Page 62 of The Howl
“Male gigolo? I’m pretty sure your future mate wouldn’t approve of that. From what I’ve heard, mates are very jealous of each other.”
He shrugged.
“I’m going to break all the molds.”
The image of Fenris tangled in the sheets with a pair of blonde women popped into my head. My hunger rose. So did a strange amount of jealousy. Did I want to be one of Fenris’s many female groupies? Heck no. I didn’t want to worship any man. I wanted men to worship me.
My hunger died at the memory of my dad on his knees. I would never forget his tears or devastation as Mom walked away. I didn’t want worship. I wanted—
I sighed, not letting myself think of the impossible.
“Breaking the rules usually doesn’t end well,” I said.
“What are you talking about? Megan broke rules left and right and made new ones to suit herself. Things turned out for her.”
I thought of her in New York, looking for a killer of almost impossible to kill creatures.
“Maybe.”
“What future do you want for yourself?” he asked. “A future following other people’s rules? Rules where you’re stuck in a bullshit excuse for a class because someone else thinks it’s the right thing for you? Or do you want to live like you want? Follow your own rules?”
His words, so reminiscent of my mom’s, prodded me to dream just a little of a future where I had a real relationship with a guy. Not the feed-or-breed relationships most of my kind had, but a real home. A family.
Fenris leaned farther forward in his chair.
“What are you thinking, right now?”
“Of a future I can never have.”
“Tell me.”
I hesitated.
“I don’t want a life filled with different partners. I want one partner. I want a real relationship.”
He tilted his head at me. Monogamous wasn’t a word anyone ever used to describe a succubus.
“I can see that,” he said. “You, with a special someone. But, you know, in order to get there, you’re eventually going to need to let someone in. You know, touching and all that stuff.”
He leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide.
“Go ahead. Give me a touch. Just mind the ribs. I’m ticklish.”
“I’m not touching you.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m not a chicken. There’s just no point in touching you.”
“Isn’t there?”
He stood and took two steps to my desk. He braced his hands on the surface and slowly leaned in. He stopped when his face was only inches from mine. I could count the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
“The point is to show there’s nothing you fear.”
The soft rumble of his words almost made me shiver. I itched to answer his dare. To run my fingers along his skin and show him there was everything to fear.
My hand left the desk.
