Chapter 14
Finn
She doesn’t quit the market even though she’s started working for me.
I don’t want to make her or even encourage it, not if she doesn’t come up with the idea on her own. Isolating her to our properties and each other is a colossally terrible idea, and just because I want to spend more time with her doesn’t mean I get to keep her.
But still, I thought I was clear enough.
I’m offering her a full time job. And while I don’t know what exactly the market pays her, I guarantee I’ll pay her more.
And the hours will probably be better, too.
I want this to be a good thing for her, a chance to let go of some of the stress she carries.
But if she doesn’t realize that yet, then I can’t make her. It’ll have to happen naturally.
What she does do is take what must be a thousand pictures of the little fox I’m almost finished with, then spend our entire evening movie time on her phone, doing something with social media.
I have a website that I never update, and she says she’ll look at that soon.
I have a strong suspicion the utilitarian “contact me” form with practically nothing else isn’t going to meet her standards.
And then she goes to work the next day. I drop her off and then have to walk away, even though I don’t want to.
I’m more tempted than ever to say fuck it and ask her to take me on as a full-time project.
I want her to come home with me, hang around when I’m working.
I’ve never wanted anyone around when I’m working before.
I need it to be dead silent—or I thought I did, anyway.
Now I think Cassidy’s quiet voice and gentle breathing would be the perfect addition to my workshop.
I make myself kiss her goodbye, remind her we’re going out after I pick her up, and fly home, where I spend the day on edge, somehow already missing her presence when I never really had it. My father gives me a wide berth but knowing eyes, and I do my best to ignore him.
I’m beginning to think that this might ruin me entirely. Yesterday I talked about the divorce, and I’d been unable to say when. I don’t think I want it to be when we divorce. I said if, because she’ll undoubtedly still want one, but I can hold out hope for now.
I’m distracted throughout the day, which is a shame. I wanted to make more progress, thinking it might make Cassidy’s eyes light up in that way I love. But there’s too much going through my mind to let me focus.
I clean up before going to get her, I make sure I scrub my horns clean in the shower, even though I honestly would enjoy the hell out of Cassidy cleaning them up again. But not in front of half the town. If she touches my horns again, we’re going to be alone, and it’s going to mean something.
The thought of her touching my horns—fuck.
My hand drifts down my stomach, a slow, leisurely pace, like I don’t have a clear destination in mind.
But eventually I make it to my cock, wrapping my fist around myself and stroking, biting my lip to keep from moaning.
I’m in my own apartment’s shower, and no one else is here, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something I shouldn’t.
Thinking about Cassidy like this should be off limits, but I can’t make myself let it go.
I close my eyes, thinking about her stroking my horns.
But this time, with intent. Maybe she’s in the shower with me, and it starts with her cleaning them again, but her touch lingers.
She’d smirk at me, teasing, fully aware of what she’s doing.
And I’d be biting back a moan, like I’m doing right now, driven mad by what she does to me but not wanting to scare her.
And she’d watch me with a heavy look in her eyes, something warm and full of promise. Thinking of it, of her brown, expressive eyes on me, rips a moan out of my chest. I’m completely at her mercy and she’s not even here—she might never want to be here—but it doesn’t matter. Cassidy ruins me.
My hand moves faster on my cock, letting the shower water and the moisture beading at the tip ease the way. I’m close now, and I thumb the head of my cock, picturing Cassidy’s pretty lips falling open, a tease, something meant to torment me—
I come all over my own hand and the shower wall, groaning Cassidy’s name loud enough I’m worried my dad can hear me downstairs. I brace my arm on the wall of the shower stall, the only thing keeping me upright as pleasure wracks through my body.
I stare at my hand and the mess I made as the shower water washes it away. I did that. I jerked my cock to my fake wife like a kid furtively hiding his masturbation habit in the bathroom. I came to the thought of her lips, and here I am, hungry for more.
I should feel guilty, I remind myself. This is not what I’m supposed to be doing. Cassidy didn’t give me permission to want her like this. If anything, she asked me to think of her like my friend.
I force a deep breath, letting the hot water pound down on me until I calm down.
Fantasies are just fantasies. I’m too old to get freaked out by what my brain thinks up when I’m horny.
Yes, Cassidy is beautiful. Yes, I’m fully aware that I’m in way deeper than we agreed.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve done anything wrong.
And if I stand here any longer, I’ll be late for our date.
She kisses me when she walks out of the store, and I lean into it, needing more of her.
The kiss makes hazy memories of my shower fantasy come back to me, but I squish them down, being here in the moment with her.
Cassidy’s kisses always feel invigorating, and I chase her mouth.
It’s not fair that she ever expects me to stop kissing her; I could do this all day.
But she does pull back, because she’s much more sensible than I am. I’m mollified when she hooks her arm through mine, keeping us connected as we walk to Donnel’s.
While we’re waiting for our food, Cassidy pulls out her phone, fiddling with it for a minute. “Wow. Just tell me if I’m boring you next time,” I tease.
She swats my arm, making me laugh. “Shut up. I’m not supposed to have my phone out at work; I wanted to see how the social media I set up for you yesterday is doing.”
It’s weird to think that I have social media now, and that I have no idea what’s on it.
I’d never bothered before; my understanding is social media involves a lot of pictures of yourself, and that’s definitely something I can’t do on the public internet.
But Cassidy knows what she’s doing, so I let her keep going and watch her.
By the time our food arrives, she sets the phone aside. “How’s it going?” I ask her, poking at my tacos.
“Early days still. And, as I keep reminding you, I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”
“And I think you know plenty.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks also flush prettily as she looks down at her sandwich, and I bite back a smile. There we go. That’s what I wanted.
“Oh, Cassidy! I’m so happy I ran into you.”
Cassidy’s spine straightens as we both turn to face Caroline Summers. She walks right over to our table, leaning forward and resting her arm on the edge of the high top.
I don’t know if Cassidy knows that Caroline and I dated once, long ago, the summer before she met Grady.
I grit my teeth, not liking her interrupting our date, but I remember that Cassidy said Caroline offered her a nannying job.
She doesn’t need the job now, but maybe they’re friendly?
I don’t want to scare off anyone Cassidy likes seeing, even if there’s nothing I want more than keeping her entirely to myself.
It’s not even because she’s my ex. If Cassidy wants to be friends with her, then I won’t say a word. But I need tonight with my wife. Every interruption feels like precious moments are being stolen from me, and I don’t know how many moments with her I have left.
“Caroline,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too inviting.
Her eyes flick over me. “Hi, Finn. Cassidy, have you thought any more about my offer?”
Cassidy barely looks at her. “I don’t think I’m going to take it, Caroline. Thank you for offering, though.”
Caroline pouts. “You should! You’d be so good at it. And it’s not hard work, just nights with the boys. Drive them to night school, keep them entertained, feed them—”
Cassidy’s shoulders rise when she gets annoyed, I notice, and right now they’re creeping up toward her ears. “What does one feed little vampire babies?” she asks.
I can hear the sarcasm, but it looks like Caroline can’t, because she continues on, shoving her foot in her mouth. “Oh, Grady and I were saying it’s time to get the boys their first thrall, and—”
“Their first what?” Cassidy asks sharply, cutting right across Caroline. There’s fire in her eyes now. “You want me to give your kids my own blood?”
Once upon a time, vampires kept thralls, humans ensorcelled to be loyal.
They were kept weak and dependent by vampires continuously sucking their blood.
And that’s not done anymore, obviously, because we’ve mostly moved past such barbaric times.
But some people callously still call willing blood donors thralls, like the word means nothing, like there’s no history of how it was used to take away some humans’ free will.
I bet Caroline sometimes calls herself a thrall as her husband’s willing donor.
I bet she throws that word around casually, never considering that she never would have been ensorcelled to a vampire, that that’s not a real threat she ever would have faced.
Caroline isn’t evil, and the rational part of my brain reminds me of that.
But she is thoughtless, and perhaps, in this moment, a little cruel.
I debate staying out of it. Cassidy looks ready to light Caroline on fire, and even though Caroline is a witch, my money is on Cassidy for this one. She doesn’t need me to defend her.
But maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants it without even knowing it; I think Cassidy has gone too long without someone to defend her that she doesn’t even consider it a possibility anymore, and I’m not going to let that happen.
“How dare you talk to my wife that way?” I demand, voice hard and cold. “Calling her that name. Expecting her to be willing to give up her blood for your children. Like some sort of object?”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” I interrupt her. Cassidy has turned away from Caroline to stare at me now.
I can feel her eyes on me, intense and burning, but I can’t turn to look at her.
I’m too busy staring Caroline down and ensuring she can feel every ounce of my anger.
“You think it’s okay to talk to my wife that way because she’s a human.
Well, fuck you. No one talks to my wife like that. ”
I can hear myself, but it’s like from a distance. They’re not my words, and I’m not actively saying them. They’re spilling out of me, an unstoppable force. I can’t stop calling her my wife. I don’t want to stop calling her that.
Cassidy puts her hand on my arm. “I won’t be taking the job, Caroline,” she says, her voice unfairly level. “I’d recommend not bringing it up again. I have a job—two, actually—and my husband has strong feelings about how people talk to me.”
I jolt. Her calling me her husband is just as if not more powerful than calling her my wife. She’s claiming me. It’s almost certainly for Caroline’s benefit, but right now, I’m not in any position to differentiate that; all I know is she called me hers.
I’m still staring Caroline down until she has the good manners to look away. I’d like to think she’s ashamed of herself, although who knows with her.
Cassidy clears her throat. “I want to go home now,” she says, despite the fact that she’s barely touched her food.
Still, I’m not waiting around for to-go boxes.
I can make her another dinner at home if need be.
I fish out my wallet, throwing the last of my cash on the table.
“Sounds good, wife,” I murmur, then, with a hand on her back, I escort her out of the restaurant, past Caroline and everyone else who stopped to watch the show.