stood like that for a long moment. There was no rush to move. No need to do anything but relish his weight resting against me and his warmth sinking into my chest. The world outside kept spinning, all neon and noise, but in here, everything felt still.
“Beck…” Zephyr’s voice broke the quiet. “Do you love me?”
“What?” I croaked.
He drew a shaky breath, practically quivering in my grasp. “Do you—”
“No, I heard you. I just…” I trailed off, then swallowed hard.
I’d thought it already. To myself. In the privacy of my mind, where feelings were easier to manage. Safer. That truth was meant to stay caged behind my teeth. If I said it out loud, it became real. It became a promise. The binding kind.
I’d been left before; I could be left again. But even if this ended, if he flew away and left my hands and heart empty, he still deserved to know.
“I do.”
Zephyr turned inside the loop of my arms, then gazed up at me. His eyes shimmered, and a fanged tooth dented his lower lip. “And you want to keep me?”
“Oh, Beauty.” I raised a hand to brush my knuckles over his cheek. “Yes. More than anything.”
Kissing him was easy now, an effortless lean, and he met me halfway.
He was pliable in my grasp, open, and always so honest. He’d made me honest too.
I was glad he’d asked, because otherwise I might have held onto that truth forever.
Glad he knew because I could feel the smile pulling at his lips as they pressed against mine. He was happy, and so was I.
Suddenly, he broke away, flushed to the roots of his hair, looking almost alarmed. “I love you too!” he blurted like it had snuck up on him.
I barked a laugh, so damn blissful, then kissed him again, harder this time.
He tasted sweet, like whipped cream, and the flavor made me want to drink deeper.
Incubus venom, I knew it but didn’t fear.
I’d meant it when I said I was enthralled by him all on my own.
Bewitched and beguiled and done pretending I wasn’t. Done fighting it.
I swallowed every drop.
My hand found the small of Zephyr’s back, guiding him closer. I would’ve given him the world if he’d asked, but all I truly had to offer was this: the squeezed-tight space between us where he was mine. Whole, safe, and held.
We stood swaying in the growing dark, like we were dancing to some distant melody. Then Zephyr nosed into my neck and dragged his tongue in a wet, slow stripe over my skin, right where my pulse beat strongest.
A groan caught in my throat. I reached to the back of his head, fingers catching in his hair.
He nipped at the lobe of my ear, sending a jolt through me before he whispered, sultry and sly, “Je veux embrasser ta bite.”
I huffed a half laugh, half moan. “Ugh, French again. You know I have no idea what you’re saying.”
He leaned in and let his lips brush mine. His breath was hot with amusement. “Then let me show you.”
He was a different person when well fed.
Brighter—like someone had peeled back the haze to reveal something warm and wild underneath.
He moved with the same confidence I’d seen during his stage performances, soft lines and subtle allure, but this show was for me alone.
A private performance. A striptease in reverse.
My suit jacket was the first casualty, shoved off my shoulders then flung aside with a flick of his wrist. My tie was next, loosened but left hanging like a leash. He worked his way down the buttons of my shirt, undoing each one until my chest was bared and the tails fluttered past my waist.
Hooking his fingers around my belt, he slid it free, slow and smooth, like he was drawing a sword from its sheath. The sound of it slipping through the loops was indecent in the hush before it fell with a soft clink to the floor. Then he unfastened my slacks, and every nerve ending fired at once.
Zephyr stepped back and waved his hand, giving a clear command. “Lay down.”
“On the floor?”
“Oui.”
I groaned, but obeyed, lowering myself onto the cold floorboards.
He grinned, and his sharp teeth caught the light. “Comme ca.”
“Zephyr…” I said his name like a warning.
He tilted his head, trading mischief for doe-eyed innocence. “Yes, Daddy?”
My cock kicked hard. I threw an arm over my face before stretching out on the floor, resigned to my fate.
Tittering, Zephyr stepped over me, one graceful leg at a time, then stood above my hips. He nudged the toes of one foot against my crotch—testing.
“Tu es à l’aise?” he purred, then paused a beat before translating. “Are you comfortable?”
“Define ‘comfortable,’” I muttered, shifting under the slow, maddening pressure of his toes. “But… yes.”
Another flash of that dazzling grin. “Bien.”