Under the Moon (Goddesses Rising) - By Natalie J. Damschroder Page 0,2
moon lust for nearly twelve weeks. Tomorrow would end this full-moon cycle; she’d have it completely under control, and it would get easier next month. It had to. Yeah, because it’s been a cakewalk so far. But she didn’t have to convince herself—she had to convince Sam.
“I’ve told you. What we’re doing isn’t fair. You’ve stopped dating, stopped even looking for—” She hesitated, uncertain how to phrase it.
“I don’t need to look for it.” His tone was hard with conviction, and Quinn closed her eyes, despairing.
“That’s my point,” she said. “I’m tying you up, and you deserve better.”
“That’s a matter of debate, and you don’t have to suffer because of it.”
Her laugh didn’t need to be forced. “Not having sex isn’t suffering.”
“For you it is.”
He’d closed the distance between them, and though Quinn knew she didn’t move, her body seemed to surge toward him in agreement. She breathed in the remains of the aftershave he’d used this morning and wavered. He smelled so good.
A shout came from the other side of the paneled door, jerking Quinn out of her trance and replacing it with guilt. She couldn’t give in. Sam cared too much. And so did she, but not in the way he wanted.
“We’ll talk about this later,” she said as the racket outside the door escalated.
“You bet we will.” He set his jaw and opened the door, striding out ahead of her.
Quinn followed, her heart and body aching. She immersed herself in taking drink and snack orders from the bikers crowding around four-tops and stroking cues around the two pool tables, but being busy didn’t distract her mind. When she wasn’t detouring every trip around the room to peer out the front door to see if Nick had arrived, she was fretting over Sam.
He was her best friend and more. The son of a goddess, he’d been fresh out of college when he came to her six years ago looking for a job. He’d designed his education around becoming his mother’s assistant, but she’d died soon after graduation. Sam believed she’d put too much wear and tear on her body using her power to help others. Since he couldn’t save her, he’d found Quinn.
She poured a pitcher of light beer for a group of Tuesday regulars and watched Sam help Katie deliver a full tray to a celebrating bowling team. He’d become indispensable within three months of her hiring him. He did research for the full-moon jobs on topics as wide-ranging as agriculture, medicine, geometry, and psychology. He also managed the bar and her schedule—managed her so she didn’t deplete her resources too fast or take on jobs she shouldn’t.
He caught her watching as he carried the tray back behind the bar and flashed a dimple. She couldn’t help smiling back, but then quickly bent to wipe down an empty table.
When she needed to recharge during the full moon, he volunteered. He joked that it was the best perk of the job, but they never discussed a long-term plan, assuming they’d take things as they came. Like Sam would meet someone he wanted to be with, and they’d stop.
But it hadn’t happened. Quinn realized that Sam didn’t flirt with any of the women who came through the bar, and he kept his relations with her staff professional. He never pushed her when it wasn’t full moon. There was only one reason a guy would settle for that, and she couldn’t give him what he needed.
She considered and discarded a dozen speeches as she drew ale, poured whiskey, and brushed up against Sam whenever she had to get to the register. She was acutely aware of the tightness of her nipples, the sensitivity between her legs that grew whenever their bodies were near. As the moon rose, even as weak as it was, it tugged on her like the tides. Desire surged and ebbed, but it took concentration on her lingering guilt to force the latter.
The bikers, transients who’d been well behaved and heavy tippers, waved as they left at twelve thirty. To Quinn’s relief, the place was empty of customers within fifteen minutes. For a moment, she watched the waitresses and busboy wiping down tables and flipping chairs while Sam counted cash at the old-fashioned register.
Resigned to the coming confrontation and wanting to get it over with, she said, “Why don’t you guys go home? We can handle the rest of this.” No one argued. As they filed out, chorusing their good nights, Quinn braced herself for Sam’s first