Chapter One

The Fae Fuck God of Goliaths

Larkin

Okay, here was the thing.

Here it was.

Okay.

I let out a slow breath, trying not to squirm as I stared at Gabe and Biff across the room. As in the big, beautiful Nunhallowed Pound and Bedrock Biff Clawstin of the Goliaths of Wrestling, an underground professional wrestling league for supernatural beings. Gabe and Biff were an incubus and a gargoyle respectively, and a couple.

Who had made it, like, super clear that they'd be up for me joining them in a little ménage à trois.

I was just trying to figure out how to tell them something that may be… pertinent to any sexy situation that might occur. I'd been trying to figure out how to tell them for months now. Since I started flirting with them, basically.

Okay, here it is… Here's the thing…

Okay, look.

Okay… The thing is, I'm actually…

I cringed to myself and looked away, unable to even finish the thought as my cheeks flamed. I inadvertently made eye contact with Vince—a ghoul whose wrestling persona was The Rolling Rimmer—and he shot me a sly grin with a wink. He had a mondo long tongue, and I'd, heh, kinda been flirting with him too…

And Carl—the vampire, Blood Suckapunch—who was eyeing my neck as he stood by the kitchen counters in the wrestlers' big backstage area at the club and chugged a protein drink. I may have, at some point, possibly while drunk, told him the thought of being bitten by a vampire turned me on real bad. I mean, it wasn't a lie. But the idea of it actually happening made me… really nervous.

Dullahan Dan, the headless horseman who dressed up as a cowboy to wrestle, was sitting beside me, casually tossing his head into the air like a football before he settled it on his lap to watch the TV. And then he draped a thick, muscled arm along the back of the couch. Behind me.

I gulped, my dick twitching with terrified horniness.

Look, it wasn't my fault that almost every single wrestler who worked for Goliaths of Wrestling was a total hottie. And walked around in basically nothing most of the time.

I was young. And horny. And interested in experiencing everything at least once. And horny. This place was a freaking smorgasbord of spank bank material, and I got to work here. I got to hang out with all the wrestlers backstage, watch them perform, help them get into their costumes…

Okay, maybe none of those things were actually in my job description—I was supposed to just be the owner, Holt's assistant—but what could I say? I was a hardworking, dedicated employee. I liked to go above and beyond and help out where I could by adjusting the wrestlers' tiny outfits and smearing body glitter on them and being ready with a towel when they got out of the shower after a match.

Holt was super lucky to have me, honestly. I kept this place running as smoothly as a well-lubed dick.

The only problem was… I was kind of a flirt. I couldn't help myself. It was a fae thing, I was pretty sure. We were, like, designed to be seductive or something. So the moment I'd begun working here about a year and a half ago, I'd started flirting. With everyone. A lot.

And now, a decent number of the wrestlers had made it clear that they'd be down to pound. With me, I mean. They'd be… down to fuck. Me.

Rolling Rimmer with his sexy long tongue. Blood Suckapunch with his hot little fangs. Gabe and Biff, the incubus and gargoyle who wanted to make me the filling in their hard-bodied, big-dicked sandwich. Dullahan Dan, with his severed head and ability to… do lots of interesting things with it. Heidi the faun, who went by The G.O.A.T. and had thighs thicker than my freaking torso. I wasn't sure I'd survive sex with her, to be honest.

But I wanted to attempt it. I really wanted to. Like I'd said—I wanted to experience everything. Every flavour. Every gender. Every species. Except whatever the fuck Frank and Beans were.

But the thought of following through with any of them was, if I was being completely honest, pants-shittingly terrifying.

I'd definitely made a rod for my own butt. I was pretty sure that was the saying. I'd flirted relentlessly with all these big, sexy wrestlers, and now they were all down to get naked with me, and the idea of actually doing it made me want to piss my pants.

It was becoming a huge problem. Not because any of them were pressuring me or anything—they were all decent people who'd never do something like that. No, it was becoming a huge problem because I was so unbelievably freaking horny, all the fucking time, but still couldn't work up the nerve to take the leap.

My concentration was never that great, but it had gotten so much worse recently. Luckily, my boss, Holt, was so moon-eyed and distracted by his hot new dadbod boyfriend, Taylor—a human— that he hadn't noticed. And really, if he got pissy about my slight dip in output, I'd just remind him that the only reason he'd even met Taylor a couple of weeks ago was because of me.

Okay, yeah, it was because I'd mistaken Taylor for the "sad office worker" shapeshifting stripper Holt had hired for the evening, so I'd accidentally brought a human into the top-secret wrestling club hidden under a nondescript office building. But it seemed to be working out great, so Holt literally couldn't get mad at me.

Just as Vince flopped down beside me, and I was suddenly wedged between two big, muscly, half-naked wrestlers, I felt my phone vibrate. Swallowing back a nervous squeak as Vince's shoulder brushed mine and Dan's arm shifted against the nape of my neck, I fumbled to take it out of my pocket and saw I had a text from Holt telling me he and Taylor were on their way to the office.

A confusing blend of relief and disappointment made my legs weak as I wriggled out from between Vince and Dan and stood.

"Boss man on his way," I said with a rueful chuckle and a roll of my eyes, holding up my phone. But instead of hurrying back to the office, I found myself staring down at the two wrestlers in stupefied lust.

For fuck's sake, they were just so hot . Vince was only wearing a towel, his greyish black hair damp from a shower and sticking to his bare chest. Dan was in his tiny cut-off jean shorts and a crop top. Half of me wanted to rip off my suit and fling myself across both of them, and the other half wanted to flee in terror.

Terror won. Especially when Vince gave me a flirtatious smirk.

"Better go," I mumbled, my pulse rabbiting as I turned and powerwalked to the door. My face flared with heat when Corey—a gigantic orc who went by The Tasselled Tussler, and the biggest diva to walk the earth—swept past me in the corridor, but he didn't seem to notice the anxious boner forming in my pants.

I wanted to have sex with Vince and Dan. And Heidi. And Carl. And Gabe and Biff. Seriously, I jerked off nightly to thoughts of it. And once in the bathroom at work while Holt was in a meeting.

Maybe twice.

Okay, three times. But that was still only once for every six months I'd worked here so far, so not a bad track record, in my opinion.

I turned the corner and the door to the office appeared up ahead. My stomach clenched a little when I saw that Seb, Holt's werewolf bodyguard, wasn't standing outside in his usual spot.

Which meant he was probably inside. In the room where my desk was.

My palms grew a little clammy. I always got weirdly nervous when he sat in there with me, even though he hardly ever actually spoke, just sat on the couch doing what he always did—crosswords.

Seriously, he did them all the time . Since I'd started working here. Hadn't he done them all by now? How many crosswords were there, for fuck's sake?

I brushed off the sweaty palms and the tightening in my gut. It was probably just because I was worried that when I went in, Seb would able to see what I was thinking on my face. I wasn't that good at hiding my emotions, which kinda sucked when your boss was an emotion-piggybacking supernatural being. Empyns could sense the emotions of others, and sometimes got cravings for weirdly specific ones. Or maybe that was just Holt.

Either way, pretty much every time Holt walked past my desk, he rolled his eyes and told me to stop having horny thoughts about the wrestlers and get back to work.

Which was so hypocritical, because he'd been just as horny for all the wrestlers until Taylor the human fell into his life and swept him off his feet with his tragic sneakers, neat haircut and overall dorky personality that was admittedly sort of cute. In, like, a best-friend's-hot-dad kinda way.

I hesitated for a second when I reached the door, for some reason, shifting from foot to foot. When I finally opened it, my gaze immediately landed on the big werewolf on the couch, an ankle crossed over the opposite knee as he stared down at the crossword puzzle book resting on his thigh.

He was in his werewolf form, so his shoes were off, and the pads of his enormous paw were twitching a little. I'd noticed they did that when he was concentrating. Only because there wasn't much else to look at in here.

He glanced up, looking unsurprised or perhaps just unenthused to see me, but my belly still clenched with nerves again. If Seb could tell that I was once again wrestling—heh—with my growing need to get dicked down versus the nervous fear that always came with the thought of actually doing it, he didn't show it. But then, Seb never really showed much emotion.

That kinda made me nervous too.

Not that I ever let him know it. I kept it light and breezy as always, giving him a brief grin as I sauntered over to my desk. "Hey, Seb."

"Hi, Larkin." He was already looking back down at his crossword.

For some weird reason, I had the urge to, like… make conversation with him or something. But Seb wasn't a big talker, and I always suspected I annoyed him, because I talked a lot . Too much, some might say.

Holt had said that before, but my parents encouraged it, urging me to let it all out, speak my feelings aloud, not bottle them up.

Maybe that was why my overwhelming horniness was becoming such a problem. Like, actually bad for my soul or something, because I wasn't telling anyone about it. I mean, it wasn't like I could tell my mom, and I definitely could not share the reasons why I wasn't already merrily fucking my way through the Goliaths with my buddies. I'd dug myself too deep. Way too deep. That rod I'd made was lodged firmly up my butt.

No dicks up there. Just that fuckin' rod.

In the end, I flopped down in my desk chair without saying anything else to Seb. Despite being what my mom affectionately called a blabbermouth, I always seemed to clam up around Seb. Just because it was pointless trying to talk to him. He mostly gave one-word answers.

Weirdly, I started thinking about the evening a couple of weeks ago when Taylor had met all the wrestlers before Holt ordered Chinese food for us to have dinner in the office. While Holt had been trying to decide on the matches for the upcoming week, Seb had suggested Brian. As in B. Were, the werewolf wrestler.

I hadn't known they were buddies. I guessed he gave more than one-word answers to Brian , if they were buddies. And to Ludo, the other werewolf who worked upstairs on the door when the club was open. Seb hung out with him sometimes too, so I guessed he was capable of making conversation. Just with other werewolves. Other big, hot werewolves.

Not that I thought Seb was hot. No way. He was… Okay, objectively, yes, he was hot. Both versions of him. This one in front of me, with his lupine face and golden eyes and big paws and long, clawed fingers, and his human one, with his short brown hair and square jaw and slightly crooked nose and wide shoulders…

I realised I'd been staring at him and quickly jerked my gaze down to my phone as heat rushed to my cheeks. I was just… feeling some kind of way after briefly being the filling in a hot wrestler sandwich. A very plain sandwich, with no mayo or anything. But still. For a few seconds, I'd been squished between Dan's and Vince's half-naked bodies.

God, this was getting ridiculous. Was unbearable, overwhelming horniness an actual medical condition or something? Because if so, I had it. I had a bad, bad case of it. I couldn't focus. I was never good at sitting still, but right now I was practically squirming in my chair, staring down at my phone with unseeing eyes.

I needed to get laid so, so bad. For my health.

Fidgeting restlessly, I found myself looking up at Seb again. He hadn't moved. He was still just sitting there doing his crossword. Safe, dependable Seb, who never said anything inappropriate in the workplace, or got drunk with the wrestlers after the shows, or flirted with anyone.

I'd once overheard Dan telling Vince about a vampire he'd had sex with the night before, who'd actually, literally sucked blood out of his dick before riding him while plunging his disembodied head over their cock to fuck his throat at the same time. My dick had been rock hard with a scared boner while I'd eavesdropped on the conversation. It had sounded amazing. And terrifying.

I bet Seb just has normal, vanilla sex , I thought, still staring at him. His head is firmly attached to his body. He doesn't drink blood. He doesn't have a freakishly long tongue that's both arousing and intimidating at the same time, or thick, powerful goat legs that want to crush my skull, or terrifyingly hot incubus sex powers that would make me come until I blacked out.

All those things sounded fantastic, but… too much. Way, way too much for me right now, when I'd never…

I needed to just get it out of the way. Rack up some experience so I could start making my rounds among the wrestlers, delighting them with my sexual prowess and leaving them so satisfied that I'd become a local legend. The famed assistant who could make even the biggest and scariest of wrestlers dissolve into quivering puddles of fucked-out cum-goo. The Fae Fuck God of Goliaths.

I had to be smart about this. I couldn't just dive in balls deep and undoubtedly make a fool out of myself. I needed to go in there—whatever there ended up being: mouths, butts, coochies, I didn't care—knowing what I was doing. I needed practice first.

And I needed someone discreet and reliable to practise with.

If Seb could sense my wide-eyed gaze on him, he didn't react to it, or even glance over to see why I was staring at him. He just scratched something onto his crossword, then brought the stubby pencil up to his mouth as his toe pads twitched in concentration. Heat prickled over my skin as I watched him tap the eraser on the end of the pencil lightly against his muzzle.

Maybe if he was in his human form…

I pictured his human mouth. I wasn't sure why I could see it so clearly in my mind—I must just have had an incredible memory—but I could. It was a nice mouth, I guessed, if I had to pass judgement on it. If I were being forced to under oath or something. Not too full, but with a plump lower lip and a sharp Cupid's bow. A perfectly acceptable mouth. No razor sharp fangs. No insanely long tongue.

Kind of a… starter mouth, if you will. Safe. Regular. No intimidating features.

If I told Seb about my predicament… I didn't think he'd laugh or mock me. He wasn't like that. He was always calm, and never cruel. It was kind of comforting in a weird way. You knew what you were getting with Seb.

I'd know what I'd be getting with Seb…

My throat bobbed with a nervous swallow as I stared at him. He wrote another word in his book, the scratch of pencil on paper the only sound in the room. Something about it made me feel safe. Much calmer than I had been while surrounded by all the wrestlers in the backstage area.

Yes. That was Seb. Safe. Calm. Reliable.

And with that thought, I came to a decision that scared me almost as much as the idea of fucking any of the wrestlers.