than an oversized hutch.
It’s a fridge, though, where we keep the main stash of our donated blood. There’s a similar one in the parlor, and a smaller deep-freezer down in the cellar.
I take two bags, shut the doors, and pluck two wine goblets from the exterior cabinets before making my way back to the table.
“So, I spoke to the witches today,” I tell Tinksley as I sink into my seat.
“About?”
“Primarily? Marlena’s betrayal and what’s happened because of it. I also mentioned that I needed help with a daylight spell.” Ripping open a bag, I pour its crimson contents into one of the glasses and slide it over to her, quickly repeating the process for myself.
Her pupils dilate at the sight of it, ebony veins beneath her eyes rippling in need. I’m impressed, yet again, at how quickly she reins herself in and reaches for the glass.
Even I wasn’t that restrained.
“Can they do that?”
“According to them? Yes, which is fortunate for us considering the sirens aren’t a species I have much trust for at the moment.”
Tinksley takes a generous sip, eyes falling shut in silent appreciation. The way her throat bobs as she swallows…
Jesus Christ.
My dick twitches with each swig.
“No scalpels, right?”
A chuckle bubbles deep within my gut. “None. It’s painless and fairly quick. They’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
I nod.
“Once it’s done, can you take me to go see my mother?”
“You don’t need me to go,” I remind her, swirling the blood in my glass. “You’re free to go at any time.”
An abrupt laugh rents the air. “Unlikely. You promised you’d help me, told me I could stay as long as I like, sooo now you’re rather stuck with me. Sorry, Cap.”
Oh, the seemingly innocent spirit of that retort. Operative word being seemingly.
A smirk curls my lips because of it. “You act like I don’t want you here.”
“Well, do you?”
Let’s see how she handles this. “I’d actually prefer to have you right here,” I tap the table, where my place setting would go, “but, one can’t always have their way, right?”
From light and hopefully, delightfully amused, the look in her eyes darkens.
Dramatically.
“Do I look like dinner to you?” Her voice is breathy, more sensuous than I think she was anticipating.
Sure she won’t be anticipating this, either. “More like the appetizer, main course, dessert, and midnight snack,” I croon.
A sharp inhale follows, gaze drifting to the space I pointed out. “What would you do if I actually took that spot?”
“Are you sure you’re ready for that answer? Because I promise you it won’t be anything short of crude.”
“Try me,” she dares.
I’m honestly fascinated. There’s always been a fire in Tinksley, a wild side she had to subdue more times than not. Never did I think I’d be the one to unleash it.
A sly grin tugs my lips, head shaking side to side. “You asked for it.”
“Ohhh, I’m so scared.”
“You should be.”
“Still waiting, Captain.” Such goading emphasis, meant to ignite the flame and spur me forth.
It works, I won’t lie.
“Why don’t you go ahead and come have a seat?” Tone even, I rub at the exact spot in question and scoot my seat backward. “I prefer show and tell.”
To my surprise—much, I should add—Tinksley rises from her chair and sidles around the table, lifting herself onto the edge. “Are you saying you’re an exhibitionist, Captain Hook?”
“I can be, but I’m more a voyeur.” Now especially as I intend to finally spread her legs and claim her in all the ways I’ve been fantasizing about for years.
A part of me can’t believe this is happening.
“Yeah?” She giggles. “Did you ever watch me?”
My palms run up her thighs, gaze following leisurely. “Plenty.”
“Wait, really?”
“Irrelevant right now. Lean back.”
Our eyes lock on my command. Surprise reflects back at me, sleek brow lifting in a curious arch. My lips quirk in a devious smirk. There’s a sense of hesitation there, that quintessential, innocent, Tinksley Bell shyness, but she can’t fight the fire for long.
It’s there, burning wildly already, waiting to devour us whole as we take what we want and indulge.
“You see this little dress?” I wedge my way between her legs, pushing her backward with a guiding hand. She nods as she leans back onto her elbows, watching me intently. “It’s covering far too much for me to enjoy my meal.”
Not for much longer.
Fingers slipping beneath the dark fabric, I slink it up her thighs, exposing soft, creamy skin, and a strip of black lace concealing what I know will soon sequester every ounce of self-control I