Page 6 of Incubus with Benefits
His ensuite was just as gorgeous and luxurious as his bedroom. There was enough marble and bronze in there to make a high-end hotel jealous. I eyed the clawfoot tub longingly. I was still covered in yesterday’s sweat and grime, and I really wanted a bath, but that would have to wait.
I took care of business and brushed my teeth. I was suddenly super glad I was a witch because my makeup was still perfect. No raccoon eyes, no feathered lipstick. Just makeup perfection. Magic for the win!
Too bad I didn’t feel nearly as good as I looked.
I stepped back outside to find Julian on the chaise lounge, his abs on full display. He patted the edge of the chaise. “Sit.”
It was only one word, but it had a tiny quiver of lust starting in my belly. But I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially one as yummy as this, so I sat. Then I tried not to crumble into a quivering pile of need when Julian sat a little more upright and wrapped a possessive arm around my waist.
“Tell me everything you remember about last night after I left.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one demanding answers?”
Julian just chuckled. “Of course. Ask away.”
I asked him how I got here, and he explained how he’d returned to find me passed out, my friends worried, and how he’d volunteered to watch over me, especially since all those witches were going missing.
“I assured them you would stay with me in my personal abode and not Upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“The private rooms.”
Julian meant the private rooms on the second floor of the club. They had all the creature comforts, including unlimited snacks and drinks on the house. I knew because we’d been in them once when Prax had booked a room for everyone. Not everyone who booked a room up there did it for the hanky-panky; some just wanted a more private experience. But we preferred the VIP booths next to the main dance floor since we were there for the music, the people, and the dancing.
“And,” he continued, tongue darting out to moisten his lips, “I promised I wouldn’t take advantage of you unless you asked for it.” A twinkle lit Julian’s purple-gray eyes.
Damn, wasn’t that pretty! I never knew his eyes were actually purple; I’d always thought it was the club lights. But then again, he was an incubus, and therefore a demon, and demons could make themselves look any way they wanted. Prax demonstrated it often enough.
And if I had any doubts about his story, it was gone now. That was something my friends would totally make him promise. Even passed out, they were trying to get me laid, should I want it. That was what good friends were for.
I was suddenly very aware of his closeness and the fact that he had an arm wrapped around my waist, fingertips brushing lightly against my outer thigh. A thrill ran through me.
I wanted to say, “Hell yes! I’m asking for it,” but instead, I told him everything I remembered from last night.
He listened intently, then asked, “And how do you feel now?”
I closed my eyes and listened to my body. “That feeling of external magic that had affected me last night is gone. But I feel massively hungover now. Like I had way more than those three drinks.”
“Two and a half. You never finished the third one.” He was frowning now, his fingers stilling on my leg. “I took it in for testing in case there was anything in it.”
“Oh, thank you.”
A chime went off.
“There’s breakfast. I ordered from the diner across the street. Let’s get you fed, and see if some bacon won’t help that hangover.”
“Did you say bacon? Hell, yes. I’m in.”
We made our way to the kitchen, and I spotted my purse sitting on the table. As Julian headed downstairs to grab the food order, I took the moment to shoot off a message to the girls through our group chat, letting them know I was still alive and well. Then,because I knew them and their filthy minds, I added: No, I didn’t get laid. Yet. Working on it.
Julian came back with breakfast, which consisted of pancakes, eggs, and enough bacon to feed a small army. I was halfway through devouring my stack of butter and syrup-smothered pancakes when my phone rang. The ringtone was one I’d assigned to either my job or my landlord, and since the job was currently nonexistent, that left one option.
I dug the phone out of my purse, already bracing for bad news.
“Lily?” The voice was tight, worried. “It’s Mr. Kim.”
Why was my landlord calling?
