Chapter Two
Brax
The paperwork on my desk might as well not be there for all I can concentrate on it. Every day I sit in this office, trying to work, trying to help students, and every day all I do is think about his screams as I try not to get an erection.
He was so . . . needy. Expressive. He didn’t care that we had only just met or that we were different species.
He simply wanted to feel good. The many orgasms I have given myself since don’t hold a candle to the painful hard-on that strained my pants that night.
Oh, how I wanted to enjoy him. To bury myself to the hilt and enjoy him all night.
But he’s only human, and I wouldn’t risk him.
He’s too special for that. No. If I want to have him again, I’ll need to find out who he is and ask. Ask him what, though? On a date? To be a regular hookup?
I don’t normally have to do this.
My hand scrapes down my face in frustration as a knock sounds at the door.
“Come in.” I settle my papers together and glance at the calendar on the wall, reminding myself of this appointment, and place an even smile on my face.
“Mr. Retter, please come in,” I say, grabbing the failed essay from the pile and placing it on the desk between us.
“Please, si . . .” I trail off as I look up, recognition flooding through me.
Shit.
I hooked up with a student.
Well, of course it was a student; he came through an anomaly in the library. Who else would it have been? Maybe a particularly sexy librarian?
Shit.
He sits on the chair assigned to visitors in front of my desk and looks at me nervously, a flush reddening his face.
His scent, candy and roses marred by lust, assaults my senses, his little crush clearly still a problem for him.
Before, I would have gotten annoyed at his lack of control, but now, I find myself wanting to push its boundaries and see what mess I can make of him.
“Professor Brax?” he asks, confusion lacing his tone. “I have the make-up essay.” He hands me a stapled few sheets of paper with shaking fingers.
“Ah, yes.” I clear my throat. “Thank you.” This was it.
My chance to ask him for a round two, but by the lack of recognition on his face, he doesn’t know who I am.
It’s not surprising. I look different with horns and dark-red skin and nearly human eyes.
“This essay was not supposed to be challenging, just an encouragement to read further than my lecture material.”
“Yes, I did my best to utilize library resources.”
Was he working on his essay when he fell through the anomaly? I don’t know whether to be furious at his lack of concentration or delighted I was a worthy distraction. “That’s good. Our library is stocked full of old texts, and if you find anything online you want, you can request they stock it.”
“Y-yes, professor.”
Whenever I meet his gaze, his lust smells stronger. He really is distracted by me. It happens sometimes with the occasional human, but it’s been a while since I indulged one of them.
Silence fills the room as I read his essay, a marked improvement from the last barely coherent mumble of words. There’s still room for improvement in his knowledge and how he presents his thoughts, but I’m happy. I grade it 61%, a B-, and hand it back.
A small smile forms at the corner of his lips painted rose red, and I find myself wanting to kiss them. To smudge that color right off.
He raises his head and looks at me, swallows, and opens his mouth. “Do you have any feedback for me?”
The question surprises me. This matters to him. This module, this degree. He’s not here simply as a tick-box exercise in the midst of a life ladder having already been built before him. How refreshing.
I clear my throat and begin engaging his brain instead of his cock.
Though I’d have both if possible. “Well, Mr. Retter, it seems you have a good ability to construct a thorough essay, knowledge of the basics, and know how to use the library. If I were to give you any advice, I would tell you to pay more attention in lectures. Engage with the material when you have the opportunity to do so.” Here I go.
“If you’d like further tutoring, I can offer weekly sessions until you feel up to speed. ”
He blinks, surprised. “I-I-I . . . thank you, professor.” A grin spreads across my face, and he does a double-take, looking at me with his head lopped to one side, like a confused dog. It’s cute. “Are you . . . ?” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish the question.
“Am I what, Mr, Retter?”
“Uh. Never mind. I’d like to take you up on the offer of weekly tutoring sessions, if you wouldn’t mind. In truth, this subject is my favourite. I want to get into mythology research one day, so improving my grade for your module is kind of . . . important.”
“Ah, yes. That would be important.” I hold out my hand as I rise out of my seat. “Well then, I’ll see you the same time next week and we can start going over—”
He grabs my hand and screeches, jumping backward out of his seat. “It is you!”
How does he . . . ?
He points just above my head, and I realise his touch must have ruined the glamor.
Shit. “Uh, wait. Hold on.” He turns to run out of the door, but I speed in front of him, grab his wrist, and lock the door.
I methodically close each blind, careful to breathe out through my mouth and in through my nostrils.
No need to turn this into an incident. “Please, wait.”
“Fr-from the daemon realm place?”
He asks it as a question, but I get the feeling he doesn’t really want the answer. “Yes.”
“You’re the daemon who fisted me on his couch the other day.”
“Yes.” I haven’t let go of his hand. I haven’t moved.
He hasn’t tried to escape or let go. His breathing is shallow, strands of his hair have come undone from their high pony tail, and his knees look like they might be legitimately knocking.
“Here,” I say, gesturing to the seat he once occupied. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Yeah.” He plonks unceremoniously onto the wooden seat in a huff. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.” He doesn’t meet my eyes for a minute, and I give him whatever time he needs to adjust. “I didn’t recognise you the other night.”
“Nor I you.”
“But you recognised me when I walked through the door?” he asked, trying to get his bearings.
“Yes.”
“And you’re a daemon from another realm but also a professor of theological history and mythology?”
“Yes.” I leave out the part where I rule my kingdom of the daemon realms for fear he might combust. “Any other questions?”
He finally meets my gaze from beneath long painted lashes, and I gulp. Where does he get that beauty from?
“Why?”
I look away, blink for a moment, and try my best to think up an answer.
“Well . . . in truth, you weren’t supposed to be there and I’d had a long day and .
. .” I wipe a stressed hand down my face.
This isn’t going at all well. “It’s not uncommon for an occasional human to become enthralled by a daemon, but it’s been a while since it’s happened to me.
I may have taken advantage of your state that night. I apologise for my behaviour.”
“Sorry . . .” He looks lost for words. “You’re sorry for the best orgasm I’ve ever had?”
“Well, maybe not sorry for the skill, but certainly for the lack of communication.” I drop the entire glamour and watch his eyes widen in surprise and adoration and something else. Lust.
He stands up, having lost the anxiety riddling him earlier, and leans over the desk, the open button on his shirt allowing me a full view of his soft skin beneath. “If you’d like a repeat, I’m open for it.”
Just like that? “Is there nothing you’d like in return? Don’t humans usually require some sort of . . . reciprocation or payment?”
He frowns, a deep scowl settling over his features. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“Oh, umm . . . that’s not what I . . .” Before I could finish the sentence, he storms out of the office, leaving the door wide open in his wake.
Shit.
He’s buying a coffee at the Starbucks on campus like he does every Monday morning, and every time I watch from a bench perfectly situated to gaze at the queue from a distance, something inside me stirs.
Something that feels like longing and dark desire mixed into a volatile mixture ready to explode.
He brings the lidded cup to his pink lips and takes his first sip, then lets out a small sigh of satisfaction before he hustles toward the Farlow building for his early morning lecture.
I don’t follow. Not today. I have another engagement I have to rip myself away from my newfound addiction to attend.
A half hour later, Rhysus looks up at me from the diner’s corner booth with a smirk on his human mask. “Don’t you smell delightful, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t,” I growl, keeping my voice low. I move the second plate of pancakes with bananas, maple syrup, and whipped cream toward me as I slide into the red bench seat. “How have you been?”
“Busy.”
For the first time, I look past the smirk to the tired eyes and the drained soul behind them. My general is exhausted. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Our borders grow more unstable every time they attack the shield. And this research for the department is taking so much of my time, I can’t think straight.
” He shakes his head and runs a hand through the blonde hair.
“Enough of that crap, though.” He looks at me beneath chaotic lashes with a knowing smile.
“I know that scent. You’ve found him, haven’t you? ”
“I . . . don’t know,” I whisper. Despondent but honest. “He feels stronger than most, and I feel more . . . connected to the little human. But how do I know?”
“You’re asking the wrong daemon, Your Majesty. I am unfamiliar with mating.”
As a tanton daemon from the outlying districts, he’s less likely to find a mate in the same way as me and my kin. The curse is strong with the tanton. But not unbreakable.
Pain flashes across his face before his mask slips back on and that smile returns. “Maybe you could simply spend more time with him and find out. Ask him out on a date?”
I suddenly find the pancake stack the most interesting thing in the room, despite my lacking appetite.
Rhysus sighs. “What did you do?”
I recount our past conversation, shame drenching my features. “I should have handled it better, I know.”
“Let me get this straight. You accused your potential mate of being a prostitute and tried “purchasing” his services instead of asking him on a date?”
“It sounds worse when you put it like that!”
“You’ve made it worse all on your own, sire.” He chuckles around a mouthful of pancakes. “Just talk to him. Maybe in a more equal setting where you’re not his professor.”
Seek him out and talk to him. Simple. I can do that.
After grading papers all afternoon, a lecture where I’m sure no student paid a lick of attention, and drinking more coffee than I would normally consume in a week, I’m ready to return to my bed. But something else presses on me. Something I can’t ignore.
I need to find him.
I need to talk to him.
The air outside my office building has chilled in the night-time temperatures, forcing me to do up the button on my jacket. If I can just convince him to listen and I can talk straight, I’ll be able to convince him to date me. Maybe even have a repeat of the other night.
I shake my head.
Don’t think of that now.
But it’s too late. All my brain can do is focus on the way he screamed into the pillow, on how good those noises would sound if it were my cock inside him instead of my fist.
My feet move before my brain, faster than my racing thoughts can catch up. Soon I’m leaving campus and heading toward a nearby block of dorms. A pounding booms in my head, and when I turn the next corner I realize it’s coming from the frat party at Theta Chi’s house.
It’s been a while since I was young enough to attend such an event, but my legs don’t seem to care; they race my body inside as though my life depends on it.
Writhing bodies drunkenly brush against one another, red solo cups litter every hand, and I’ve never felt so out of place inside a university setting in my life. Some students recognize me with wide eyes, but mostly people ignore me in favor of their friends.
This is a part of my life I left behind long ago. Should I even be seeking out someone still in this stage? Before I can answer my own self-doubt, my feet move once more, fuelled by some daemonistic part of my brain.
I must find him.
I must see him.
I must explain.
Upstairs, in a room filled with various liquor bottles and students dancing to a thumping beat, I spot him.
He’s wearing a skirt with hold ups, and whatever part of my brain is driving wants to run my hands underneath and squeeze the globes of his ass.
A woman dances next to him in a similarly short skirt and flowy top. A smile lights both their faces.
The glittery red lipstick he’s chosen dazzles under the cheap spotlights. I wonder what it’ll look like smudged by my thumb? Only one way to find out.
My feet move forward of their own accord, but someone else beats me to the prize—some jock from the hockey team if his jersey is anything to go by. Tyler’s hands wrap around his neck.
I freeze.
What’s happening?