While I studied the fountain spewing black water on the Grecian’s front lot, Colette flashed another cheeky smile.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Irritation edged my words. I thought we were done talking about the damn incubus.
Colette clucked her tongue. “You didn’t ask?”
“Hisstage nameis Cherry,” I replied. “They don’t use their real names. It’s a… privacy thing.”
“You mean like you smashing yourprivatesinto his?” Again with the finger dicks colliding like bumper cars.
She giggled her way through it, going so far as to pucker her lips and make a noisy smooching sound before Imuttered, “I’m starting to think you don’t know much about sex.”
“Certainly not as much as an incubus. He must be an expert.”
I barked a laugh. “No, no, I wouldn’t say that. Not an expert. He was… adequate.”
And reluctant. Shifting away from me like a shrinking violet until I started pegging his prostate.
Colette hummed an amused sound. “Sing his praises, why don’t you?”
“He’s pretty,” I admitted.
“You saidbeautiful.”
My expression soured. Ihadsaid that, but it didn’t bear repeating.
“Okay, pretty,” Colette allowed. “But bad in bed.”
“Not bad…”
“Not great?”
“He bit me,” I reminded her, waving my bandaged hand and hoping that would be the end of it.
Colette only smiled. “And before that?”
I heaved a breath, defeated. “Not great.”
Chuckling, Colette navigated the limo into our reserved spot in the property’s parking garage, and we parted ways. She had a room on the floor below mine, and tonight I found myself grateful for the distance.
I didn’t want to think about failed deals or my nonexistent sex life, but as I boarded the elevator climbing to the upper levels of the casino hotel, those were the only things on my mind. Not the deal or the sex so much as how Cherry had looked curled up in the corner of his ratty bed, hugging his pillow like a child holding a teddy bear.
Apologetic, I’d thought, in the wake of having sunk hisfangs into my finger. But was there more to it than that? More tohimthan bumbling come-ons and adequate sex?
I shook my head, ridding myself of such thoughts before they could take root.
It was a hookup, and the incubus was a whore. One I would never see again because stepping into the Devil’s Dollhouse was a mistake I would not repeat. I refused to be sucked into that muddy, shitty hole because I knew what the noodlers didn’t: every time they caught a fish, the fish also caught them.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Zephyr
The metallic tang of Beck’s blood lingered in my mouth and soured my stomach, threatening to make an untimely comeback.
What the fuck?
