Chapter Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
Eleonore was clinging upside down to the ceiling when Ben entered the kitchen the next morning.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s—wait, what are you doing?”
Eleonore waved down at him. “We should repaint your house!”
He looked sexy, and that wasn’t just because Eleonore had drunk his blood the night before. His T-shirt and pajama pants were rumpled, his hair was tousled in an appealing way, and stubble had grown in around the edges of his beard. She liked seeing him all messed up.
She’d liked feeling his body against hers last night, too. What a delight her werewolf had turned out to be!
Ben blinked up at her. “What?”
“The whole house could use a coat of paint, but your ceiling is especially bad.” The white paint was peeling in spots and yellowed in others. Eleonore poked one of the ridges, wrinkling her nose when a flake of paint fell away.
“I guess,” he said, heading for the coffeepot. “It’s one of those things I don’t think about. Too much else going on.” He made a pleased sound when he found the pot full. “You made coffee?”
Eleonore nodded, red hair swinging beneath her. “It took a few tries, but I think I figured it out.”
A few tries was the mild term for her battle with the coffee machine that morning. She’d seen Ben use it, so she’d felt prepared, but faced with all the bits and pieces, it had been confusing. First she’d forgotten to fill the machine with water. Then she’d forgotten to put the carafe back in after cleaning it, which had resulted in a torrent of brown water pouring over the kitchen floor. She also wasn’t sure how many scoops to put in the filter, so she’d guessed, but finally the pot was full of a hot liquid that looked appropriately coffeelike.
After drinking one mug, she was currently plastered to the ceiling inspecting the paint, so she figured it had done its job of waking her up.
“It’s a lovely day,” she said. Her fingers quivered, and her leg kept jogging so fast it was almost vibrating. “So much sun! Maybe we can install a training dummy in the yard today. Or maybe we should hunt down Cynthia Cunnington and break her arms?” She giggled. “So many possibilities! I’m already having a great time.”
She clung tighter to the ceiling so she wouldn’t collapse as her fingers twitched in a random sequence. The thought of plummeting to Ben’s kitchen floor made her giggle again. How dramatic that would be!
Even upside down, she could tell Ben was looking at her oddly. He poured a mug of coffee, took a sip…and spit it out into the sink. “Good God,” he choked out. “How much ground coffee did you use?”
Eleonore thought back to her calculations. With eight cups of water she ought to use…“Twenty-four scoops,” she said proudly.
Ben was running the faucet and cupping water in his palm to rinse out his mouth. “Too much,” he said. “Way too much.”
“Was it?” Eleonore frowned. “It tasted like horrible brown sludge, but isn’t that the point?” Coffee tasted bad and felt good, and right now Eleonore felt like she could single-handedly fight an entire army so long as her heart didn’t explode first.
Ben straightened, then leaned against the counter, looking up at her. “You’re caffeinated up to the stratosphere, aren’t you?” he asked.
Eleonore didn’t know that term yet— stratosphere —but she would look it up. She laughed again. “I feel like I could fly!”
Ben rubbed a hand over his nose and chin, avoiding his glasses. “Right,” he said. “You’re going to have a bad comedown.”
Eleonore didn’t know how that was possible when she’d never been so excited in her life. “I love coffee!” she pronounced.
“I’m sure you do.” Ben held out his arms. “Care to join me on the ground?”
The thought of falling into his grip was appealing, but she didn’t want to injure him, so Eleonore scuttled over the ceiling like a crab and headed down the wall. She popped up on her feet, then swayed. “Oh,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “My heart is going very fast.” Her head spun, too. Being right side up didn’t feel so good.
“Water,” Ben said. He filled a glass, then handed it to her.
Eleonore chugged it as her eyelid twitched. She had started sweating, and anxiety surged. “Did I poison myself?” she asked. “Am I dying?” After six centuries, this would be an embarrassing way to go.
“No,” Ben said, “but let’s see how you do with water. If you don’t feel better in a bit, I’ll take you to the doctor.”
Eleonore bared her fangs and hissed. “No leeches,” she said. “I hate leeches.”
“They don’t do leeches anymore.” Ben looped an arm around her, then guided her to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down and keep drinking water while I make us some breakfast?”
Breakfast sounded good. Eleonore was suddenly starving.
The sound of the refrigerator opening and closing was followed by the cracking of eggs. As something delicious started sizzling, Eleonore threw herself down on the couch, trying to force her racing thoughts and heart to still.
Maybe she should work this alarming sensation into her show. Her second performance was tonight, and she’d decided a true avant-garde artiste would vary the content of the performance each time to create a unique experience. The underlying dance of bloodlust, free will, and coercion would remain the core of the piece, but perhaps there was room to expand it. Explore new facets of the situation she’d been thrown into.
By the time Ben appeared with a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, she was practicing a full-body movement designed to evoke the feeling of too much coffee. She let a shiver climb her body from ankles to fingertips, escalating into full-body flailing, and then she mimicked the feeling of her head exploding with what the internet had informed her were jazz hands .
Ben’s steps paused slightly before he made his way to the coffee table to deposit the plate. “I can’t tell if it’s a good sign that I don’t even question half the things you do anymore.”
“Bacon!” she exclaimed, skipping over and plopping herself down in front of the plate. “Do you have some as well?”
He grunted in confirmation, then retrieved his own plate and sat next to her, bringing with him another large glass of water. Thankfully, the combination of food and water helped calm her a bit, though an ache had started in her head.
“How many scoops should I have put in the coffee machine?” she asked, rubbing her temples.
“Eight or so.”
“Oh.” A third of what she had used. “And that is sufficient to wake you up?”
Ben chuckled. “Depends on the day.” He checked his watch. “I need to head to the store. Are you good to stay here, or do you want to come with me?”
Normally she would go, but considering the escalating pain in her head…“Stay,” she decided. “I need to practice my routine anyway.”
“Right,” he said. “The second show. I told you it’s sold out, right?”
“Yes!” Given the interest from theatrical critics and the glowing newspaper review, Ben had decided to sell tickets, with a small percentage going to the Emporium for use of the space and the rest going to Eleonore herself. She liked the idea of having her own money.
He shook his head, smiling. “I never would have guessed blood-soaked interpretive dance was the latest in theatre, but I haven’t seen a show in years, so what do I know?” He widened the spread of his legs until his knee nudged her thigh. “You’re a phenomenon, Eleonore.”
She felt flustered at the praise and delighted by the physical touch. After last night, she’d half expected Ben to emerge from his room embarrassed and apologizing for orgasming in his pants, but it seemed removing the physical barrier between them in such dramatic fashion had made him more comfortable with casual contact.
Speaking of casual contact…“I was thinking,” she said, setting the fork down.
“Yes?” he asked before biting into a strip of bacon.
“You liked me sucking your blood. Can I suck your penis, too?”
The bacon flew across the room as Ben made an explosive wheezing sound. He clapped a hand to his mouth, then whipped his head around to stare at her wide-eyed. A strangled sound emerged from behind his palm.
Eleonore frowned. “Was that too forward?” Admittedly, she hadn’t dated in six centuries. Not that this was necessarily dating. But her carnal encounters over the years had mostly been one-time affairs when she could sneak away from assassination missions—or the intro to said assassinations—so she didn’t know the politics of asking the man she was living with if she could put his penis in her mouth.
Yes, the situation with Ben was complicated, but he tasted nice and supported her theatrical endeavors and made her breakfast, and she liked all of that. And for the first time in a long, long time, it felt like she could have something for herself. A pleasure, freely given and freely taken.
She would like fucking him, too, but that was a line she didn’t want to cross yet. Not until everything was equal between them and no command could shape her will.
Ben dropped his hand to his lap, but his mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before he spoke. “Why would you want to give me a blow job?”
That must be what the act was called these days. She shrugged and scooted closer. “I like you,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll like blowing your job, too.”
His mouth quivered, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying not to laugh or about to run away screaming. “I, ah—” He cleared his throat, shifting on the couch. “I haven’t done that in a while. A long while.”
“I can fix that.” She reached for the waistband of his pants, then hesitated when he scooted away. “You don’t want it?” The rejection speared her in the chest, sharp and unpleasant. She’d thought they were on the same page. That maybe he liked her, too, and wanted to reciprocate. She dropped her hand to her lap.
“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “I do want it. Lycaon, how I want it.” He groaned, and the rough edge to his voice did a lot to help with the rejection. “But you’re not here by choice. It wouldn’t be right.”
“We get to decide what’s right,” Eleonore said. “No, I didn’t come here by choice, but I’m staying with you now and I don’t have to. I don’t have to blow your job either, but I want to.”
He nudged his glasses up his nose, and she realized his cheeks had turned red, the blush visible at the edge of his beard. “ Blow job is a noun. Instead of blowing the job , you would say, ah…”
“Yes?” she asked. When he didn’t immediately answer, she pushed for more. “I like vocabulary lessons. And it’s important to blend in in this time, right?”
Oh, the wolf was a delight when embarrassed. This wasn’t the stressed, taut look of anxiety but something earnest and sweet. It made her want to tease him every chance she got. “You could say blowing me , if you wanted,” he said. “Or, ah, sucking my cock . Or dick .” He made a face. “Not penis , though. That sounds very clinical.”
The vulgar words fell from his tongue hesitantly, which made them seem even naughtier. She was absolutely going to suck his penis, and she was going to make him put on a sweater vest before doing it.
“So it’s a yes to sucking the cock?” she asked.
He groaned again. “I’m not awake enough for this discussion.”
“Should have had the coffee,” Eleonore pointed out.
Ben stood and paced halfway to the TV, then turned to face her again. “I need to think about this. I felt bad enough losing control last night.” His brow furrowed. “Did I hurt you, by the way?”
Eleonore had a few bruises on her hips and waist from his fingers, which was exactly how it should be. “You were perfect. And you don’t have to be embarrassed about losing control. That’s the fun of it.” Not that she had lost control with a partner since her mystical entrapment—that required trust, which she’d long since decided herself incapable of.
“I’m not…good at losing control,” Ben said. His stubbled throat bobbed.
Eleonore patted the couch next to her. “I won’t maul you,” she said when he hesitated. “I only want to do this if you’re comfortable.” Consent was the most important thing to her. If Ben was nervous or hesitant about a blow job, she would never push him into it.
Maybe she should make her own boundaries clear, too. “I’m only talking about mouths and hands,” she said. “No penetrative sex until the curse is broken.” It wasn’t that penetrative sex was somehow better than hands and mouths—she’d had lovers with no penises and some with penises who were unable to use them or who didn’t want to, and it had never mattered to her—but she wanted to have something to look forward to. Not just for her, but for him.
It’s a reason to make him eager to lift the curse , the wary part of her whispered. Some men would promise anything to have sex and then break those promises the moment the act was done. She didn’t think Ben was one of those men…but it didn’t hurt to hold something back.
Ben finally returned to sit next to her. “Something’s wrong with me,” he said, pushing his glasses to the top of his head so he could rub his face. “What kind of man wants to wait when the most beautiful woman in the world offers to suck his dick?”
The most beautiful woman in the world. Eleonore preened at that, but she didn’t want him flagellating himself. “I did suggest it rather suddenly,” she said. Possibly the caffeine’s fault, at least a bit. “Don’t feel bad, Ben. I mean it. Take time to think.”
In response, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Though the caffeine and her impulsive nature tempted her to launch into a barrage of questions about his past experiences, what he wanted, and when he might make a decision about her offer, she forced herself to stay silent and wait for him to answer.
“I do want to take some time to think today,” he said at last. “We’re in a tricky situation with that crystal.”
She nodded.
“And even if we do…do that,” he said, “I don’t want it to be rushed. I have to be at work in twenty minutes, and that’s not nearly enough time.”
Oooh, that was promising. Eleonore shifted, liking the idea of a leisurely session with Ben—assuming he planned on returning the favor. “Would you lick me back?” she asked, feeling the need to clarify.
He gave her a look that said obviously . “I don’t receive without giving, Eleonore. If we do this, I’m going to be thorough.”
Very, very promising. Her nipples tightened and arousal began to pulse between her thighs. “I like thorough,” she said.
He squeezed her fingers again, then huffed and shook his head, smiling a little. “You never stop surprising me.” Surprising her in return, he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I need to get to work. Feel free to call if you need anything.”
She remembered surprising him by being on the ceiling that morning, and it reminded her of something. “When you first came to the kitchen, you said you had an idea. What was it?”
“Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “I know a private investigator—a friend of my third cousin’s. I was thinking he could look into the Witch in the Woods for you. See if we can find out who she is and where she is.” He got up to grab a piece of paper from his desk, then handed it to her. On it was scribbled a name and phone number. “You can give him a call and let him know everything you remember about the witch. I’ve already given him a heads-up, and I’ll pay for it, of course.”
At last, a step toward resolving the issue of the Witch in the Woods, though the part of her that questioned anything good couldn’t help but wonder if it was because sex had been brought up. She told that wary, paranoid part of herself to be quiet and accept the gift. “Thank you, Ben.”
He gave her a fond look, then tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you at the show tonight.”