different from the others.”
“Fuck that,” Pan said. “One hole’s as good as the next.”
“Right,” I agreed, knowing that was sheer bunk.
Whatever else she was, Jezebel was one of a kind. And I meant to find out why.
Until then, I meant to screw her senseless every chance we had.
Chapter 5
Hey, Baby—Come Here Often?
Pushing aside memories of Jezebel, I ambled past the table where my intended sat. Grinning broadly, I shrugged my way through the crowded lounge, all swagger and confidence. A ladies’ man. Well, one lady’s man.
Finding a free spot near the fireplace, I leaned against the wall, took in the crowd—just another guy scanning the room, hunting for Ms. Right Now. Blending. Invisible, without having to pull magical strings. Around me, the throng of humans vied for attention, anyone’s attention, begging to be noticed, to be heard, to be held. To be stroked. Sucked. Fucked. Begging to feel like their lives mattered, even just for a moment. Screaming in their laughter, desperate for connection.
Sometimes, humans made it so easy.
Twenty feet away, my target sat with her companions. I studied her, drank in her face, even with it partially hidden by her curtain of curly black hair; I let my gaze roam over her torso, enjoyed the fullness of her breasts that neither her overly large sweater nor her crossed arms could camouflage. I watched, focused, flexed… marked her with my psychic signature as property of Daunuan.
Mine.
With that declaration, smells flooded over me, through me, connecting my prey to me—chocolate, jasmine, blackberries, musk. Her unique aroma, branded on my senses. It made me think of satin sheets, of bodies sliding together. My muscles tightened as I held her scent, imagined her in my arms and me in her, pictured how she’d shiver as I showered her body with new sensations.
Mine.
I’ve got you, doll.
She was laughing again, but now I heard the undercurrent to the mirth: the laughter of her companions was alcohol-inspired and carefree, but hers was a polite copy, guarded. And her bright green eyes sparkled only partially with amusement; there was something deeper there, something I couldn’t place. Yet.
Her eyes shine with passion and sorrow and rage as she begs me to kill her so she can save her man’s soul.
I snorted, batting away the image of Jezebel’s human face. For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about her. She made her choice. Focus now on your intended.
Yes, look at her: a half step behind her companions, the smile a touch too late to be spontaneous—see the way she’s sitting with her arms folded and her legs crossed and her shoulders so slightly hunched, all but screaming “keep your distance,” even though she’s out with friends and pretending to enjoy herself.
Why the mixed signals, doll?
I tuned out the rest of the sounds, the smells, of the other humans in the cigar lounge that boasted no cigars. Honing in on my target’s table, I listened, the buzz of the small group’s conversation filling my ears. The true blonde was in the middle of a passionate declaration, insisting: “…best movie I’ve ever seen!”
The bottled blonde clucked her tongue. “Come off it, Ter. You know the only reason you love it is because Matt Damon’s in it. He could be in the most boring film ever, and you’d love it because he’s in it.”
“If Matt was in it, it wouldn’t be boring.”
“Right, because you’d be too busy lusting after him to actually pay attention to the movie!” This burst of wit from the straight-haired brunette.
Blondie turned to my intended. “Back me up here, Vee. Am I really a fool for all things Matt Damon, or am I a grown-up who simply admires an amazing actor?”
“‘Admires’?” Bottled giggled. “Is that another word for ‘Lusts after and wants to have his babies’?”
My intended—Vee?—cleared her throat, smiled (but so very tightly, as if the movement pained her) and said, “Matt Damon is a fine actor.”
Blondie grinned in triumph.
Then Vee added, “But you know as well as I do, if Matt Damon ever spoke to you, you’d spontaneously combust from the rush of hormones. Or you’d drop dead on the spot.”
The other women broke up with laughter, and my target took a careful sip of the contents in her glass. A sharp tongue on her, tempered with humor. I smiled, already wondering what that tongue would feel like as it dueled with mine. Would she be commanding in bed, insisting on the position and dictating the terms of the sex? Or would she be more yielding? Did she just need the right one to tame her? Either way was fine with me. Already my cock throbbed for her. Hungered for her.
“Busted,” Bottled said. “Terri is so busted!”
The other brunette said, “Virginia, anyone who tells Terri like it is, is officially okay in my book. You’ve got to hang with us more often.”
Ah. Not Vee. Virginia. My smile stretched into a grin. Was she like Gloriana, the so-called virgin queen who claimed to see and keep silent? Perhaps she was moody, turbulent, like the suicidal Bloomsbury writer. Or maybe something between the two—a quiet passion. No matter. Whatever she’d been before this moment, all she was now was my target. My intended. My ticket to First Principal. Mine.
Virginia.
I relished the taste of her name on my tongue.
At the table, Blondie laughed. “Please, I’m just glad that I finally got Vee out to play.” She lifted her glass, saluted. “Girl, you’ve been solitary far too long.”
My target smiled, smiled hard and tight and said nothing as she sipped her drink.
So cold, Virginia. So aloof. I have just the thing to penetrate that coldness, doll, right here in my pants. I’m going to melt you, make you so hot you’re going to boil over…
I spied a harried waitress making the rounds. Telling my dick to settle down, I flagged the server. She trotted over while precariously balancing a tray full of used glasses. Sounding pissed off and put out, she barely looked at me as she asked, “Get you anything?”
You can get less uptight, for one thing.
Pursing my lips as if I meant to kiss her, I pushed. She gasped as my power licked her, tickled her sweet spot. She staggered, and I helped her steady her tray. When my fingers brushed hers, she let out an ooooh.
Heh.
As she swayed against me, I murmured in her ear: “See the woman sitting there? The brunette with long, curly hair? Send her a Sex on the Beach, with my compliments.” I pushed again, and the waitress came in her panties—a splash of spice and cotton. Mmm. “Got it, doll?”
Her voice a squeak, she said, “Yes, sir.” Then she oozed away.
Grinning,
