“No, I don’t ah… we don’t… um… no one sees it except me, usually.”
His eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “You don’t have sex?”
She shook her head.
“Ever?”
“No. We don’t.”
“We? Meaning fairies? You havegotto be kidding me! Little sprites of nature, ruled by Pan, God of Debauchery?”
She folded her arms. “Not until we’re ready to procreate.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth. What would you know, anyway?”
“Sassy. I will spank you for that.”
She jumped back out of his reach, and he laughed at her sprightliness.
“Apologize and I might let it slide.”
“Forgive me, Master.” She lifted the sides of her skirt and curtsying.
Damn, she was cute. He laughed again. “Go in the kitchen and make us some dinner, slave.”
She scowled, but he detected the fresh smell of arousal and chuckled as she flounced away. He heard her banging around in the kitchen and hoped her cooking skills were better than her wand-craft. Or perhaps he should hope she wasn’t the type to purposely spit in his food. He turned on the television and put his flippers up on the coffee table, making a show of sitting back while she worked.
An hour later, the most delectable aroma had his mouth watering.
Faye came into the room. “Where do you keep the placemats?” She leaned into one hip again, her shapely legs jutting out from the pink skirt. Now that he looked at her, it seemed so obvious she was fey. Her huge eyes were wide spaced and an unusual periwinkle blue—almost lavender. Frecklesdotted her little button nose. Her honey-colored hair fell in long ringlets down her back. And while he never thought of himself as the virgin-type, knowing she had never been with a guy somehow made him crave being the one she gave it up to. And he didn’t buy that fairies didn’t have sex. That was the most bogus thing he’d ever heard.
“Master?” she said sardonically.
“Huh?”
“Where do you keep the placemats?” At his blank look, she went on, “You know, to set the table for dinner?”
“Oh, I uh, don’t have anything fancy like that.”
“Tablecloth?”
“Um…you could use a sheet, I guess,” he said. “I’d get it for you but…” he pointed at the flippers with a feigned helpless shrug.
She rolled her eyes. “Where should I look?”
“Where should I look, Master?” he corrected. “And don’t roll your eyes again or you’ll be treated to my wooden spoon set. In the bathroom closet.”
She half-rolled her eyes and seemed to rethink it, turning her face abruptly away from his as she marched to the bathroom to retrieve a sheet. A few minutes later, his kitchen was transformed: the table was restaurant-elegant, and the food she put on his plate nearly made him come.
“Oh my God,” he said as she set a bacon-wrapped filet with blue cheese crumbles in front of him, then scooped a large helping of mixed vegetables onto his plate. “I didn’t even know I had blue cheese.”
“You didn’t. I managed to transform some cheddar. I don’t completely suck. Only when it matters, I guess.”
He cut into the steak, cooked rare the way he liked it, the red juices flowing out onto his plate. “You don’t suck.” He shoved a huge bite into his mouth. “This is delicious,” he said with his mouth still full. “You’re an incredible cook.”
Her lips curved up as she cut a dainty bite of her own steak.
