The Messy Maiden (8 page)

F
our weeks
later Saskia had finally worked up the courage to invite Ian over to her place. In that time they’d gone out for lunches and dinners, all of them early in the week and often ending up at his place. She’d finally finished repainting her bedroom. The one she used for filming was still cream. It was nice to be able to separate her space from a work space. Although today her worlds were going to collide.

She placed the lemon meringue pie on the spare bed to warm up a little while she got ready. Her stomach was tight as she got changed, slipped on a bikini and a robe, then did her make up. Last of all she put on the wig.

They’d talked about this a lot, and while he hadn’t mentioned food and sex in the same sentence unless she was talking about the job she knew he was thinking about it…and so was she. This was part of her life and it wasn’t right that he was on the other side of the screen for it.

While she wasn’t ready to play with someone, she was ready to let Ian have a private date with the Messy Maiden.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

This was crazy. She had no idea how he’d react. After explaining that she wasn’t the Messy Maiden, and that it was an act, she was now becoming her. Were they really that different though? Maybe she was braver and funnier online than she was in reality?

All she knew was that she couldn’t keep this part of her life separate if she was going to keep seeing him. That would be too weird. And she didn’t want him only seeing this through her website.

The front doorbell rang. He was here already. For a moment she wanted to tear off the wig and pretend that she’d bought the dessert for dinner not for the bedroom. The bell rang again. Too late now.

This was supposed to be a surprise. She hoped that he liked it and wasn’t freaked out. Maybe he liked the separation?

She took a deep breath and walked through the house. It took another deep breath before she could open the door. There was no hiding looking like this, he’d know instantly, so she swung the door open.

His eyes widened.

“Ta da!” She tried to act like she was one hundred percent cool with this idea.

“Wow.” His gaze travelled over her, from the top of the wig to her carefully painted red toenails, then back to her face. He was smiling while still managing to look uncertain. “Why?”

“Oh, just get inside.” He followed her in and she locked the door.

“I thought I was just coming around for dinner I wasn’t expecting you like this.”

She wilted. “I can get changed…” She’d kind of been hoping for a better reaction.

“No. No need to do that. I just thought you were keeping it all very separate.” And while there was a small frown, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

“I know I said that at the start, but I don’t want to shut you out of what I do…and besides. I’m a little curious.”

“About?” His frown deepened.

“About the attraction.” Her face was getting hot. Did she have to explain everything? “I bought a lemon meringue pie and the spare bedroom is set up for filming. If you’d like to get a behind the scenes special.” She held her breath and tried to gauge his reaction. That she could deal with, maybe another time it could just be them but one step at a time. For her getting messy was work not pleasure.

“Watch you film?”

She nodded. “Yeah…but afterward…well, that’s entirely up to you…” She gave a little shrug as if she wasn’t bothered. She was really bothered. This wasn’t going quite how she’d thought it would.

Was it a mistake to mix her business with his pleasure?

He picked her up and kissed her, and he was obviously very happy with the idea of watching. His erection pressed against her and his hands slid to cup her butt and give it a squeeze.

That he was thrilled took away all Saskia’s doubts. And while making a video had never excited her before, this time she was already looking forward to turning the camera off.

“Just watching, and you have to be very quiet,” she murmured against his lips.

“You won’t even know I’m there.” His eyes were bright.

Which was a lie because she’d be super aware he was there. However she already knew he liked what she did—he’d already seen all her videos. It wasn’t like he was going to watch and then freak out. The only difference this time would be that he was in the room.

She took his hand and led him to the spare bedroom.

He glanced around and grinned. “This isn’t your bedroom.”

He knew that she’d been painting. Had he really thought that she filmed in her bedroom? “Nope. I keep my lives separate.”

“But you’re letting me in,” he said softly.

“I am.”

He put his hands on her waist and looked at her. “You are amazing.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips, but she felt the heat and hunger that he was restraining.

“Thank you.” That was why she was inviting him to this part of her life. She wanted him to be part of it. She didn’t want to hide and she didn’t want him to feel as though he needed to walk some delicate line between what he wanted and what he expected to be allowed.

She undid the robe and draped it over the back of the chair. “Sit and shhh.”

He sat, his hands loose on his thighs. She spent a moment fiddling with the camera and getting it set up then she moved to the bed. She glanced at him. He’d better not screw this up.

He put a finger to his lips and smiled.

She’d always liked his lips, and it was very easy to imagine him enjoying dessert off her skin. Her nipples peaked and pressed against the hot pink bikini top. He’d said he never played alone, she did and it had never been any fun, with him here it had suddenly taken on a
very
different angle. And she hadn’t even done anything yet.

The sooner she started the sooner she’d be done.

“Hi! Who likes pie?” She pressed her palm into the top of the meringue and listened to it crack. She was so tempted to look at Ian, but she couldn’t. She had to look at the camera, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of the man in the room watching as she scrunched up the meringue and smeared it on herself.

She squished up the lemon filling and let is ooze between her fingers before tasting it and letting some fall onto her cleavage. As she played with the food, she became aware of the lust knotting her belly. And she was hoping Ian had condoms in his pocket because she was ready. Making a video had never turned her on before.

She finished off by breaking off some pie crust and nibbling it very daintily as though she was a proper lady. “See you next time.”

Then she moved over to turn off the camera and the laptop.

Ian hadn’t moved, or made a sound, yet there was a substantial bulge in the front of his jeans. She beckoned him over. “Want to play?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He stood up and stripped off his clothes in record time. He tossed a foil packet onto the bed and joined her.

He kissed her lips then moved down her throat. His hands cupped her breasts as he smeared the mess further. He laved her nipple through the fabric and she squeaked as he drew the peak into his mouth and sucked. As good as it felt, she wanted more.

“I don’t need any foreplay.”

“Really?” His fingers circled and teased the peak. “I thought this was just a job.”

“It is when you aren’t watching.” She wanted to touch him and run her hands over him but she was covered in sticky lemon and meringue. Ah, to hell with it. She cupped his jaw and kissed him, her other hand spreading mess all down his chest. That was infinitely more fun that smearing it on herself. Then she licked it off him.

He unhooked her bikini and then tugged off the bottoms. The food really did get everywhere. There were flakes of meringue caught in her pubic hair, yet she wasn’t grossed out or embarrassed—she couldn’t be—not with the look Ian had in his eyes.

With a growl, Ian wiped his hands on the bed sheets, then grabbed the condom. She watched he rolled it on, dessert clinging to his skin.

“Lie down,” she said.

He did and she moved closer and gave his stomach a lick even though there wasn’t much on him. She wanted to taste his skin. The cycling had given him strong legs, he was fit and not afraid to get a little dirty.

She smiled as she straddled him. He ran his hands up her thighs, then through the food on her belly and breasts.

He licked his thumb and then drew her closer. She kissed him and moved so she could feel the length of him against her slick folds. She needed to feel him in her. She didn’t need to keep her lives separate anymore.

He tilted his hips and she sank on to him. They both groaned. She’d enjoyed him watching more than she’d thought. As she moved he watched her. Only this time she knew he was seeing her, not the person she was online.

Her breathing quickened and his hands gripped her hips. She came with a shudder and he was right there with her.

He ran his finger through a little of the lemon and then licked it off. “Dessert…definitely my favorite part of any meal.”

“You’re going to help me clean up right?”

“Oh yeah.” He licked her breast. “I’m really good at cleaning up.”

“Is that right? I might have to let you watch again.” She rolled her hips just a little not ready for him slide free from her body.

“I’d like that.”

“I’d like it too…and maybe we can do something without the camera on.”

Ian laughed, the sound rich, masculine and thrilling. Yes, it was definitely more fun being the Messy Maiden with Ian.

D
ear Reader
,

Thank you for reading The Messy Maiden. I hope you enjoyed Ian and Saskia’s story. If you are looking for more contemporary romance check Face the Music series:
https://www.goodreads.com/series/149920

I also write paranormal and sci-fi romance. An excerpt from The Darkling Lord follows along with a list of all my other books.

Reviews are the online word of mouth and I appreciate all reviews readers take the time to leave. You can email me your feedback at
[email protected]

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T
hank you
!

Shona

T
he bar was an absolute shithole
. A hole that charged a lot for the dregs it served. Henry sipped his drink. It had come out of a labeled bottle but it left the razor edge of home brew at the back of his throat. Real whisky was expensive these days, and wouldn’t have lasted an hour in a place like this. Anything of any value got stolen.

Henry’s gaze slid over the people in the bar, not lingering too long on anyone. He didn’t want to get knifed on his birthday. Most people kept to themselves, their eyes averted from anyone they didn’t know…unless they were working up the steel for a fight. That might have been him once, tempting fate and seeing how invincible he was. Or more correctly, how immortal. He sure as hell wasn’t mortal like these unsuspecting folks.

He drained his glass and signaled for another one. Last one. He couldn’t do what he needed to do sober…and he couldn’t be too drunk either. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sober on his birthday. Fifty years ago? Maybe longer. And he was always sick on his birthday, as if his body was fragile like a silk cocoon. His skin was cold and his muscles weak from soul fever. By the following morning he’d have chills and shakes, and by dusk he’d be dead.

Unless he took a fresh soul.

Which was why he was at the bad end of town. Though bad end may not be the right description. Most of Detroit had gone to the dogs. What wasn’t owned by gangs was run by the cops who were just as crooked. No one seemed to be interested in trying to revive the city—they just wanted to carve off whatever muscle and fat was left and leave it to die. Admittedly that was why he’d first come here. To see what he could take. To make money off the dying city and leave.

Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d lived through the plagues that had killed close to half a billion people. He knew that the epidemics were a side product of a battle for the throne of Annwyn. No human could understand that. Not the corrupt officials who were driving more people away and not the gangs who were killing anyone who looked at them wrong. The people that still lived and worked here in the city just kept their heads down and paid whatever bribes they needed to while thinking of ways to get out.

He’d expected better from humanity.

He was beginning to expect better from himself. That wasn’t a comforting thought.

A hooker with a sore on her lip and a faded bruise on her cheek smiled at him. He hadn’t had so much to drink that he’d even be tempted. She was too skinny and ill. He could take her soul and end her misery. For a moment he considered changing his plans.

From the corner of his eye he saw his mark leaving the bar. Murder, extortion, rape. The guy was a real charmer.

He pushed thoughts of the hooker out of his mind. She’d be dead in a couple of months. His mark would be a pain in everyone’s asses for years. If he was taking a soul, he would take one from someone who deserved to die. He liked to think of it as a community service.

He downed his fresh glass of whisky in one burning swallow then stood, taking a moment to straighten his jacket and make sure he wasn’t going to be followed by someone who thought he looked like an easy kill. He wasn’t. And he’d made sure to dress down, so as not to attract attention, for the illustrious occasion of his one hundred and thirty-second birthday.

Years ago, when the idea of killing and absorbing the suddenly stranded soul into his body had still been abhorrent to him, he’d only taken the best. Nice souls, smart, witty and honorable. He didn’t want something grubby inside him for a year. That had changed during World War II; he’d lost track of the days and had gotten very close to dying. It had been a choice between his death or the man in prison with him.

He’d thought he was ready to die. What he was wasn’t natural. In death, he’d be at peace. But damn, the will to live was strong. He’d lived and the other man hadn’t. And in the process he’d discovered that the quality of the person made no difference to the way the soul felt inside him.

Henry followed the drunk man into the street as a breeze chased litter down the road. Many of the cars here hadn’t run for months. Gas was too expensive. Most no longer had tires, or seats. They’d been stripped and the parts sold off. He doubted that anyone in Annwyn had spared a thought for the havoc their war would have on the humans. While civilization as he knew it hadn’t ground to a complete halt, it had certainly been gravely wounded. Some countries had taken advantage of the unique situation to invade or otherwise pick at the scab. Despite the turmoil, someone was always jostling for power. In some ways fairies and humans were no different.

The man walked a little faster as if he sensed the danger on the street, but Henry was the only predator out so early. He quickened his steps, moonlight guiding his way, knowing that he couldn’t afford to let the man slip away.

His footsteps were silent as he caught up with the man and then slammed him against the rough wall of an abandoned shop. No one would miss this guy. One less thug on the streets. The man struggled and tried to pull a weapon. Henry knew he wouldn’t have the strength for a long fight. He never did on his birthday. The soul he’d used for a year was dying, a transplant that his body was finally rejecting. A graft of life that refused to take in his hollow flesh.

Henry kneed the man in the balls and pressed his forearm across the man’s throat. Before his mark had a chance to renew his struggles, Henry kissed him. He tasted of beer and unbrushed teeth. Henry almost gagged and pulled away, but then the soul was flowing into him in a hot rush of life. The man stopped moving as the last of his soul left for the vacuum that was Henry. He released the man and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. That wasn’t enough to get rid of the taste, so he spat on the broken sidewalk. He should’ve had another shot of whisky before doing leaving the bar.

The man slumped to the ground with no obvious cause of death. A human without a soul was just an empty, fleshy shell.

Fairies had no souls; he knew that because one had taken the time to tell him what an abomination he was. He was neither human nor fairy. His father had been a banished fairy, a Grey cut off from Annwyn, his mother a human he didn’t remember. He’d been told she died on his first birthday.

She must have kissed him as she nursed him. Had she wondered what was wrong with her baby that day? He closed his eyes. He hated his birthday.

The new soul squirmed inside him as if trying to settle into its new home.

It was easier when he was injured and acting on instinct. While the soul he had gave him life, he didn’t heal like a mortal. Any major injury needed a fresh soul to fix the damage. He was more careful these days than he had once been. He had too many scars. Had survived too many close calls.

He flexed his fingers, already feeling better, stronger…more alive. It would be nice to be able to kiss someone without killing them. With a kiss any soul came to him came to him, as if trying to fill a void that could never be filled, and they never lasted beyond his birthday. He’d tried that a couple of times. Had stocked up on souls, so to speak, only to be taken ill the same as usual as all the souls had withered and turned to ash, unable to retain the spark that gave humans their life and mortality in his barren body.

He walked back into the bar and ordered three more glasses of whisky which he intended to drink faster than was wise. One to wash the taste out of his mouth. One to celebrate having a new soul. And one to forget the price.

When you were even part fairy, nothing came for free.