Page 36 of Touch

Love will make sure of that.

12

In a turbulent mood from Andrew’s phantom touch, Love trespasses onto his property the next morning. For a while, he idles outside the front door as if waiting for Love, staring into the distance until finally driving into the village.

Hoping to discover more about his sight, as well as how to match him with Holly, Love breaks into the house. One window has been left unlocked, which must be an accident, and because she’s not of this realm, there’s no threat of triggering the security system.

His cedarwood and eucalyptus scent permeates every surface. The reading chairs, the fireplace, and the kitchen. Mythology, paranormal, and fantasy texts crowd the built-in bookcases in Andrew’s office. Those, alongside shelves displaying his own titles, which include various embossed or foiled special editions.

Because momentum is the perk of being a deity, Love audits Andrew’s work with diligence, absorbing each book cover-to-cover at inhuman speed. The world-building is engrossing, less proseful, more action-packed, with plot twists occurring at unexpected times. Likewise, his characters are engaging—flawed yet redeemable.

Unfortunately, none of the texts reveal a perceptive link to her kind. Love opts to double check the contents. She pours over the stories, including the smut scenes, which are lengthy and explicit. Words like “pussy” and “cock” appearwith regularity. Descriptions of snapping hips, wet folds, and cum have an unfavorable effect on Love’s core, which tightens between her thighs.

At one point, a male lead sinks his fanged mouth into the nexus of a female’s legs and lashes his tongue against her labia. Love slaps the book onto the shelf and bids a retreat, vowing to resume this literary investigation later. Otherwise, she’ll saturate his floor, then make herself come to his words. Yet another means by which this mortal can touch her without physically doing so.

On that score, she avoids his bedroom. Going there will only flood Love’s olfactory senses with his essence and maintain her lustful craving.

Holly’s townhouse is next. In the near future, shadowing the woman’s public activities will be essential, but Love prefers to begin with the lovers’ private lives. At present, Holly is in the bathroom, evidently painting a circus on her face, for as long as it’s taking her to emerge. While waiting for her to return, Love snoops. She rifles through the sheets and pillows, searching for clues about previous suitors and trysts. Among humans, the scents of past affairs tend to linger, yet there’s nothing but Griffin’s odor, which has seeped into the mattress.

It had been easy to track the female’s berry fragrance and locate her home. For a start, she’s a tidy one. The bedroom is spotless, her slippers rest at a set angle beneath a dresser, and pictures of her and Griffin line the rim of her dressing mirror without overlapping. In every photo, she’s looking at the camera while he’s looking at her.

Love stops ransacking Holly’s bed. The woman’s wardrobe is filled with soft colors, while Andrew favors dark shades. Eclectically, the woman loves intricately carved furniture and runs her own fencing studio.

Andrew’s tastes differ. True, he also makes an effort to keep his home nicely outfitted and stays physically fit, based on the weights and archery equipment Love had found in one of his recessed closets. Not least of all, a glance at his physique is telling enough.

Yet his preferences in everything else diverge from Holly’s, from what Love has seen of his record collection and the meal he’d cooked for his father. At least compared with the lively tunes bursting from Holly’s phone and the vegan takeout boxes in her fridge.

However, one of the romances she’d bought in Georgie’s shop rests on the nightstand. So there it is. The unifying link. Her targets have a similar affinity for books. If not writing, managing business tasks, training at the archery range, or dealing with his ungrateful relative, Andrew is at the bookstore, doing upkeep for the matriarch. In fact, he’s there at this moment.

If Love can somehow provoke Holly to venture over there…

Abandoning the bed, Love snatches a romance novel from the nightstand. It’s one of the titles Holly had purchased from the store, on the day she and Andrew ran into each other. A bookmark sticks out of page 152. Love scans the story, then rips out pages 160 to 165. It’s a lovemaking scene that takes place after the heroine slowly and sensually undresses the hero, but before the hero returns the favor. Returning the book to the table, Love winces at the audible thud.

Holly emerges with thicker eyelashes and glistening lips. She pauses and surveys the beating Love has given the blankets. With a frown, the female straightens every ruffle, then snuggles into her pillows and opens the book.

Love settles onto the opposite end of the bed and reclines on her back, with her head hanging off the edge as she scrutinizes the ceiling, awaiting the inevitable.

Usually, this part gratifies Love. It’s the moment when events are set into motion, guiding the lovers’ paths like train tracks about to cross. This is when her invisibility doesn’t count, and she has an effect on the mortal world.

Yet the satisfaction doesn’t come this time. Indeed, spite gnaws at her insides.

A dreamy sigh drifts into her ears. Love rises on her elbows and follows the sound. Holly’s engrossed in the story, twirling a blonde lock around her finger and blushing at the book’s content. Based on the rapid speed of her blood and the way Holly drives her tongue across her lips, she’s reached an erotic scene.

After immersing herself in Andrew’s books, Love understands this response. Yet she wants to ask if the longing feels the same for everyone, be they mortal or immortal. Are authentic embraces equally intense?

Holly’s fingers slide back and forth between her breasts, which heave under the sweater. Moments after she flips the page, those same digits sneak to the waistband of her jeans, where they grope the buttons as if debating whether to pop them open and plunge inside.

It’s not the first time Love has been privy to an exhibition. Masturbation is a component of attraction and a natural occurrence during the matchmaking process. Typically, it’s a mutual event between partners, though she never remains to witness the climax, when the lovers make one another come. Her disregard for privacy does have its limits.

At any rate, this ardent side of Holly is telling. She’s stirred by passionate prose, and with Andrew being a wordsmith, this might be useful.

Yet Love hates that it might be useful. She loathes to imagine him writing to this woman, the way he’d written to Love, much less to picture him scripting a more meaningful passage. Once they’re matched, Holly might have the same beguiled reaction to Andrew as she does to the book. Or their intimate encounters will be different. Better.

Closer. Longer.

Holly whimpers, urging Love’s attention back to the scene. The third jean button is undone, and her fingers are diving for the edge of her lace panties, which peek from the gap.

Love is about to flee the premises when the woman’s phone vibrates. An unknown song beats out a loud percussion, the invasive sound hollering for attention.

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