8. Morning Snack #2
I spun around to find Lucia staring down at me.
“I guess that shirt was a little too small for you…”
Her eyes were locked on the sliver of skin between the top of the sweatpants and the too-short shirt she had given me. The hunger in her eyes was enough to get my blood pumping, but being on my knees as she looked down at me had me shifting to hide my now half-hard cock.
The bond only made it worse. The desire wasn’t just in her eyes. It snaked down into her stomach and then through the bond to me.
It also didn’t help that she was in a pair of tiny shorts that showed off her soft thighs and a tank top—which she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra beneath.
Okay, my cock was a little more than half-hard now, especially as I watched her nipples tighten under the thin fabric, and the magic between us was practically on fire.
It took very little imagination to picture her in the scrap of fabric still hidden in my pocket.
It was just like last night when she’d touched my face, but now there wasn’t a nice old lady present to douse the heat.
It was just me, kneeling in front of her, my antennae going haywire as they picked up her scent in the air.
It had me picturing looking up at her like this in a very different context.
Could you blame me? I’d been alone on the road for a very long time—that or surrounded by six brothers whose cryptid nature led to various levels of hygiene.
Compared to that she was a goddess, and something told me if I was good enough, she’d glow for me again just like in the greenhouse.
I wanted to grab one of those creamy thighs, pull it over my shoulder, and—
“Sorry!”
She squeaked and ran out of the kitchen like a cat-bat out of hell.
I stood slowly, trying to tuck my hard-on into the waistband of my boxers, when I heard a very judgmental meow.
Mugen was sitting on the counter, staring right at me and smirking in a way an animal shouldn’t be able to.
“Don’t judge me, dude.”
He flapped his wings, hovering closer to me and rubbing his face against my arm.
“Yeah, yeah. We friends now? You going to stop attacking my antennae?”
A responding meow that definitely wasn’t a yes.
He half leapt, half flew to the top of the fridge and toyed with the cabinet door next to it. The door smacked shut again, held closed with a child lock of some kind.
I struggled with it longer than I wanted to admit but finally opened it to find a container of cat treats.
“Oh, I see. Think I’m a sucker, huh?” As I peered farther into the cabinet, though, I noticed it also contained tins labeled “tea,” and my eyes immediately focused on a few jars of gorgeous, golden honey. I glanced back at the dark creature, and he cocked his head.
“Friendship is still tentative.”
I grabbed the closest jar and cracked it open, letting the rich smell fill my lungs. Dozens of floral notes hit the back of my throat. Oh, this was the good stuff, and likely local by the scent. A spoon waited in the half-open drawer nearby, so I pulled it out and spun up a huge glob.
The delicious liquid slowly coated my tongue as I opened the cat treats. Mugen stomped his paws until I tossed one into the air, and he swooped down off the refrigerator to catch it—triumphant.
Next, I found a mug and filled it with water, popping it into the microwave.
The jasmine tea near the front of the cabinet was almost empty.
I bet that was her favorite. In the silverware drawer, there were a few tea strainers, so I gathered some up and enjoyed the floral scent as I dunked them into the newly hot water.
By the time I’d set the honey jar next to the mug and given the tea a stir, she was in the doorway again.
She’d put on black jeans and a big, cable-knit black sweater that swallowed her hands to the knuckles. Her hair was braided on both sides of her head, and she shuffled awkwardly.
“Sorry. I’m not used to someone being here.”
“I didn’t mind.” No lie there. Me and my lonely cock had both quite enjoyed the sight. We also enjoyed the flush that rose on her neck and through the bond.
“Normally, the only one who sees me before noon is Mugen, and he already thinks I’m pathetic.”
Mugen chirped from the top of the fridge in what sounded like agreement.
“Traitor.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I slid the mug across the counter toward her. “For you.”
She looked down at the mug, then back up at me.
“How did you know jasmine is my favorite?”
“Moth senses.” I grinned. I’d leave out the simple deduction of her barren kitchen.
She stared at the tea for a second longer than she needed to, and something small and warm landed in her chest. This time, it didn’t disappear right away.
That was a start.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, boss.”
Her mouth twitched at that, but it was cute.
“Cut that out.”
“But you like it.”
I expected her to flush or deny it, but instead—
“Maybe I do.”
She wrapped both sweater sleeves around the mug and lifted it to her mouth, but her hazel eyes never left me, and that undeniable heat rose between us again.
I made myself hold her gaze because we had a lot of work ahead of us, and if I looked down, I would just remember the shape of her nipples through her tank top.
We would be very unproductive if I ended up on my knees in front of her again.
Beautifully unproductive…
The rotary phone on the wall rang.
We both jumped. Mugen hissed.
I crossed to the wall and lifted the heavy black receiver.
“Lucia’s house.”
“Well, don’t you sound domestic.” Gertrude cackled. “How is my girl?”
“She’s mid-tea. What’s up?”
“I have some new translations for her. Come by soon, the both of you.”
“Do you really need me—”
“No time to waste, handsome.”
She hung up.
I put the receiver back, and Lucia raised her eyebrows.
“Gertrude says she has notes for you. We should come and get them.”
She nodded. “Okay, we should head out. It’s about a thirty-minute walk.”
I blinked at her.
“What?”
“So no cellphone and no car? Are you Amish? Do you have a horse and buggy out behind the house?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. I just…don’t get out much. No reason to have one.”
That sadness crept in again, and I couldn’t have that.
“We’ll take my bike.”
The sadness was immediately replaced with wariness. It was my turn to question her.
“What? I thought you liked it.”
“I can admire it and still know it’s a death machine.”
“You said the charms were good.”
“They are good—for one passenger. I’m not getting on that thing. I don’t put my life in other people’s hands.”
“Come on. One, I’m a very safe driver. Two, it’s spelled to be extra, extra safe. Three, we are driving across Pumpkin Hollow, not down the Autobahn. You’ll be fine.”
She didn’t budge.
“You can trust me.”
Those words were their own spell. Through the bond, it was like a door had cracked open. Inside was longing and the fatigue of a person who had been carrying every decision alone for a very long time and had just been offered, for one small thing, a hand. But I wasn’t sure which of us felt it more.
She stared at me, and I waited for the door to swing closed, for her to seal up the crack in her defenses. Instead, she glanced down at the tea in her hand.
“Fine.” She sounded resigned. “One trip. If I die, I’m haunting you.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Aggressively.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less, Lucia.”
She scowled, but the door stayed open.
We went out onto the porch, and I shrugged on my jacket. Mugen came with us, flapping along at shoulder height and purring as Lucia scratched his chin. He landed on the porch rail and puffed himself up.
Three ravens sat on a fencepost by the drive, black and glossy, watching us with beady eyes.
Mugen let out a screech that was pure territorial menace and launched off the rail like a small, furry cannonball.
The ravens scattered, croaking in outrage, and Mugen chased them halfway down the drive, snapping his wings and yowling threats before wheeling around and coming back with a smug look in his violet eyes.
“Good boy,” Lucia said absently, and I was not jealous of a familiar. I was not.
I walked down the porch stairs and threw a leg over my bike, hitting the kickstand with my heel. Lucia stood on the gravel for a second, looking at it. I held out a hand.
“Come on, I’ve got you.”
She took it. Her fingers were warm. She swung up behind me gracefully, and I passed her the spare helmet. Once she had it on, I felt her breathe out slowly and settle her hands on my ribs like she was touching a hot stove, sitting as far back on the seat as she could.
I grabbed her hand and pulled it tighter around me.
“I don’t want to crush your wings,” she lied.
“If you want to be safe, you have to move closer. Otherwise, the balance will be off.”
Her arms slid down and locked around my middle. Her chest pressed flush to my back, and the bond hummed like a struck tuning fork.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Great.”
The engine roared, and her arms tightened around my waist, which I did not hate.
We pulled out of the drive. Cold October air came up around us as I tugged down my goggles, carrying the scents of woodsmoke, turned leaves, and the faint apple-rot sweetness of a town that had been hoarding pumpkins for a month.
The sun was already low, and golden light cut through the trees along the county road.
Every building we passed had jack-o’-lanterns grinning from stoops and windows.
She was warm at my back. She hadn’t loosened her grip.
At the first curve, she flinched. Then, when she realized I’d taken it fine, she giggled—a small, startled sound right against my shoulder blade. A spark of joy flashed through the bond before she could stop it, bright and surprised.
I opened the throttle a little on the straight stretch just to hear her do it again.
She did.