1
Lazare
Mabelle’s in the Bywater district always has the freshest produce, don’t let anyone tell you different. And if’n there should so happen to be the most delectable little incubus with the most succulent ass behind the counter, well, that’s just good customer service.
After a long day on the docks, loading and unloading shipments for the godawful Fontenots, it’s one of my favorite places to stop.
“Hey, darlin’. How’s ya momma?” I ask, sliding up to the counter.
“She alright,” he says, his voice as flat as a corn cake.
Huh. Gentry’s looking all kinds of pallid. “Sweet boy, what’s going on? Why you look like you done had the flu for six months?”
His smile, usually so bright, is shaky. He looks down at the register. “Just been hard with restarting again. Been burnin’ both ends and ain’t had a chance to rest, let alone…refill.”
I look around, and there’s not a soul in sight. “Bae, invite me to the back. This moon season has my wolf flustered so bad I can’t wait for All Hallows' so I can be done with this mess. I almost went and spent my paycheck on pillows for my den.”
“Den? Ain’t you rentin’ a room somewhere out Bucktown way from Miss Lillian?”
“Exactly. And I damn near cried when I saw someone walkin’ the cutest lil’ puppy this mornin’. I bet I fill you up real quick.”
His eyes brighten. “Would you? I mean, I know you like a bed and some room to spread out, but…“
“Gentry, let me back there. I’ll take good care of you.”
Biting his lower lip, he lifts the passthrough and puts the Closed for Lunch sign on the door.
Minutes later, I have my little fuck buddy up against the wall in the tiny back office, fucking up into his tight ass as he turns his face back toward mine, siphoning off my pent-up sexual energy, a blur of power exchange and need.
It doesn’t take much before we’re spent, collapsed on the floor, leaning up against the desk.
“Damn, man. Youwerepent-up,” he says, running a finger up and down my canines. “Not that I’m complaining. I was getting awful close to desperate.”
I shake my head, enjoying his sweet smell. “Gentry, why you wait so long? You can call anytime. You know I’m good for it.”
“Nah. I don’t want addicted to your good-good. You’ll be mated one of these days, and they won’t let you play with me.”
I snort. “Babe.Mated? Nah. I ain’t had a pack in an age. There ain’t nobody on the horizon for me. You’re good.”
He snuggles in, post-orgasm blissed out, the pointy end of his tail absentmindedly stroking the shell of my ear. “Mm. You say that now, but where was my knot?”
“I don’t know, babe. Don’t take it personal though. It’s been a rough couple days because of that damn moon. Besides, didn’t I just gong you into oblivion with all of my sex mojo? Shouldn’t you be good for a while?”
His smile is a lazy thing. “A week at least. But I’m serious. You be on the lookout. Sometimes the knot gets picky when a mate is about to show up, and you don’t want to be caught unawares.”
“Ooof, thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to avoid any entanglements.”
He laughs, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes brighter than when I’d first walked into the store. “Too bad for you mating doesn’t work like that. You’ll just be walkin’ along, and then—bam—clotheslined like a motherfucker.”
I shudder to think. “The worst. Nah, keep me single, Mother Mary and all the goddesses. Keep. Me. Single.”
“Amen.”
We bump fists and then scramble around to take care of fluids and clothing and hair. Zipping up his pants, Gentry looks at me funny. “Lazare, you and ‘em still sometimes help out a supe if they in trouble?”
I raise my shoulder. “If we can. Or if the price is right. Why? You need help? Those assholes still hunting you?”
We got him out of a real bad situation in St. Rose, but starting over has been harder on him than anticipated. As a stripper, he was rolling in the dough, but it put a target on his back for supe traffickers. Working for the local grocer isn’t as lucrative, but it’s a helluva lot safer.
