Page 40 of Mischief Maker
“Kireth?” the first immortal says. “Are you joining us?”
“Get out.” I rip open the curtain and point. They both glare at me. “Get out! Now!”
There are huffs of annoyance as they pull themselves apart and hurry off the bed.
“Asshole,” one of them mumbles while they gather their clothes and storm out through the curtain.
Then it’s just me and the mortal standing on either side of the mussed bed. She nervously rubs her hands together, glancing at the bed and then at me.
“Why are you here?” I ask, pulling the curtains closed. The room descends into a warm, dim darkness, a floating flame up by the ceiling the only light.
When she turns to me, her face strikes me as painfully familiar. In her own strange, plain way, she is beautiful—almost otherworldly.
“I’m here for you.” She slides both her legs onto the bed and folds them underneath her, and I am almost certain that I’ve seen this same girl do this same thing before.
“How do I know you?” It’s not a matter of whether or not I know her—I’m sure now that our paths have crossed before. But what could have possibly brought her here, to oblivion, looking for me?
She fiddles with the hem of her dress. “I summoned you once.”
Ah, so she was one of my masters. Perhaps I did more than one kind of task for her, if you know what I mean, and that’s why I find myself so eager to protect her.
She slides toward me on the bed, taking my hand in hers, and this time I don’t pull away.
“Have you really forgotten how you saved me?” she asks, her big eyes wide.
“Saved you?” I echo. That’s silly. I don’t go around saving foolish humans.
She twines her fingers with mine. “It’s true. You found what was wrong with my farm. You cured it.” There’s a shyness in her eyes now. “And you taught me so many things.”
As the timbre of her voice drops, my blood abruptly rushes southward. I hold in a gasp when my cock twitches under my loincloth, triggered by the mere sound. Her hand trails up my arm, just tiny, gentle ghost touches that seem timid on the surface but belie a deeper passion. When I remain still, she continues that gentle movement upward until she reaches my shoulder, then my chest. Her hand finally stops over my heart.
“What sort of things did you learn from me?” I ask, my voice catching. Was she a lonely widow who came to me for companionship?
“Well, the first thing you taught me was how to be specific.” A smile teases her lips. “How to give clear instructions.”
“That sounds like me.”
Her hand drifts down to the swirling designs on my skin, and my flesh trembles underneath her fingers.
“You never did teach me the words, though,” she says, a touch of sadness in her tone.
I’m surprised. Few have ever tried to dismiss me. Usually, they flail and threaten and roar with their displeasure until they learn how to be smarter with their requests.
“Did you want to learn them?” I ask. “I can tell you now. Not that it will do you much good. Since I’m here, I cannot return to my temple again. My time on the mortal plane is up.”
Her hand stops moving, then tightens into a fist. When she lowers her head, I can see tears dotting her cheeks like gemstones.
This baffles me more than anything.
“Why are you crying, mortal?” I ask her. I want to reach out and wipe them away, and my belly twists at the thought of being the one to make her cry.
When she gazes up at me and brings her hand to my cheek, I stay still. Her palm is warm and so, so gentle, the way a newborn calf might lip at you hoping for food. Her finger traces my cheekbone down to my lips. The motion makes my cock twitch again, and I realize just how hard I’ve gotten under my loincloth.
For this small slip of a human woman? And yet she is tantalizing, with soft skin that looks infinitely kissable, and a pink mouth that seems like it would welcome me inside if I got the chance. Reflexively I lick my lips, wondering what she would taste like.
“I’m crying,” she says, “because I’m imagining how good kissing you would feel.”
“Oh?” I preen a little at this. “You enjoy the idea? Well, you should try, then.”
