I’m perfectly OK with that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - PIE
Polishing horns is very much, almost totally—I mean, let’s just be honest here, it’s exactly like giving a handjob.
I can only chuckle internally about this because… yeah. He got me.
And he’s enjoying the hell out of his “horn massage.” He’s even groaning a little.
And reluctantly I admit, that sound he makes, it’s provocative. I can’t deny it. It’s like a rumble. Something low, and deep, and threatening. Like a growl, but quiet.
Anyway. I just polish away as he relaxes. And… I might be studying the muscles on his back just a little. They are hard and tense. He’s got so many of them. I’m not sure if this is normal, but his back is like a topography of sexiness.
Holy shit. I think that fucking cupid charm is still working or something.
The moment I think that, the evening comes rushing back at me. And the whole shitshow with Grant aside, I don’t want to think about that disastrous ‘date’ with Sheriff Russ Roth ever again. Did I climb in his lap?
Stop it. Pack that up and put it away, Pie. Just… chill. And think about the glorious monster in your hands at the moment.
Fuck. I need to find an antidote for this stupid spell. Obviously, it’s still working. Because glorious monster?
No.
A sharp pain shoots through my hands and I pull away, gasping. “What the hell was that?”
Pell sits up a little so he can look over his shoulder at me. His eyes are droopy and seductive.
See? There it is again! That stupid love spell!
“What’s the problem?” Pell’s voice is husky. Like he just woke up. Or just had sex.
“Your horns. They’re so hot now, I can’t touch them.”
He frowns and looks put out about this. Then he nods his head to the little wooden box where he got the sandalwood oil from. “In that box there’s another paste. Try that one.” Then he drops his head down and just… assumes I will do that, I guess.
I find three containers inside the box. I lift the lid off of each one and smell them. They are not rancid. In fact, one of them smells like lilacs. I like that one. But there’s another one that smells like eucalyptus and makes the tips of my fingers feel like ice, and I assume that’s the one he was referring to. So I place that one on the stone table and start working it into his horns.
And sure enough, it does make the heat bearable. And even though the palms of my hands are bright red, they don’t hurt. In fact, they begin to tingle and then I sort of start to get into what I’m doing just a little more.
His horns fall back over his shoulder blades in two twists. And my hands slide around these twists easily. The part where his horns meet the side of his head are very thick, and that girth continues until the first twist, then they taper around another twist until they come to a dull point at the end.
There are little chips in the bone or whatever. Like he hasn’t been taking care of these horns. So I pay extra attention to those parts. And they glow a little. The way they did earlier when he was sleeping on my couch.
Fire inside him.
Literally, I guess.
This is what burns. He is made of bubbling brimstone.
A creature of Hell, no doubt. I looked up the satyrs in the books. They are lecherous monsters. Well, I think maybe monster is a strong word. They are more like… frat boys.
I snort a little thinking of frat boys. Because just a few days ago, that’s who I was partying with on Halloween.
I mean, OK. No. Those boys from Mount Aloysius College weren’t frat boys in the literal sense. No Greek scene at that place.
A muffled snore draws me back to my present situation.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re falling asleep when I’m in the middle of giving you the best hornjob you’ve ever had?”
He doesn’t wake up. Even when I laugh out loud.
I guess he really does like this. And when I look over my shoulder at the book, my page is glowing. A set of words is lit up in light purple. And then, right before my eyes, the entire line disappears.
I’ve erased a debt!
I keep going, putting more effort into the hornjob. But try as I might, no other debts are erased.
A sudden flash of economics class comes to mind. This must be a real-life example of diminishing returns. He has gotten all the satisfaction he’s gonna get from my hornjob. So no matter how much longer I keep going, no more debt will be erased.
I guess it makes sense, but that means that I can’t just give him hornjobs all the time. I have to mix it up. Probably he will still get pleasure the next time I do it, but it won’t be anything like this time.