Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Memnon
By Friday, I’d learned a few things:
“Saw grass” is called “saw grass” for a damn good reason, and hand sanitizer can be used as an efficient—if fucking painful —disinfectant.
Physical therapy can apparently be any kind of repetitive movement.
Maya was living downstairs.
The first one is pretty self-explanatory, but didn’t completely suck, because when I landed in a stand of saw grass, Maya was there to fuss over me and clean my wounds. I was coming to realize that not only did I not mind her touch…I fucking craved it.
When I wasn’t around her, I was itchy and irritable and angry all the time. It didn’t help that Simbel was over-the-moon excited about Rissa and telling her that she was his Mate. He was annoying as hell, and that just made me more irritated.
Because each moment I was with him was a moment I wasn’t with Maya, and I’d never known anyone else I genuinely wanted to be around.
Now the second issue, the physical therapy?
I guess I should have known Sakkara would be right. If I did end up going to this Oyster Festival tomorrow, and he was there, I just knew the smarmy bastard was going to crow about it. but yeah…
My leg did feel better.
At first, it hurt like the blazes, but now? After a week of moving and exercising and lifting and squatting and bending and twisting? I should be miserable, and sometimes I got a crazy-hard cramp in my thigh. But overall, I could feel that I was moving better and easier than I had since before the injury.
And as for that last issue, the one about Myra living downstairs…
Well, I wondered how much that played into my feeling better when she was around. Now that I was attuned to her, I could feel her moving around down there, and I swear I could even smell her. Like sometimes, when we were together, I’d get a hint of a sweet musk I didn’t recognize…
Why was she living down there? And what should I do about it? Not just as her landlord, but as…as her friend?
Because Maya Locklear was my friend. The first real one I’d made in a decade. I worked for her—or maybe she worked for me, it was unclear—but at some point this week, I’d woken up and realized I wanted to be with her. I wanted her to be in my space. I enjoyed my time with her and wanted more of it.
That sounded like friendship to me, right?
It had to be. That’s the only explanation for this weirdly unsettled feeling I got when she wasn’t around.
Speaking of which…I pulled out my phone to type, Still on for pizza ? I didn’t like the delivery places on the island, so in the last few months, I’d learned to perfect the New York crust myself.
You know it. Give me a few to get cleaned up.
Today had been a dirty one; last night’s rain meant everything was muddy as we put the finishing touches on the boardwalk and prepared to switch over to work in the park next week. And I knew Maya had gone back to the shop, ostensibly to help lock up, but more likely to get cleaned up.
And since I knew she was living downstairs, I also knew that severely limited her options.
My fingers slowly moved across the keyboard.
Hey, just throwing this out there. I have two working showers up here. If, you know, you ever needed one.
I swallowed and pressed send .
The message clicked over to seen , but she didn’t respond. Instead, I heard a door slam downstairs, heard her running footsteps on the stairs, and was already stepping toward the door when I heard her pound on it.
I limped across the apartment and pulled it open to see—sure enough—Maya panting on the landing, holding her phone in front of her. “You know?” she blurted, fear in her eyes.
Trying to play it nonchalant, I shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I meant it about the shower.” She was still in her work pants, filthy t-shirt, and muddy boots. Her hair was covered in mud, for fuck’s sake.
Without thinking, I reached out and caught the tail of her braid. “You can’t get this out in a slop sink.”
She yanked it back, and I wondered if I’d stepped over the line. But instead, she drew the braid through her hand, then again, worrying it in what seemed to be a nervous motion, as she paced back and forth on the landing.
“I’m sorry, Memnon. I hope I wasn’t making it weird or keeping you up at night or something.”
“You weren’t.” I watched her pace, hating her agitation.
“It’s just that rent was?—”
I snapped upright. “Your rent is too high?” I didn’t need her rent; I’d kept her old rate just so no one would get suspicious, but I hadn’t even bothered to deposit her checks
She waved with the hand still holding the phone. “It’s not. I just couldn’t afford rent here and rent on my apartment and to pay you.” She whirled to me, concern on her face. “I mean, it’s not your fault, I just needed to save enough money for this first month that I could pay whoever I was going to hire. After this first job, I’ll have enough stocked away to pay an employee—it doesn’t have to be you! Gah, I’m making a mess of this.”
She’d moved in downstairs to save money to pay me? The irony was that the rent she was paying was already going to me.
“Hey, hey, Blossom.” I reached out and snagged her wrist as she paced by. Beneath my fingers, her pulse jumped. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
She needs your help .
Her eyes had gone wide, and I saw her breath catch.
Then, in one sudden surge, she threw herself at me, wrapping one arm around my neck and pressing her cheek to my chest. “You can’t tell the landlord, okay, Memnon? I’m so sorry to put you in this position, but if you tell him, he’s going to kick me out, and I won’t be able to afford to pay you.”
You don’t have to pay me.
You don’t have to pay rent.
I can’t keep it a secret because I’m the damn landlord.
I could have said any of those things. But what came out was, “It’ll be okay, Blossom. You can stay with me.”
She sucked in a breath and tipped her head back to stare up at me, wide-eyed. I realized I was also holding my breath, watching my own reflection in her dark eyes.
Slowly, she exhaled. “You…really don’t mind?”
I hadn’t thought this through, but Simbel would most likely be leaving soon, right? He’d made himself scarce for tonight, and I knew he had a big date tomorrow night. But maybe I should start small.
“Well, if nothing else, the showers are nice,” I offered. It wasn’t an agreement, but an invitation of sorts.
“Yeah.” She relaxed. “Yeah, okay.” Her nose wrinkled as she stepped back. “I probably need a shower. I’ll…go get my stuff.”
“Take your time. I’ll get started on the pizza.”
Maya
The shower felt good . Three weeks of bathing in the sink downstairs—washcloths and worrying about my long hair getting stuck in the drain—all sort of washed away. I used Memnon’s shower, just because it felt less weird somehow than using his brother’s.
And I must’ve been in there for a really long time because by the time I emerged, the whole apartment smelled delicious.
I hurried to wring out as much water as I could from my hair, then pulled on one of those little sundresses with the built-in bra. I’d grabbed it from my stack of laundry downstairs because it was cute, and I’d spent all week with Memnon looking decidedly un- cute .
And because I really, really wanted him to think I was cute.
This week had taught me that not only was he hot as hell, but he was also thoughtful and interesting and insightful, and he made me laugh with his really dry sense of humor.
I wanted to hang out with him.
Whether or not he meant the whole “stay with me” comment, I was here right now, and that shower had been amazing, and I felt damn good.
I was brushing my hair as I stepped into the living room. “The pizza smells great.”
He was bent over the oven, peering inside, and grunted. “Still got some time. I had my brother pick up a bottle of red wine if you?—”
When he turned and saw me, his words abruptly stopped, but his mouth didn’t close. His dark gaze—now with that almost-constant green spark—raked me from head to toe, and I felt my skin prickle and my bare toes curl in response.
Unfortunately at that moment, I hit a snag in my hair, and I must’ve winced because suddenly he was moving toward me.
“Give it to me,” he commanded, holding out his hand.
In a sort of confused daze, I placed the brush in his palm and turned. Memnon gathered my wet hair in his other hand and gently worked the brush through it, again and again.
I shuddered at the sensation—unexpected pleasure and intimacy all at once. “I…It’s been a long time since anyone did this for me,” I admitted in a whisper.
“When I was little, my mother had long hair. She had many sons, some older than us, some younger. But she used to like it when I brushed her hair.”
The quiet words were accompanied by gentle touches, and I felt my chest tighten. “You must miss her so much.”
“I do.” He tucked the brush away, then gathered my hair in both his hands and divided it. “She died the year before we stepped through the veil. That’s the only reason we were willing to join the group.”
His fingers flew, plaiting my hair the way I’d wanted to braid his. I wondered if he’d let me, now that he’d done mine. I couldn’t believe how gentle he was with those claws that seemed to retract whenever he didn’t need them.
My pulse was pounding in my ears, my head swimming from the heady scent of him , and my whole body was attuned to him.
I peeled the elastic from my wrist and passed it over my shoulder, and after he tied off the bottom, turned to him. Neither of us backed up, so I ended up staring up at him.
Could he see how much I wanted to touch him? Taste him?
One of his thick fingers rose to rest on my collarbone. “I haven’t seen this yet.”
Ah. The sundress had spaghetti straps, revealing my one and only tattoo. I nodded, then realized it was dumb to agree without speaking, so I blurted, “I got it after my grandfather died.”
His fingertip, blunted and callused, traced the vine. “This is honeysuckle.”
He recognized it? “ Tati used to say I was honeysuckle.”
“Yes.” His voice had turned raspy, and when his gaze met mine, I saw a green flare. “Strong. Brave. Sweet.”
Oh my God .
I think I probably whimpered.
“Blossom,” he whispered.
“I want to kiss you,” I blurted. Then, before he had time to reply—oh God, I hope he’d been about to agree!—I surged up on my toes and pulled his head down to mine, and I kissed him .
I’d spent years wondering what it would feel like to kiss an orc, with those tusks jutting up from their lower lips, and now I knew: It felt flipping amazing .
No. It’s only this good because this is Memnon .
I knew it was the truth.
He wasn’t a stranger to kissing, like I knew some orcs were. With a little groan, he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me, bringing me closer, his tongue teasing me, his tusks scraping against my cheeks in the most delicious way.
I wanted more. God, I wanted more.
But…was this right? I pulled away, panting, staring into his eyes, so close to mine. I cupped his cheeks. “I don’t want to pressure you, Memnon.”
He blinked, frowning. “Pressure me?”
“I’m your boss,” I reminded him. “It wouldn’t be fair to get into a physical relationship if you feel obligated or pressured into it due to our work relationship.”
He blinked again, and I saw his expression go from confused to angry to vaguely amused. And through it all, he just stood there, holding me. I could feel all of him, including his cock, which pressed against my thigh because he still held me off the ground.
He wanted me as much as I wanted him, but I had to make sure…
“I’m not obligated to you any more than you’re obligated to me,” he finally said.
Obligated…? Oh, he must mean the shower, and the dinner. “You’re sure?” I prompted. “I want to keep kissing you, but?—”
He interrupted me by lifting me, planting his nose against my neck, and inhaling long and slow. “Oh, I want to do more than kiss you, Blossom.”
Then he licked my tattoo. His tusk sent a shiver down my spine that seemed to emerge from my nipples, which were currently pressed against his chest and also hard as rocks.
“Hmmm. I knew you’d taste good,” he murmured.
And I was lost.
With a little whimper, I threw my legs around his waist and tightened my hold on him and went back to kissing.
If he wasn’t going to be bothered by the whole “I’m his boss” thing, then neither would I.
We stumbled to the couch, although I wasn’t sure if my weight was just too much, and his leg gave out. Somehow, we ended up with me straddling him as he dragged one of my dress straps over my shoulder to reveal the tattoo in all its delicate glory.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing it again. I arched my back, feeling beautiful. And strong, and brave, just like he’d said.
How long had I spent fantasizing about him? And now I was touching, tasting Memnon! I wanted more.
I clasped my hands on either side of his cheeks and kissed him, lifting myself up on my knees to gyrate against his hardness, and I heard—and felt—his groan that worked through his whole body.
Yes .
Then his hands were on my breasts, and it was time for me to groan. My boobs had never been big, and his hands dwarfed them. But the way they fit in his palms felt just right.
I felt just right.
With one movement, he slid the dress from my shoulder and popped my girls free from their containment in the shelf bra, earning a sigh of relief from both me and Memnon. He caught my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and I swear, an electric shock went right to my pussy.
With a gasp, I arched back, dropping my hold on him, which allowed him to lower his mouth to one breast. Had I thought it felt good before when it was just his hand? Adding in his tongue—his amazing, ridged tongue—and tusks felt even better.
I’d always found my nipples to be incredibly sensitive and stimulating, but this? This was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
I rocked against him, my clit already throbbing with need, loving the pressure of his cock against me. My panties were soaked through already, and from the way he growled, he knew it as well.
My pleasure was building. I knew I could get off like this, just grinding against him. But I wanted more.
As if he could read my mind, Memnon’s hand dropped to my thigh. He licked my nipple one last time, then lifted his head. “I want to touch you, Maya.”
“Please,” I whispered, writhing atop him.
He ran his palm up my leg, pushing my dress out of the way, until I felt his thumb rest against the cotton of my underwear.
“ Fuck ,” he groaned, bending back over my breasts and capturing one nipple in his mouth.
I gasped and rocked toward him, utterly delighted by the warring sensations chasing me. He used the movement to slide my gusset aside and press his thumb against my cleft.
Moaning in pleasure, I gyrated against his touch, welcoming him deeper, deeper.
His finger was thick, but nowhere as thick as my dildo, and I wanted more .
Another rasp of that ridged tongue, and he moved his thumb to my clit so he could slide his forefinger into me. “Memnon!” My fingers clawed at his shoulders. “Oh my God , yes.”
I felt him grin as he slid another finger into me, and I gasped, stretching my legs wider so he would fit.
Then he flicked my clitoris with his thumb, and I exploded.
“Memnon!” I yelled, tossing my head back, eyes squeezed shut as my orgasm burst over me. White-hot pulses shot through my entire body as I rocked atop him, my breathing coming in tiny, sucking gasps.
It wasn’t until I finally returned to earth that I realized he was speaking to me. Murmuring in a low voice against my neck in a language I didn’t understand.
He was still stroking my back, comforting me…and I’d never felt so special, so worthy, so loved .
After a while, he lifted his head and met my gaze. His dark gaze was almost entirely consumed by the green glow, and I reared back, not sure how normal this was.
Slowly, he pulled his fingers from me, then took the time to rearrange my panties and my dress, lifting my straps up over my shoulders and tucking in my breasts quickly and efficiently. I watched, dazed, wondering if that meant he wasn’t interested in continuing.
All the guys I’ve been with would’ve continued until they got off. Was Memnon not interested in that?
In me ?
But then his lips twitched, and for the first time, I saw him smile. A small smile, but a real one.
He lifted his fingers, the ones that had been inside me, and licked them, while holding my gaze.
His ridged tongue flicked out again, gathering my spend, in what should have felt naughty…but somehow seemed perfect.
The pizza timer went off.
And Memnon’s smile grew. “I knew you’d be delicious, Blossom.”