Chapter 19
Memnon makes good on his word.
He comes inside me many times over the rest of the night and well into the morning. By then, the sheets are damp, the new bedroom reeks of sex, and Nero has stayed far, far away.
And when I get up, I’m still dripping cum.
I head into the shower, but I’m only in it for perhaps a minute or two before Memnon makes a guest appearance to—surprise, surprise—fill me up once again. I should definitely not find the entire thing as kinky as I do.
It’s only afterward that the two of us even talk.
“Come with me to work,” Memnon says under the shower spray once he’s pulled out of me.
I lean back against the wall, my knees weak.
“Isn’t it a holiday weekend?” I ask.
I imagine that most people have better things to do—like stuff their faces with Thanksgiving leftovers—than push around paperwork on a Saturday.
Then again, I don’t know how multibillion-dollar corporations work.
Maybe nobody who works there ever gets weekends off.
It wouldn’t be the evilest thing they do.
“I have a couple special meetings,” Memnon says cryptically.
I eye him. With Memnon, special meetings could mean anything from a basic business chat to someone’s going to die.
I eye him a little longer, trying not to get distracted by the way the shower spray dapples his skin.
“You just want to fuck me again,” I finally decide.
Memnon’s mouth curves into a smile and I feel my knees go a little weaker. “Yes. But I also want to show you what I do, especially since this new empire is half yours.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I take no ownership of the Fortunas’ blood money.”
He gives me a look like he’s calling bullshit.
Which is fair, since I’ve definitely used Memnon’s own blood money. I’m using it right now, just by showering in his mansion.
“And yet you’ll enjoy it nonetheless,” he says.
Ugh, he has that imperious tone he sometimes gets when he forgets he’s no longer still a king.
“If I must,” I say.
“There are no longer armies and lands to defend,” Memnon says. “Your modern world has moved the battlefield to boardrooms and discreet dealings. But this world is still ours to rule and shape however we see fit. Help me shape it into something that pleases you.”
I consider his words as I begin the delicate task of washing my new tattoo. I am curious about the work Memnon does, now that he’s overthrown the Fortunas.
“Fine,” I concede. “Let’s see how my scary, all-powerful husband spends his days.”
I was expecting Memnon to take me to Equinox, the looming skyscraper where Leonard Fortuna ran his empire, yet I’m still amazed when we approach it.
The towering structure was nearly leveled a couple weeks ago when the Hungering Ones cracked the building’s foundation, yet now it seems…
functional? There aren’t even construction barricades around it—or crime scene tape for that matter.
After all, dozens of supernaturals died very heinous, very unnatural deaths here recently.
I don’t know what sort of god-tier magic and influence it must’ve taken to repair the building and beat back the Politia, the supernatural police force, but I am fucking impressed by it.
It’s not just the outside of the skyscraper that’s returned to normal.
When we enter the lobby, it looks clean, functional, beautiful yet perfectly boring, with its marble floors and leather-clad seating area.
Definitely not like it sustained an intense attack by demons, supernatural traffickers, lycanthropes, and ancient gods that dwell in the earth.
There are a few people sitting behind the long reception counter. One of them, a man with striking red hair and freckles, seems to brighten when he sees Memnon.
“Good morning, Mr. Uvagukis.”
“Morning, Matt. And stop calling me that. It’s either ‘Memnon’ or ‘my king,’” Memnon says.
Matt laughs, like Memnon is being funny. “Right. I have your schedule here.”
The man comes around the counter and sidles up to Memnon, handing him a paper, presumably with the day’s agenda.
I’m content to be ignored.
Memnon is not.
“Matt, this is my wife, Selene,” Memnon says, the hand at my back pressing me forward.
I take a few steps and clear my throat. I’m wearing ripped, baggy jeans, a graphic tee layered over a thin, long-sleeved shirt, and scuffed-up combat boots. I feel painfully out of place.
“Uh, hi.” I reach out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Matt’s eyes widen as he clasps my palm in his. “Wonderful to meet you. I didn’t realize you were married,” he says to Memnon, even as he continues to take me in.
“It was a recent thing.” I lean forward a little. “Lots of blackmail involved.”
Matthew’s eyes go wide.
I give a placating smile. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” Really shitty water you’d never want to drink or swim in, but you know. It’s under the bridge.
He’s still staring at me with mild alarm as his hand slips from mine. I probably should’ve kept all those thoughts to myself. Oh well.
“She said she’d sell my nudes if I didn’t marry her,” Memnon says.
I suck in a sharp breath, then cough as I nearly choke on my own saliva.
How do you even know what nudes are?
You’d be surprised how much faster I learned about nudes than I did about other aspects of the modern world. Every damn head I peered into had something to say about them…
While Memnon and I have our own internal conversation, Matt looks like he’s regretting every single life choice that led him to this moment.
“Um…”
Memnon thumps him on the back. “Have a good day, Matt.”
“Ring me if you need anything,” he calls out weakly as Memnon steers me to the elevators.
One is already open and waiting. With more than a little apprehension, I step onto the same elevator that only two weeks ago knocked me out.
The doors shut, and up we go.
Memnon’s office is on the top floor—or rather, his former boss’s office was on the top floor, and just like the kings of old, Memnon toppled him and took his throne.
And though there is technically no throne to speak of, the imposing desk at the back of the room may as well be one.
Two walls of the massive office are entirely made of glass, and the marble floors are covered in a sumptuous Persian rug.
“What do you think?”
I glance over at Memnon, who wears a button-up shirt and pleated pants and a pair of dress shoes. “They have almost civilized you.”
He flashes me a devious grin, and there is my Memnon, who smiled like that on the back of his horse, when the summer sun beat down on his sweaty skin and the wind had made tangles in his long hair, and his muscles were swollen from the exertion of training.
He steps forward, into my space. “They could never.”
His eyes seem luminous, and I sense his happiness across our bond as he tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.
I don’t know what possesses me to reach out and trail my fingers across his jaw, the tips of them inevitably finding the raised line of his scar.
Memnon closes his eyes, relishing the touch.
My heart is too full, and across our bond, I feel the deep well of Memnon’s love. It’s strange and marvelous that his love is there at all, given how much of his conscience his magic has likely eaten up.
I’m about to draw away my hand when he captures it, pinning it against his face.
“Please don’t stop,” he says, his eyes tightly closed. “Not just yet.”
I swallow, part of me uneasy about staying like this. This sort of physical contact isn’t sexual or forced. It isn’t even curious. Just wondrous and a little adoring.
I give him a soft smile.
Memnon’s gaze drops to my lips and his magic seems to leak out of him, billowing around us more and more thickly.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but if you want me to keep my distance, little witch, you shouldn’t touch me like that.”
I can’t quite catch my breath when I say, “Maybe I don’t want you to keep your distance.” This was my main reason for coming, after all.
On Memnon’s desk, the phone rings. The sorcerer makes no move to get it.
“Are you going to answer that?” I finally ask.
“When I have you right where I want you?” Memnon says. “Not a chance.”
Awww, that’s sweet.
The noise eventually cuts out.
“Now,” Memnon says, lifting me up, “I’m not entirely convinced that this desk is as solid as I was promised.” He carries me over to the edge of it.
The phone begins ringing again, and it’s right there, beckoning to me.
So I reach out and answer it. “Memnon’s office, how can I help you?” I flash my soul mate a shit-eating grin as I press the receiver to my ear.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. Then—
“Mrs. Uvagukis—”
My grip tightens on the phone, my breath catching. I’ve never heard someone address me like that. Selene Uvagukis. My birth name is largely engraved into my mind thanks to all those instances where I had to remind myself due to my memory loss.
But this new name…I like it too.
“Is your husband there?”
I eye Memnon, who has fitted himself between my thighs and is now running his hands up the sides of my torso.
“He’s indisposed at the moment, but I can take a message.”
Another hesitation, then, “Please let him know that his guest just arrived.”
Memnon takes the phone from me. “Send him up in twenty minutes.”
I hear Matt’s tinny voice from the other side of the receiver. “But, sir—”
Memnon hangs up the phone. “Where were we?”
His hand slides up my chest, between my breasts and wraps around my neck like a collar. The sorcerer leans me back until I’m flush against the table, and paperweights and piles of documents get pushed aside.
The phone begins ringing again right as a knock sounds on the door.
My eyes widen. Despite all my fun plans to sully this desk, I don’t actually want to be caught fucking the sorcerer by one of his clients or someone who works here.
Memnon must hear my thoughts because he releases my neck and helps me sit up, finger combing the cinnamon strands of my hair back into place.
Another knock on the door, this one more insistent, has me jolting.
Memnon’s eyes flash as he pulls away from me. “This won’t take long.”