Distracted by Other Parts

SJ

Was it too late to change the plan for tonight? To change the task? Maybe get her drunk and test out her stretchiness instead?

My mind was going to a thousand absolutely filthy places all at once, thanks to that book …

A flash of something hot and angry passed through my chest. What those Shifters were doing to the female in that book … was that what she wanted? Multiple men having their wicked way with her?

I snorted. She would not cope with one of me. Let alone three.

But there would be no finding out if she could, in fact, cope with just one increasingly sexually frustrated Prince of Hell. That was not in the plan.

As the portal set us out inside the private dining room at Stella, she stumbled slightly. I wrapped an arm around her waist, righting her. She was warm, and the thin, gossamer-like fabric of her dress hid nothing of the curves underneath from my palms.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “That was … what do you call those things, anyway?” She turned back to watch the portal shrink away to nothingness, her eyes bright and curious. Her lips, so shiny and pouty and … for badness’ sake, I wanted to do sordid things to that mouth of hers.

I stuck my hand into my pocket, turning the Soul Token over and over and over in my fingers. The gentle warmth of it both comforted and chastised me.

She’s here. She’s happy.

But you must make her miserable before the night is through. That’s the plan.

The plan was decidedly not foregoing dinner to feast at the altar between her legs. And I just knew she would taste divine there. I imagined it often enough while in my hot spring.

What was wrong with me?

I knew exactly what was wrong with me. ‘Inquisitiveness killed the imp’, as the saying went. I shouldn’t have picked up that book, curious about the words on the spine that echoed her mumblings at the markets on Friday night. Now all I could think about was the fact that this little, pink-haired female in front of me enjoyed reading books where the women were so thoroughly fucked that⁠—

“SJ?” She pulled out of my hold, facing me and cocking her head. “What’s it called?”

“A portal,” I grunted.

“Yes! I guessed it!” She skipped on the spot and did an odd little pump of her fist, her grin splitting her face. I found my own lips curling. It was impossible to be unhappy in the face of her unbridled joy.

Until I reminded myself that this was not, in fact, a standard human dinner date. And I was about to ruin whatever truce we had developed since the last task. No woman would want to date a male who deliberately made her gassy in order to harvest her misery.