Chapter Fourteen
Senán
The vapor rising from the stainless steel pot is thick, thicker than normal steam would be.
It carries the scent of petrichor and blood, nearly overpowered by a complex mix of herbs and flowers that most Quotidians could never name.
I gaze out the window of the resort’s kitchen to where the full moon sits high in the sky—a few more minutes and the moonlight will fall on the pot, completing the final step of the potion that’s been nearly a week in the making.
It’s three o’clock in the morning and both the restaurant and room service have been closed for hours, which means there’s no reason for me to be concerned about hotel staff finding me here, but I’ve donned a waitstaff uniform in case I’m seen from the corner of anyone’s eye.
I’ve been putting myself in an increasingly precarious position here ever since Ryder arrived, and I would rather stay invisible than have to expunge my presence from the minds and memories of wandering employees or resort guests.
In an ideal world, I would not be brewing potions in a restaurant kitchen. But I don’t exactly have a good spot to build an open fire in my room, and the tree cover in the forest is too dense to allow for sufficient moonlight, so an industrial gas stove and a soup pot will have to do.
I feel the chilling, indescribable feeling of a presence nearby, of being watched. I quickly check over my shoulder—the room is still empty, as it has been for hours. I shake my head and return my attention to the potion. The setting must have me on edge.
As the first beams fall on the bubbling liquid, I whisper my incantation, then check the clock on the wall.
Timing on this concoction is particularly crucial.
I make a mental note for completion at 3:27, allowing for eighteen minutes of moonlight, precisely.
Nothing to do now but wait. I cross the kitchen to the walk-in refrigerator, open the door, and grab an apple to snack on while I watch the seconds tick by.
“Now you’re stealing, too?”
The unexpected voice makes me jump, and I turn around to see Ryder standing in the doorway, arms crossed like he means business.
I smile and examine the apple in my hand. “Are you going to report me?” I ask playfully. “Punishing folks for stealing necessities—how very US Government of you.”
Ryder shows no indication that he wants to play. “Thought you went to bed.”
“Couldn’t sleep, thought a bite to eat might help.” I toss the apple in the air and catch it again. If I keep my casual demeanor, I keep plausible deniability.
“So you thought you’d steal a uniform and break into the resort’s kitchen?”
“Yes, you’ve caught me, Mister Witchfinder.
I’ve spent the past three weeks plotting a nefarious scheme to distract you with sexual favors so that I could steal this magical apple.
” I smirk and lean against a counter. “For Goddess’ sake, Ryder, I thought we were past this.
We’re in the middle of bloody nowhere, I don’t have many options when room service closes at ten PM. ”
“Doesn’t explain the outfit.”
“I heard you like a woman in uniform.”
The room is dark, and it’s difficult to see Ryder’s face. Outside of my own brash confidence and intuition, I have no way of telling how serious he is, but I’m ready to deny every accusation, implied or otherwise, until I’m under oath. Or at least until I have Hecaterina and her law degree present.
Ryder uncrosses his arms and walks towards me, slowly, his quiet footsteps sounding louder than usual in the silent room.
“You know I can’t ignore this,” he says. My heart speeds up and my mind starts to race, trying to figure out the best way to escape without hurting him (when did that become a concern?) or abandoning my potion.
As he gets closer, however, and his expression grows clearer, I see the way his eyes roam, the near-invisible quirk at the corner of his mouth, and I relax into the role I’ve created with him.
“Oh dear,” I say with mock-innocence, “isn’t there any way I could convince you to overlook it this time?”
He stops his approach about a foot away from me. My anxiety has all but tapered off, but my heart is still racing.
“You could take off that stolen uniform, for one thing.”
I look up at him through my lashes as I start to slowly unbutton the front of my starched white shirt. He watches me like a hound watches its owner fill a food dish as I remove the garment, followed by the shoes and trousers, dropping all of them carelessly on the floor.
I’ve never particularly liked the confining nature of women’s undergarments and, what’s more, I didn’t bring any with me in my wardrobe.
Instead, I stand in front of Ryder in a black tank top and briefs—my standard base regardless of physical presentation.
It isn’t something I would have ever considered appealing, to see a woman wearing men’s underwear, but from the way Ryder is looking at me, it seems that he might disagree.
I place both hands on the prep counter behind me and lift myself up to sit on its cold steel surface. “I suppose you’ll want to search for any other stolen goods I might have on me.”
Ryder steps in close and takes a few more leisurely seconds to look at me, then grips me by the waist, sliding both hands underneath my tank top and up my bare back. His hands are as warm and sure as ever, and I let him explore, glancing at the clock to check the time.
3:15
His wandering hands cause my tank top to ride up, and when I notice him looking hungrily at the newly exposed skin, I realize just how little of my body he’s seen until now.
I tilt my hips, arching my back, and he takes the invitation to circle his right hand around and cup my breast underneath my shirt.
I make a soft sound, a sound of approval, but there must be something ambiguous in its tone because Ryder immediately looks up, searching my face for permission to continue.
There are few things I enjoy more than granting permission, and I smile at him, hooking a heel around the back of his thigh and using it as leverage to pull my hips closer to the edge of the counter.
Ryder grunts quietly and dips his head down, lifting my tank top higher to wrap his lips around my nipple. I hiss pleasurably at the sensation, and outright moan when Ryder wraps one arm around my lower back and yanks me closer still.
I’m perched at the very edge of the counter now, so close to slipping off that I have to lean back to keep from falling.
Ryder’s mouth slips away and travels down, tasting the skin on my ribs and waist, my stomach and hipbones.
I can already feel an urgent ache between my legs as I slide my hands into Ryder’s thick hair, and I barely keep my eyes open long enough to look at the clock again.
3:19
Ryder kneels before me and looks up as he places an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
He’s taking his time, moving at a torturously slow pace across my flesh as I sit panting and pining above him.
I want more of this, hours of it, but there’s no time. I have to take back control.
I run my fingers through his hair again. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about your mouth since that morning in the garden?” I say. “The ways I’ve touched myself as I imagine your tongue inside me?”
Ryder’s breath is hot against my thigh as he exhales sharply, and I feel the slide of teeth as he pulls away. I only have a second to mourn the loss of his mouth as he immediately slips his fingers into the waistband of my briefs, and I lift my hips to allow him to pull them down and off.
He wastes no more time, burying his face against me and sliding his tongue inside. I gasp and grip him by the hair, pulling his face close, bringing his tongue deeper. Ryder moans and devours me decadently, a Saturnalia of the senses, feasting on the banquet of my pleasure.
How can it be that I already feel my orgasm rising within me?
How long has it been? Three, maybe four decades since I’ve made love in this body?
My male form makes things simpler, makes me feel more confident in expressing myself physically, but few feelings on Earth could quite surpass the magmatic heat and calamitous intensity that is the female orgasm.
Ryder slides his mouth higher and wraps it over my clit, and I cry out, my legs tightening around his face and my hands fisting in his hair.
He sucks on it, massages it between his lips, making me dizzy and senseless, loud, messy.
All the things I never allow myself to be, he wrings out of me with art and ardor, and I can’t remember ever wanting so desperately to fall apart on a man’s tongue.
I press my lips together to prevent a needy whine from escaping, and remember, barely, to check the clock on the wall.
3:24
I should make him stop. I should push him away and tell him I heard someone down the hall, that he has to run or we’ll be caught, make him leave so I can bottle my potion and hand it off to Hecaterina.
But, Gods and Goddesses, I am so close, and his face is warm between my thighs, and his mouth is as eager and talented as it was in the garden, and I simply do not possess the pharaonic level of willpower it would take to push him away.
It’s the sound—no, the sensation of Ryder’s groan that lays the final brick, his voice vibrating against me as my climax crashes into me, shaking me to my core as I cover my own mouth to keep from waking every guest in the hotel.
My thighs are squeezing his face so tightly that it must be uncomfortable, but he makes no move to release himself from my grip as he licks me through it, still moaning as though he’s the one in the throes of orgasm.
My chest is heaving as I open my eyes, and I glance down to see Ryder watching me from between my legs. He stands up slowly, planting both hands on the counter and leaning over me.
“Christ, Ryder, it’s been less than six hours,” I laugh, halfway back to Earth.
If it’s possible to shrug smugly, that’s what he’s doing. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Not with everyone.”
He sounds oddly serious, sincere. I sit up, which puts our faces just inches apart.
I can see my own slick still smeared across his lips, and I suddenly find myself fiercely, hopelessly yearning to taste myself on his mouth.
He tilts his head, moving just enough to reveal the clock on the wall behind him.
3:26
Shit.
I jerk my head towards the door. “Did you hear that?” I whisper.
“Hear what?” He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my neck, and I hold back a shiver.
“Kitchen staff gets in at 3:30,” I say. A lie. They arrive at four. Ryder makes no move to leave, however, and I snap my fingers in front of his face to rush him along. “Are you just going to stand there like a bloody statue or are you going to hand me my clothes?”
Ryder keeps watching me a moment longer, then chuckles and picks up my underwear off the floor, holding them out to me. He yanks them out of reach when I make a grab for them.
I shoot him a withering but playful glare, and he hands them to me in earnest, still smirking.
“Go on, now,” I urge him as I step back into my briefs with shaky legs, “I can make excuses for myself being in here, I can’t make excuses for you.”
Ryder watches me for a long second, then backs away, making his way to the double doors leading into the restaurant.
“You owe me breakfast,” he calls out with a grin, then disappears.
I smile to myself, forgetting where I am for a moment, then continue getting dressed, scolding myself for the repeated slips in judgment.
I make it back to the potion just in time, adding the final tincture at the last second, then ladle it into a flask for immediate transport to the scheduled Coven, now a week in the making.
I’ve nearly sabotaged my work many times this week with capricious, selfish, lust-driven whims, and it’s a miracle of dedication that I’ll be able to deliver on my promise. Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about Ryder distracting me much longer.