He called me Beauty, but what could I call him besides his name? There must have been a way to explain what he was to me, what I saw in him, but I couldn’t think of anything that fit. I couldn’t think of anything at all as he crept toward me, taking my knees in his hands and folding them up against my chest.

  I must have looked obscene with my thighs gaping wide in invitation, but I couldn’t think about that either while Beck positioned himself at my entrance.

  With a swift, decisive thrust, he sank into me, and yes. Fuck. Yes.

  His lust became a roar in my ears and an assault on my body. He crushed me, crowding my legs between us while his balls slapped against my skin with the first in a series of pummeling thrusts.

  He’d seemed so composed until now, and it was gratifying to watch him crumble. His eyes blazed, wild with need as he buried himself in me over and over again, lifting my hips off the floor to achieve the angle that made me…

  Yelping, I spread myself wider, sucking shallow breaths and shuddering as Beck’s cock struck nerves like piano keys, playing a song of pleasure only I could hear.

  Then came the gasps and the “oh, god, oh my god,” and I needed something to shut me up before I managed to summon an actual deity.

  I wished Beck would kiss me. I wanted so badly to know what it would feel like to have his mouth stitched to mine, capturing my cries and giving me life with every grunt and groan. I wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t. It wasn’t because I’d bitten him. He’d let me suck and nurse his cock too many times to be wary of that. It must have been something else.

  Sweat formed a sheen across Beck’s forehead as he railed against me. My cock rubbed between us, leaking profusely. I thought I’d go numb from overwhelm, stop feeling entirely, or even pass out. Everything buzzed with static, and my fingers went white-knuckled where they wrapped around my shins, surrendering access to my most intimate parts.

  My orgasm built, rushing to my head along with a pleasant cacophony of thoughts. I was here, thirty floors high in a tower that must have scraped the heavens, and I wasn’t afraid. I was happy, free, and full long before Beck came inside me with a shout.

  My release chased his, a sudden surge that left my muscles trembling. Fluid pooled in the dip of my stomach as it rose and fell with my ragged, slowing breaths.

  Beck didn’t pull out immediately; he never did. There was always a moment of pause. His cock softened while my ass clenched around it, milking out every drop of cum. My fingers were stiff from gripping my legs, which I carefully unfolded while Beck bent in and kissed my forehead.

  I was too tired to pursue it this time—too spent. Hunger fatigued me, but satiety was an even stronger lure toward sleep. It was early, but I could have dozed on this rug with the city view beside me and Beck above.

  He looked peaceful too as he withdrew, and I sighed. Reaching for our discarded clothes, he grabbed his shirt from the top of the stack and used it to clean me like he had before. I almost stopped him, loathing the idea of his pricey button-down being smeared with cum and sweat, but his doting expression as he moved the cloth over me left me speechless.

  If we’d been at the club, and this had happened in the back of the limo, I’d already be halfway out the door. I would be sent scurrying to the nearest bathroom to clean the cum out of my ass.

  But this wasn’t the club or the limo, so there was no rush as Beck finished his wipe down then flung the shirt aside. He bent over me again, holding my jaw and turning my head so he could kiss my cheek.

  My eyes closed, and I told myself not to push for more. Maybe tomorrow I would ask why he withheld the one thing that had become so important to me.

  Beck stood, then offered his hand. I took it and let him lift me upright. Once I was on my feet, I leaned in to press my nude body against his, sighing at the delicious contrast of his heat and the chill of the room. The massive window captured our reflection, and even in silhouette, I could see how perfectly we fit together. His broad shoulders closed around mine, and the few inches of height between us made his shoulder an ideal pillow for my weary head.

  “What was it I said before?” he murmured, his voice husky. “One appetite at a time? Well, I’ve worked up an appetite for some real food. How about you pick something from the room service menu?”

  Something about the words “room service” felt indulgent. Exciting. I nodded and padded over to the couch while Beck crossed to the kitchen area. He opened a drawer and pulled out a folded paper, then brought it to me with a casual kind of care, like this was something we always did, like we were accustomed to sharing space and late-night cravings.

  I opened the menu across my thighs and scanned the list. A vegetarian option caught my eye—grilled portobello with a balsamic reduction and a side of truffle potatoes—and I pointed it out.

  Beck gave a nod of approval before returning to our heap of clothes. He crouched and retrieved his slacks, then fished his phone from one of the pockets.

  “I’ll call it in,” he said, already dialing. “We can shower while we wait.”

  “We?” I asked.

  He glanced up with amusement flickering in his eyes. “Unless you’d prefer to wash off alone.”

  Heat crept up my neck. “Oh, no… we… together sounds nice.”

  His smile was soft and certain. “I thought so.”

  He turned back to the call while I sat on the edge of the couch, wrapped in the warmth of what we’d just shared.

  After he hung up, he came around in front of me and offered his hand again. I rose without hesitation and followed him toward the bathroom with lightness in my step.

  This fantasy wouldn’t last forever, but for tonight I was here, and this was home, and that was enough.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Beck

  For such a slender thing, Zephyr ate a lot. Be it lust or strange tofu-based dishes, he was voracious. After our shower, we dined at the kitchen island, chatting while I sipped bourbon and he cozied up in a pair of my pajamas. I should have thought to buy him a change of clothes along with the shoes. I could hardly send him back to the Dollhouse in his cum-stained sweatshirt and leggings. But it was late, so that would be a problem for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. An inevitability that was swiftly becoming an object of dread.

  I didn’t want to take him back, and the realization surprised me.

  I wanted him here. In my clothes, in my bed, in my arms.

  My suite had always been quiet, almost desolate. Lavish in its decor but empty of any real warmth. Tonight, for the first time, it felt like more than a room. It had an air of domesticity now that I had someone to share it with, and that was simultaneously tremendous and terrifying.

  I tried not to dwell on it as we lay in bed. I hadn’t made good on my promise about sex on all the furniture, but that could wait till morning too. A good thing at the start of a bad day.

  Reposed on a pile of goose-down pillows, I wove my fingers through Zephyr’s hair. He draped across me, arms around my chest and head nestled in the hollow of my shoulder. He smelled like my soap and a bit like himself. The borrowed satin button-down pooled over his pale skin, too large but also just right.

  He was cute, but I knew that. Sweet, and I knew that too. He walked through the world with an enviable sense of wide-eyed wonder. He saw the best in things and people too. I liked to think I wasn’t exempt from that. In fact, I was sure I wasn’t because otherwise, he wouldn’t have gazed up at me the way he did now.

  His innocence seemed at odds with everything else about him. How could a creature designed for carnal pleasure be so pure? I’d told Colette that I feared it was an act. A scheme to entice or entrap me. But he didn’t waver, and Colette spoke the truth when she said real affection, the kind that was written all over Zephyr’s sleepy face, was a hard thing to fake.

  I smoothed his crimson locks, then curled a strand around my finger before letting it slip free. As much as his affection, I saw his satisfaction. His cheeks were tinted barely peach, and the shadows that often hung under his eyes had faded. He was more breathtaking than I’d thought possible, and the disparity between this and his hunger stirred a confusion I couldn’t shake.

  “Why doesn’t it last?” I asked, bringing an end to a lengthy silence. “I’m no expert on incubus… anatomy, but shouldn’t sex sustain you for more than a day at a time?”

  Zephyr shifted away. “I think it would,” he murmured. “But it’s not sustaining just me…”

  “What does that mean?”

  His fingers tightened in the fabric of my shirt. “Mazzy. He… he takes from us.”

  My spine straightened. “Who’s us?”

  “The other guys.”

  “The dancers?”

  Zephyr nodded, small and tired. “He takes our… essence? So we’re always empty, and he’s always full.”

  A knot formed in my gut. Carefully, I slid out from beneath him to turn and sit on the edge of the bed. “He’s feeding off you.” My eyes narrowed as I gazed out into the darkness of my suite. “But there’s…” I paused, tallying in my mind.

  Zephyr, Luxe, Marvel, Hemlock, Smolder, and Spite made…

  “Six?” I asked but didn’t wait for him to confirm. “No wraith could possibly need that much energy. What’s he doing with all of it?”

  I turned to face him with my brows drawn together in consternation. He was sitting too, and clutching the sheet to his chest. He gave a helpless shrug as my thoughts raced.

  “How often does he take from you?” I asked.

  “In the morning,” he replied. “Every day.”

  My jaw clenched. Anger prodded at me until I stood and began to pace, fingers curling into loose fists at my sides. “So you’re starving. And living in that prison like…”

  Cattle. Livestock. Maslow said it himself. He was keeping them for food. Like sheep tended till slaughter, but this was a much slower death. Agonizing.

  “He can’t do that.” I whirled toward the bed where Zephyr huddled against the headboard, wide-eyed and pale.

  “What are the terms of your contract?” I demanded. “You signed one with him, didn’t you? What did it say?”

  When his lips parted, the bottom one had the slightest wobble. “I-I just wanted to get out.”

  Waving my hand through the air in a circular motion, I tried to goad him on. “And Maslow gave you that chance. He made you an offer. What was it?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice wavered. “I just signed it.’

  I’d seen this. I’d done this. To others. Countless times. With a little smooth talking and a firm handshake, I’d negotiated trust. Trust of which I took full advantage. My worldly fortune was comprised of ill-gotten gains. Blood money that first fueled my pride then damn near demolished it. I didn’t even enjoy my wealth anymore. I didn’t enjoy much of anything.

  “You didn’t even…” My head shook as I fought to contain my agitation. “You have no idea what you agreed to?”

  “I wanted out!” he blurted, tears shining now.

  “At what cost, Zephyr?” Heat flooded my voice. “He could have written anything into it! He could own you for eternity! He told you he’d get you out of Hell, and that was it? You took his word for it?”

  The crack that began in Zephyr’s voice cut deeper, and he shrunk, nested in pillows and blankets and the sleek satin PJs that dwarfed his lithe body. His chin tucked down, and he scowled into the fold of his arms.

  “You think I’m stupid,” he mumbled.

  “Yes!”

  He flinched.

  I froze.

  That final word echoed like a gunshot, and guilt was the recoil. I moved to the bed and sat beside him, exhaling slowly.

  “No,” I corrected. “I think you made a stupid decision. And I think it’s going to make my part in this harder.” I rested my hand on Zephyr’s bent knee. “But not impossible.”

  The hurt on his face eased. “What part do you have?”

  “The part where I said I would fix it.”

  “You’re still going to?” he asked softly.

  I sighed again. “I intend to try.”

  The room fell quiet once more. Crawling onto the mattress, I settled beside Zephyr and pulled him into my embrace. He curled against me without hesitation, his body contouring to mine.

  Minutes passed. Zephyr’s breathing slowed. I thought he might have fallen asleep.

  Then he whispered against my chest, “Thank you.”

  I tightened my arms around him.

  Trust. I’d won his.

  It might have been too easily given, another aspect of his innocence. But I was swiftly learning that was a trait I wanted to safeguard. This shitty, gritty town punished naivete and stripped away purity. If I could preserve those things in Zephyr, maybe he would share with me a touch of the wonder I’d thought lost.

  I rose the next morning with the sun. Zephyr was tucked in beside me, his hair mussed and his pulse thumping softly against my chest. I was comfortable and content in a way I hadn’t been in years. Maybe decades. Maybe more.

  I knew Zephyr took from me, feeding off my desire, but he gave back in equal measure. He answered my efforts with appreciation that bordered on obsession. I might have been obsessed too, with how his body nestled into mine. I’d never shared this bed with anyone. Not even for a night. And yet he was here.

  My rest hadn’t been entirely blissful, though.

  Dreams had taken me to unhappy places, calling up memories I’d tried to banish. Stefano Rossetti was among them. Unwelcome. Unwanted. I’d wallowed in enough self-pity about the feathered fiend who’d stranded me on Earth like a bride left at the altar. He wasted years of my life. Plagued my days. He didn’t get to disturb my nights as well. Not after so long.

  But I knew why thoughts of him had returned.

  I’d never shared this bed, but I had slept with another man before. An angel. But Stefano was different from the person next to me now, which was good. I was ready for different. I’d be damned before I invited more of the same. The disparity shoved in my face. The sting of rejection. The loneliness that I once wished would kill me.

  This was a new, hopeful thing.

  I moved my hand to the back of Zephyr’s head, not ready to rouse him but wanting to touch. As soon as I did, pain shot from my finger through my palm. It jolted up past my shoulder and into my jaw, making it clench as I hissed out a breath.

  Raising my hand for inspection proved a fruitless effort.

  The sun was out, but my room wasn’t exactly bright, and turning on a light would wake Zephyr for sure. I needed to piss anyway. Wash my face. Freshen up a bit before calling room service to bring breakfast. For how enamored Zephyr had been with the process last night, I was looking forward to spoiling him one more time before…

  My finger throbbed again.

  “Fuck.” I flapped my hand as though that would rid me of the pain.

  It hadn’t hurt this badly since the night he bit me.

  I still couldn’t see and still needed to piss, so I slithered out from under Zephyr’s limp form and padded toward the bathroom. After pulling the door closed, I flipped on the light and squinted down at the offending finger.

  The wound was mended, but something had changed. Dark, squiggly veins branched from the scars gone startlingly dark and outlined in red. It had been fine yesterday. Hell, it had been fine for weeks now.

  My frown deepened as I touched it and was beset by another sensation entirely.

  Lust.

  Wanton desire.

  My cock kicked between my legs like it had been called into action, and my body damn near wheeled itself around, ready to burst from the bathroom and throw itself at the incubus asleep in my bed. I would ravish him. Pin him down and force myself inside and take… like he did.

  This was hunger. A craving that demanded to be satisfied. A previously unknown feeling.

  It was alarming, and foreign, and I knew…

  I’d never kissed him.

  I wanted to, more and more every day. But I didn’t because incubi were predatory creatures. Cock-sucking ticks. Fish that dwelled in muddy, shitty holes, and I’d become a noodler. I’d caught the fish, and he caught me.

  Bile surged up from my gut, and I swallowed it down, leaving my throat raw and burning. It was exactly what I’d feared: I’d been bewitched and also incredibly stupid. Spit in and open wound would be just as effective as spit the mouth. Zephyr had put his poison in my bloodstream the night we met. He’d set a trap, and I had been caught in it ever since.

  I wasn’t in love with a prostitute.

  I knew better than to feed a stray and welcome it into my home.

  I would never share my bed with a man I’d known for a matter of weeks.

  I was above all of that, and I’d suspected as much all along.

  My aching hand curled into a fist, and the tremble started there. It spread to my shoulders and then down my spine. Rage—that was what this was. Not heartbreak. Certainly not regret.

  The bathroom door creaked open, and a wide pane of light poured over Zephyr’s prone form. I crossed the room toward him, each step deliberate, a threat in motion.

  He stirred seconds before I reached the bedside, perking up with his head wobbly and a smear of drool at the corner of his mouth.

  I wanted to kiss him. Or shake him until those pretty eyes filled with fear. Or scream until the walls cracked. Instead, I held up my hand and asked in a low voice, “Did you do this?”

  What I should have asked was why.

  Had Luxe foisted him off on me, thinking I was an easy mark? I’d seen the petite dancer tittering with Colette that afternoon in the Dollhouse halls, casual as anything. He was clever enough to keep half of Vegas curled around his little finger, and generous enough, apparently, to share his prey with coworkers.

  It would seem sex demons weren’t the only predators in this town.

  Zephyr sat up, brows scrunching together as he wiped the pajama sleeve across his lips. He looked at my wounded finger, then blushed, embarrassed.