He is still holding me up against the wall, and I don’t mind at all.
I suck in a deep lungful of oxygen. Then I sag. Every muscle and bone I possess has turned into wet noodles. My head drops forward and rests on Hex’s shoulder. I’m glad he is solid enough to support me.
I’m exhausted. Sated. Blissed out and fucked out. It’s wonderful. Everything feels golden and bright.
“Even more delicious than last time, thank you, My Love,” Hex rumbles, and I feel the vibrations of his words in my chest. Shivering all the way through me.
I mumble something incoherent. My eyes are drooping. I hope he is gentleman enough to carry me to bed, because I’m really not sure I can walk. In fact, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to walk again. My legs might now permanently be jelly.
“I think thrice more before dawn should suffice,” Hex says.
I blink. I slowly process. My heart starts to pick up pace. My spent cock gives a valiant twitch.
Did he really just say three more times? Three. More. Times. Has he forgotten I’m human?
What the actual fuck?
Cool lips brush over my neck. I shiver. He nuzzles. Soft. Gentle. Full of care and devotion.
A whimper escapes me. My cock twitches again. Excitement and anticipation begin to swirl in my belly.
Sod it. I might die. But what a way to go.
Chapter 12
The Short Walk of Shame
Iwakeupaloneagain.
The sheets are cold on Hex’s side of the bed. Not that it is his side of the bed. He doesn’t have a side. He’s not my boyfriend. We are being civilised about this, but he’s still not anything that gets an allocated side of the bed.
I stare at the ceiling and have a very stern word with myself. I knew this was what it was going to be. He told me, right at the start, that he needed to feed. He never professed anything romantic.
Last night he said he needed to feed until he was strong enough to go back to the Shadow Realm and take his throne back. He has never pretended otherwise. He has never lied to me about any of it.
So waking up alone is fine. It’s expected. It’s what happens when you invite a shadow creature into your bed for reasons that are entirely transactional, even if the transaction is admittedly very good for both parties.
I am an adult. I can handle this.
I sit up, and my body immediately lodges several complaints. All of them entirely Hex’s fault. All of them weirdly satisfying. I press my lips together and refuse to smile about it because smiling about it would be very embarrassing, even though there is no one here to see me, but I would know.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle towards the kitchen. My eyes feel gritty. My hair is doing something architecturally ambitious. I desperately need coffee, or I’m going to be absolutely useless to anyone, including myself.
The blinds are down in the kitchen, making the room dim and grey. I fumble for the kettle and fill it on autopilot, blinking slowly, not quite awake. I reach for the coffee jar. I grab a mug. I do all the things in the correct order because my body has done this enough times that it doesn’t require any brain involvement.
It’s only when I’m waiting for the kettle to boil that I become dimly aware of something. A slight chill in the air. That familiar press of darkness in the periphery of my vision.
Oh.
I turn around very slowly. Hex is in the corner, leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms crossed and his red eyes glowing soft as embers in the dim light. He looks infuriatingly comfortable. He looks like he has been standing there for some time. He looks like he finds my shuffling, groggy morning routine deeply entertaining.
I nearly jump clean out of my skin. My hand flies to my chest. The kettle chooses this exact moment to start its deafening boil.
“Good morning,” says Hex pleasantly.
“You’re here!” My voice comes out somewhere in the register usually reserved for startled pigeons.
“I am.” He tilts his head. “You seem surprised.”
