Chapter Four
The latte cup was still on Felicity’s bedside table when she woke up the next morning.
She had slept in, since experience had taught her to be kind to herself the day after a load-out, and when she finally sat up and stretched, she stared at the cardboard cup in befuddlement, because it...
It shouldn’t be there. It really shouldn’t.
It was part of her hallucination/dream/whatever from the day before.
In fact, it wasn’t there, she decided firmly.
It was just a hallucination-afterimage, and by the time she got out of her long, hot shower it would totally be gone.
She made her shower twice as long just in case, reveling in the small advantages of Mandy’s departure.
All the hot water was hers now, and if she wanted to walk around naked to air dry, she could.
She could be naked all day if she wanted to.
No tags itching at her neck or underwear riding up her butt because she’d gained a few pounds since she’d bought them. Yes, today was going to be Naked Day.
At least until she brought out the hot glue gun. That was a recipe for disaster.
And so when she was done conditioning and pampering and moisturizing (not shaving, because fuck the patriarchy), she confidently strode in all her nakedness into the bedroom that would one hundred percent not have a genie-created latte cup in it.
Except it was still there.
Felicity circled the table warily, brow furrowed, trying to come up with a logical explanation for the coffee cup that didn’t require also accepting Dimitri the Genie as real, because that was... Well, she really didn’t know what it was, to be honest. Creepy? Disturbing?
Kinda cool?
Except no, not cool. Slave. If he was real, which he wasn’t, he was a slave. He might have phenomenal cosmic power, but she was the literal boss of him, and that sort of taboo belonged firmly within the pages of romance novels, not real life.
Her real life that still had that coffee cup in it. One from a café that had closed years ago.
She stared at the cup for a long time, and when she was sure it wasn’t going to just disappear the way it was really, really supposed to, she poked it.
It tipped over, spilling latte dregs onto her bedside table. Dammit.
Felicity sponged up the spill with yesterday’s dirty T-shirt and picked up the coffee cup to look at it more closely.
Yep, that was the Espresso Paradiso logo.
Not even faded like it had been in storage for years.
Fresh and new. And the latte inside had been just what she remembered.
The perfect blend of sweet and salt and magic beans...
She wanted another one.
“Get a grip, girl,” she muttered, stalking into the kitchen and stuffing the cup into the trashbag she’d hung from a cabinet handle, since Mandy had taken her trash bin.
There. The cup was gone, and with no visual proof, she could now forget her sexy-ass hallucination.
Go back to her normal life, in which her feet hurt like hell and she needed to find either a roommate or a way to double her income. No more genies. Poof! Begone!
Except when she left the kitchen, the first thing she saw was that damn box of glassware with the genie bottle right on top. And she felt that same pull she’d felt at the storage facility.
What would happen if she pulled out the stopper?
“Nothing,” Bitchy Felicity said aloud. “It’s just a fucking bottle.”
But it was Sunday morning, and every part of Felicity craved caffeine.
Hell, the only reason Bitchy Felicity was so damn loud was because of the caffeine craving.
And even if she got dressed and brought up the storage-unit coffeemaker, she’d have to clean it multiple times before she used it.
Not to mention buying coffee filters...and coffee.
With the money she didn’t have because she’d spent it on the storage unit.
Kind of a self-inflicted Gift of the Magi sort of thing.
And that latte had been...something.
She craved another.
Hell. What did she have to lose?
With a sigh at her own silliness, she sat cross-legged on the floor and hefted the intricate bottle out of the box.
It really was gorgeous, the designs mesmerizing.
She found herself tracing the curls and whorls of the metal animal’s fur, imagining the craftsmanship that had gone into each detail.
Mine, she thought again, and pulled out the stopper.
It was only after the red smoke started pouring out of the bottle’s mouth that she remembered she was still naked.
Good thing I’m hallucinating.
Dimitri awakened to dissolution, his body turning to smoke and the heady sensation of floating out of his prison, and he snapped into sharp focus. He could only change his appearance when he was in smoke form, and he had a list of seductive upgrades to deploy.
Finer silk trousers. Tissue-thin, or as close as the rules would allow him.
Delicate gold rings piercing his nipples.
A narrower vest, exposing said nipples.
A bit of exotic oil shimmering his skin.
Darker kohl surrounding his eyes.
And hell, he couldn’t lower his waistband, but he imagined a design upon it that drew the eye down to his manhood. Just subtle enough to not feel like a comedy.
It wasn’t fair play, but he was done being fair, passively submitting to his slavery.
He resolidified in a room that was entirely empty of furniture, other than the box he’d borne for his mistress the night before. She was sitting on the floor, his bottle in one hand and the stopper in the other.
Naked.
Gods above and below.
How had he mistaken this woman for a child?
Her red hair was damp, hanging in tendrils around her shoulders and down over her chest, where dusky pink nipples rose from perfect round breasts, just pendulous enough to beg his hands to heft them.
Her soft, luscious belly curved delectably over the red thatch of hair concealing her yoni, while thick, grippable thighs opened wide, her legs bent in to cross in a way that sent his eyes right back to that red thatch of hair.
Which was also damp—probably not with arousal, he knew, but the image was indelible.
A few more droplets of water beaded on the creamy skin of her belly, which was a shade or two lighter than her freckled arms. She was like a feast spread out for him, her curves demanding his hands, her damp womanhood crying out to be tasted.
And she was glaring up at him with defiance in her eyes.
“Just so you know,” she said loftily, “I don’t normally greet visitors without any clothes on. But you’re not real.”
He was aghast.
He was aroused.
He...should not have wished himself into thinner trousers.
His erection was tenting the fine silk now, and while he was not going to look down, he suspected the clinging fabric showed every contour of his cock. Especially since his mistress kept flickering wide-eyed glances downward before returning her glare to his face.
That is the point, he reminded himself. You want her to desire you. You want her to want what is under the silk. You are seducing her!
But instead of any of the lines he had spent his bath memorizing, he found himself saying, “Do you wish me to conjure you appropriate attire, Mistress?”
Something twitched in her jaw. “May I please have a latte?” she asked at last. “Just like the one yesterday.”
Dimitri folded his arms and nodded his head, willing the latte into existence.
She snatched it up and inhaled the aroma, eyes drifting closed. “Hello, juice of the magic bean,” she whispered and took a sip.
“Is that all you desire, Mistress?” Dimitri focused his attention on her face, willing his erection to subside for the moment. Except it was not working. The features that had been covered in grime yesterday were clean and appealing, her skin dewy, and she kept sighing.
Sighing like she felt the touch of a lover.
Over inferior coffee.
He gritted his teeth, trying to imagine the silk rubbing his tenderest skin was burlap.
After another luxurious sip, his mistress peered up at him again. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“Would you prefer I kneel?” He went to one knee and bent solicitously forward.
Her eyes glazed the tiniest bit, as if she did indeed prefer him to kneel, but then she shook her head. “Just sit. It’s all weird for you to be...staring at me like that.”
“But you believe I am a hallucination,” Dimitri said smoothly, sinking down. “You have said you do not mind the regard of a figment.”
“Yeah, but...” She took another drink of coffee, eyes darting away.
“I am real, you know.” Dimitri shifted so that his legs concealed his crotch. “And there is much I can do for you. Do you desire sweetmeats? Riches? Renown?”
“I...” Her cheeks turned slightly pink. “The only thing I want right now is a...a footrub.”
Dimitri hesitated. It was forbidden, what she asked.
Genies were slaves, yes, but there were rules to the wishes.
A master could only wish for things that affected themselves—not their friends, family, or lovers, not strangers, and not their genie.
Wishes for love, for passion, for sex—all disappeared into the ether.
It was Dimitri’s job to explain these rules to his masters.
Aziz’s voice whispered in his ear. The secret is consent.
If Aziz was right...his mistress could not wish his hands upon her. But she could ask Dimitri, not as a wish, but as a request, and perhaps he could choose it for himself.
Could he?
He swallowed sharply. “Make yourself comfortable, Mistress. I would be...most pleased to tend to your feet.”
She gazed at him for a long moment, then shifted, leaning back on her elbows and extending her legs toward him.
His hands were trembling as he reached out and touched her foot. The skin of her instep was soft over her bones, and the warmth sent a bolt of something through him—not desire, he was already overflowing with that, but something else. Something softer.
When had he last touched someone? Anyone?
He lowered his eyes so that she couldn’t see his wild thoughts and slid his fingers around to the bottom of her foot. “Where does it hurt, Mistress?” he murmured, pressing his thumbs into the arch.
His mistress sighed. “There... There is good.” A slight frown crossed her face. “But maybe stop calling me that? My name is Felicity.”
“Felicity, then.” Dimitri cast his thoughts outward, convincing the ether to send him a pot of creamy unguent to smooth into her skin.
“Oh, god,” she moaned as he rubbed the lotion in. “Best hallucination ever.”
He should correct her again, remind her that he was real, but he felt dizzy, having his hands on her skin. Dizzy with the thought of his freedom being within reach, as well as the desire that was again swelling his cock.
Would she flee if he convinced her he was real?
Surely she would. She’d been uncomfortable when he’d called himself her slave. She would take her feet away, wish him gone.
He could not risk it. Not now, when he had his hands on her flesh, when victory was mere inches away. She was bare and ready for him, her arousal clearly growing. And it was not his fault that she did not believe him. He had said he was real. He had spoken only truth.
On her own head be the results of her disbelief.
He curved his hands up around her calf, gently rubbing the scented cream into her skin. “Here?” he murmured, keeping his voice even despite the electric need growing in him.
Felicity moaned, sinking further back on her elbows. “Yes, there,” she said breathlessly.
Dimitri worked at her foot and calf, surreptitiously watching his mistress’s face through his eyelashes.
She kept taking sips of her latte, obviously trying to stay detached, but she was starting to melt, her thighs relaxing, opening to him like a flower.
He cast a glance to confirm that her nether curls were damp now from more than bathing.
The scent of her arousal was mingling with the fragrance of the lotion. He inhaled deeply.
The scent of victory.
Would she let him taste her today? Desire him enough that she’d wish for his freedom immediately? It seemed too good to be true, but hope was rising again. His fears had clearly been unfounded. He was a genius of seduction!
“Other foot,” she whispered, and he obliged.
She was starting to make the most delicious sounds, little stifled moans, and he let his hands drift further up her legs, moving his body between her ankles.
She was spread wide for him, pink and slick, and gods above, she was watching him as if she was in love. Already.
Aziz had been right. His freedom was within his grasp.
He dug his fingers into her thigh muscles. “Is this what you want...Felicity?”
She smiled. “Yes.”