8. Chapter Eight
Present Day
The beautiful female Elf riding my cock moves like giving me pleasure is her sole goal in life. My instincts fixate on her bouncing breasts and the generous curves of her hips. She’s raking claws down my chest, but don’t ask me her name — we didn’t exchange them.
As my fingers dig into her ass, my mind trails elsewhere. I have to be at work in an hour, and this one-night stand is lasting longer than anticipated. She was supposed to have been gone two hours ago.
It’s time for this to be over.
When I’m about to cum, I flip her over and begin thrusting into her at a vicious pace.
Increase the size of my cock just enough to feel the pressure of her walls clamping around my shaft.
She clings to my headboard with long nails, arching her back when my thumb finds her clit.
Barely making a sound, I pump into her until her body tightens.
As soon as she cums, I let myself have the release.
Almost immediately, the high from pleasure disappears.
“Wow,” the Elf purrs, stretching out like a sphinx, sweat slicking her slim body. “I’m so glad we had time for round three.”
Has it been three rounds? Time flies when you’re disassociated. Pulling off the condom, I toss it into the trash. Trying to sound kind, because she doesn’t deserve to feel like shit, I say, “Yeah. I’m really glad. Too bad I have to be at work in an hour.”
Unfortunately, she doesn’t take the hint. Again. It’s always a gamble to take someone home from the club. Now I’m responsible for kindly shoving her out the door.
She pouts, tweaking one of her nipples. “You sure you don’t want to call in sick? We could stay in bed all day.”
Faking remorse, I frown. “I wish. We have inventory reports to do.” We don’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Please leave.
Already, her presence feels painful. Suffocating. Yanking on pants, I flash her a smile.
She returns it, still not getting the damn hint. “I could wait here for you? Pick up where we left off when you’re back.”
Inhaling a steadying breath, I pull on a shirt. “I’m not comfortable having people alone in my apartment.” Grabbing her sparkling top, I deposit it in her lap. “Let me walk you to the door?”
She looks put out, but pulls the shirt on.
I collect the rest of her clothing, delivering each piece with a smile.
As she finishes getting dressed, I pad into the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee.
Drumming my claws on the counter, I listen for any signs of her trying to lock herself in my bathroom or nosing through my belongings.
It wouldn’t be the first, second, or tenth time a one-night stand has tried to stay. Sometimes, it’s tempting to be a more selfish lover or to be cruel. It’s not who I am — so I’m stuck wearing this particular mask until the front door closes again.
Some of the tension in my limbs soften when she walks into the kitchen, still wearing the skimpy number from last night.
“Would you like a jacket?” I ask, pouring her a cup of coffee.
She looks down at her deep cleavage and short skirt. Taking the cup from me, she says, “If you have one to spare.”
“Of course.” Brushing past her, I grab a zip-up jacket hanging in my hall closet. It’s black, like the other eight. Ready for the next one.
“Thanks,” she says brightly. “This coffee is amazing.”
Pouring myself a cup, I hum in agreement. “Grown in the desert of Oasha.”
“How interesting.” She takes another sip.
We stare at one another, having nothing else to discuss.
She’s a nameless, beautiful woman who doesn’t have my number.
I used to feel like shit with these overnighters, trying to get them to leave.
But we met on the dance floor, kissed one another silly, and I invited her over for fun.
If she has expectations beyond that, it’s not from anything I’ve said or implied.
Making a show of looking at my clock, I sigh. “Sorry to cut this short, but I need to head out.”
“Oh, okay.” Her expression wavers as I take the half-empty coffee mug from her and place it in the sink next to my empty one. “Do you want to hang out later?”
At this point, I don’t know if she’s being stubborn or desperate. Squaring my shoulders, I look her in the eye. “I had a lot of fun, but I think it’s best if we keep it a one-time thing.”
The woman looks crestfallen now, her lips drawing downward in a comical frown. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Hoping she finally gets the hint, I walk over to the front door. “Thank you for coming over.”
After zipping up the hoodie, she comes to a stop in front of me, anger replacing the forlorn attitude. “You’re being such a dunghole right now.”
Confused, I draw my brows together. “A dunghole? How?”
“B-because!” she sputters, her cheeks turning ruddy. “We … you … last night …”
I need to stop finding hookups at the club.
Cocking my head, I say, “We met at the club. We don’t know one another’s names. If I’m not mistaken, you had at least seven orgasms. I didn’t kick you out in the dead of night. I made you coffee and gave you a brand new hoodie that you can keep. Please explain to me where that makes me a dunghole.”
“You never asked me my name!” she says, outraged.
Keeping a placid expression, I ask, “What’s mine?”
Her mouth draws in a firm line. We both know she can’t answer that question.
Opening the door, I strive to keep my voice even. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun. I hope you have a good day.”
Except there’s someone already there, hand poised for a knock — Fynn. Irritation and relief are like oil and water in my belly.
Why is he here?
To the woman, I repeat, “Have a good day.”
Please don’t make a scene.
“Careful,” the Elf snipes, shoving past Fynn. “He keeps a closet full of matching hoodies for the people he fucks.”
Fynn’s eyebrows shoot up as he slightly leans to the right to peer inside my home. I close the door as much as possible, scowling. There’s no need to address anything that happened in the last thirty seconds.
“Is everything okay?”
“Did she think I was here to fuck you?” Fynn asks, curious, crossing his arms.
I sigh; it’s clear from his demeanor he’s come here for a conversation. I step back to let him in. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
He steps past me, pausing to open my closet and confirm the existence of the aforementioned hoodies. After closing the door, he walks to the couch.
Rolling my eyes, I lock the door. In case she tries to return.
Sitting on the chair across from Fynn, I eye him. It’s been three weeks since we’ve been in the same room. I took time off from work — much needed vacation time.
I haven’t wanted to deal with anything. After years of building myself into a responsible adult, a single hand on my shoulder and a simple sentence in my ear ripped apart the facade.
While I’ve been falling apart, Fynn is clearly coming back together. My brother looks fantastic, with those ruby red scales brighter than ever before. An inner light shines behind his golden eyes, even as his face contorts into one of concern.
“I needed to come check on you.”
Grinding my teeth, I talk myself from the frustrated ledge. I want to share with him; my soul won’t let me. “I’m fine. Just needed some time off.”
He looks around the apartment. It’s significantly more clean than when Kyrielle came over. She caught me at a bad moment — I’m not normally a slob.
“How are you keeping busy?”
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder toward the front door. “You just saw one of my hobbies.”
“You know, for someone who claims to respect women, you sure do fuck a lot of them.”
If I didn’t know my brother better, I’d say he was trying to be cruel.
Fynn isn’t a mean man, so I take the comment with patience.
“They’re consenting adults. I make them cum until they forget their names.
I use protection. They get free hoodies as a prize for tolerating me. If anything, I’m disrespecting myself.”
“That Elf seemed upset.”
I give him a dry look. “She was upset because I wouldn’t let her stay here while I went to work.”
This earns a surprised look. “You’re going back to work today?”
I dig my nails into the seat’s armrests. This conversation was intended for the office. Apparently, my living room is the new venue for tough conversations. “On one condition.”
“That is?” Fynn leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“I don’t want to talk about Father. Nothing about what happened at the Weyr reunion.”
“But—”
“At all, Fynn. I mean it.”
“Trinte, can you let me speak?”
I wave dismissively, looking away. “Fine.”
“You’ve never shared what happened with Father.”
“There’s nothing to explain. It’s in the past and I don’t see the purpose.”
“Because you almost killed Orliana; that meant I would’ve had to kill you, Trinte.”
My molars grind. The reminder of that moment is already pissing me off. “But I didn’t. I stopped myself. Now I know he’s going to pop up places, I’m staying away from any possible options. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says flatly. “I think you’re going to seek out the revenge so rightfully deserved.”
“And if I do, which I’m not saying I will—” I level him with a glare. “—but if I do, Orliana won’t be nearby.”
“Can you swear it?”
“I swear it.” The last thing I want is for the one woman in existence who loves me to die. It’s happened enough. My heart can’t take much more.
This satisfies my brother, apparently. Slapping hands on his thighs, Fynn looks me over. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Lots of cardio.” At his raised eyebrow, I add, “Actual cardio.”
He chuckles. “Well, I came over for more than a welfare check.” Suddenly, my brother looks nervous. “I’m going to tell you something, and you can’t tell a soul.”
“Not a soul.”
“I’m going to propose to Orliana.”
My jaw drops, then shifts into the biggest smile of my life. We collide into a big hug, topped with mandatory masculinity-enhancing backslaps.
“That’s amazing, brother,” It feels like a million little fireflies glowing in my belly. “When?”
He pulls away, eyes glistening. “That is where I need some help. I want to make it a proposal and engagement session. Hire my old photographer, Luca.”
“Oh, I know Luca,” I grin. “We train together sometimes at the battle gym.” He was also at his and Rhuth’s wedding, but I’m not about to mention that right now. “How can I help?”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ve been talking with Kyrielle and we’re thinking—”
“Kyrielle?”
Fynn looks up from his phone, where a photo gallery’s pulled up. “Yeah. You met her at the club? Short, orange hair and fingertips?”
My palms grow clammy. “She’s helping organize things?”
“Of course — she’s Orliana’s best friend. It makes sense, right?”
At his worried look, I nod quickly. “It’s absolutely makes sense.”
Relief loosens his shoulders. “Great. Okay, so let me show you what we have planned so far.”
Fynn spends the next hour explaining his plan, but the whole time, I’m too distracted to listen. All I can think of is a furious creamsicle dream trying to burn me alive.