Page 6 of Hell and Hexes
Chapter 3
Eshu
Iknocked on the door, hoping that this was the correct house. I’d been to six so far this evening and had all sorts of creatures spit at me, try to stab me with tridents, and curse me in a weird fae language. I guess some folk don’t like to be woken up at two in the morning by a demon at their door demanding to know if his couch-witch resided therein.
No one answered at this house, so I knocked again with more force, then tried to peek through a side window, nearly falling over the porch rail and into a prickly bush with fragrant white flowers. A light came on, and I readied myself for spit, or knives, or whatever.
Instead, the door opened and there stood my beloved, her hair a sable mess of tangled waves, her blue eyes full of sleep. There was a deep crease on her cheek, probably from her pillow, and her left boob looked as if it were about ready to escape from her tank top.
I stared at the left boob, willing it to fly free, then looked down to her pink lacy underwear and naked legs. They were tanned and strong, with broad thighs and muscled calves. I couldn’t help but imagine them wrapped around my waist.
“Eshu.” Her voice was burred with sleep and I felt myself grow hard at the sound of it.
“My couch-witch. I’ve found you.” I pushed past her and looked around. It was a nice home. Warm. Comfortable. Lots of color.
“What are you doing here?”
She sounded confused, but not displeased. I looked down and aside from staring at the rebellious boob, I noted the shadows under her eyes that I hadn’t seen previously.
I know. I’m a bad potential lover for not having noticed, but in my defense, her boob wasalmostout of her tank top.
“I’m here to seeyou, my couch-witch. But why are you not on the couch sleeping? You look exhausted.”
She ran a hand through her hair, making parts of it stick up here and there. “Because I had to answer the door, you dork. And I don’t normally sleep on—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off with a squeal because I’d picked her up and began walking over to the couch. Staggering actually, because she was a bit heavier than I’d thought. Thankfully, I didn’t drop her because I was pretty sure I’d never be able to get any sexy witch action if I dumped my beloved onto the floor.
“Here.” I plopped her down on the couch, saddened that the motion hadn’t freed the nearly escaped boob. Then I went into her kitchen and looked in her fridge. “Why don’t you have any grapes? You need to have grapes.”
“I haven’t been to the grocery store, and I don’t normally eat grapes. I think Cassie brought some blueberries, though.” Her voice was husky/sleepy. It made me wonder once more if the time was right to show her my enormous love-lance or if more wooing was in order.
I grabbed the blueberries and sat on the coffee table beside the couch, looking around for a fan. What was the problem with this witch that she didn’t have a fan, nor grapes? How was I supposed to show her my adoration if I couldn’t fan her and feed her grapes?
Needing to improvise, I grabbed a pillow off the couch and tried to fan her with it, accidently bopping her on the head.
“Hey! What are you—”
I shoved a few blueberries in her mouth then began to recite the naughty limerick I’d composed in her honor. Every time she went to say something, I fed her more blueberries, and fanned with increasing vigor.
I decided to stop with the blueberries when she began to laugh and nearly choked on them.
“Stop! Eshu, cut it out. I’m not hungry, and I don’t want to have a pillow fight right now, if that’s what you’re trying to do. I’m tired. I had a really exhausting day, and I need to sleep.”
I set the pillow and the blueberries aside, pouting a bit as she adjusted the tank top and secured the renegade boob in place.
“I’m sorry.” She reached out and touched my thigh. I silently willed her fingers to go higher, but to no avail. “I’m so happy to see you. I’m glad you came over here, really, I am. But it’s late and I’m so tired. Maybe we can take a raincheck? You can shove fruit down my throat and whack me with a pillow while reciting bawdy poetry another night?”
I’d rather shove something else down her throat, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen tonight. Instead I scooted her legs over, sat down on the couch, then repositioned her legs on top of my lap. “Why are you so tired, my couch-witch? I assumed your reclining state was so that the other mortals could worship you accordingly. I never thought that it was because you needed extra rest.”
“The accident,” she murmured in that sleepy voice that went right to my groin. “I was recovering on Cassie’s couch, and I thought I was okay, but I guess not. I’m so tired.”
I ran my hands up her bare legs, a thrill racing through me at the softmmmnoise she made. “I know you told me you’d had an accident, but I hadn’t realized it was so serious.”
“I went to the hospital and was on a couch for two weeks.” She chuckled. “What did you think, I stubbed my toe or something?”
“A hangnail? A papercut? A bad case of split ends?”
“Brat.” She smacked me with the pillow, then lay back with a contented sigh as I kept caressing her legs.
