Chapter 4

As an opening salvo, I grinned down at him, wicked, teasing, letting my fangs—long and sharp even compared to other tigers—drop all the way. When we were teenagers, my big sister had nicknamed me Smilodon. Being a dumbass, I'd thought she meant I looked friendly until I'd accidentally learned what it was on a class field trip to a natural history museum.

Sisters were more monstrous than any prehistoric beast you could name.

But my unusually large canines came in handy sometimes, and watching the fairy's pretty mouth fall open in shock made my sister's howls of laughter worthwhile. My eyes glowed alpha gold, too, now that I'd stopped making an effort to prevent it.

"What are you going to do with those teeth? And don't make a Little Red Riding Hood joke," he added. "I'm not in the mood."

"Whatever I want. Also," and I dipped my head down even lower, finally, finally nuzzling under his pointy chin, with my nose behind his ear…and the scent of him, fuck, "I'm not a stupid werewolf."

"No?" He'd gone high and breathy. Mmm. Satisfying. I smiled against his neck, probably looking a lot like an actual Smilodon, if he'd been able to see it. "What are—oh—you, then?"

My lips barely brushed the soft skin below his ear, the first time our bodies had touched. And damn him, but it was more than enough for an electric heat to bloom in my mouth, travel down my spine, raise all the hair on the back of my neck. The wild impulse to bite, to savage him, rose up and nearly choked me. I forced it down, sweat beading on my hairline.

"None of your business," I said, my voice a low growl, and closed the last millimeter of distance between my lips and his tender throat.

He let out a startled sound halfway between a cry and a whimper, and when I swiped his skin with my tongue, letting him feel its rough texture, he trailed off in a moan.

The lemon-sugar taste of him nearly had my eyes rolling back in my head. If all fairies were this delicious, no wonder they kept themselves secluded away from the rougher, more predatory species. Not even magic would be enough to keep them safe from a powerful alpha with no scruples.

But I had scruples, even if my instincts didn't.

Some. Not many.

Anyway, ravaging him would only get me a pissy fairy, not his surrender. After his bullshit and his attitude, I wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less.

At last he swayed against me, and I caught him with one hand splayed against the middle of his spine and the other sliding down over the curve of his hip and ass. Scruples didn't have to include not copping a feel, after all. And he felt as lush as I'd hoped, slim but with rounded, firm muscle where it counted.

I pinned him there, not quite pressed against me, and licked and sucked at his throat, savoring every bit of his sweetness, moving to the front and nipping him right above that high collar, making stinging marks on his perfect fae skin.

He started to squirm, muttering little protests. I slid my hand up and indulged myself, collecting a fistful of that shiny fall of hair and tugging his head back.

Not painfully. Not enough to break my promise. But it threw him off balance, and his hands flew up to grab my shoulders and steady himself. His fingers dug in like claws. I wished they were. He could scratch the hell out of me if he wanted to, hiss like a wildcat. But he'd probably be horribly offended if I suggested it.

He arched, wriggled, and then gasped, eyes going wide, as I gave in to temptation and used my hand on his hip to shove us flush together.

The fairy froze, mouth open. My cock dug into his stomach, fully erect, and by that expression of shock, he could feel every gods-damned inch. I rubbed against him, slowly, using the same bump and grind of my hips that I would have on stage. And I didn't waver from staring him right in the eyes, either, letting him see and feel and really understand what I was going to do to him.

Fuck him so hard and deep I'd run the risk of breaking his ribs, for one thing. For another, make him come so many damn times he'd be sobbing out apologies for doubting me.

The long, bent-back curve of his throat showed it clearly when he swallowed hard, and I was pleased to see the blush on his cheeks had spread all the way down to his collar.

"What's your name?" I smiled, showing the fangs again. "I need something to call you by when I'm telling you how to take my cock."

His grip on my shoulders tightened almost painfully. Christ, but he was a lot stronger than he looked.

Good.

His eyes glinted with something akin to an alpha's glow, giving a window into his inner magic. He couldn't lift his chin, because I had it at a sharp angle already, but he somehow managed to give the impression of doing so anyway.

"You are not going to tell me how to take your—mmph!"

Nope, not putting up with that kind of talk. I swooped down and kissed that absurdity off of his parted lips, biting the lower one, sweeping into his mouth, a full-body shiver coursing down my back and lodging in my balls as he responded, the forked tip of his tongue flickering. I'd never been tickled while I kissed someone, never tasted a mouth even more inhuman than my own, with its flavor of hot sugar and lemony tartness and spring wildflowers.

I crushed him against me and bent him back, devouring him, and if I'd already had the foresight to strip him out of those ridiculous clothes, I'd have spread his legs and shoved inside without further ado.

Luckily for his ability to walk tomorrow, I hadn't even gotten around to that maddening button yet.

So instead, I lifted him mostly off the ground, stripper heels dragging on the carpet and kicking me in the shins, and carried him the few steps to the bed. He'd stopped trying to do anything but kiss me back, soft lips pliant but tongue wickedly teasing, and I could do that for hours, but that way lay madness, so I broke the kiss and tossed him onto the bed, his mouth forming an O of shock and his arms and long hair flying in all directions.

He landed with a thump and creak from the worn-out mattress, splayed out like a starfish. Long legs for his height, perfect for getting between in any way I could manage, and his shirt had ridden up a couple of inches, giving me a glimpse of a sliver of pale skin above the waist of his pants.

Did fairies even have navels? I'd never thought to wonder, but now I had to know.

Well, I'd wanted to get on my knees for him, hadn't I? And he wouldn't be expecting it.

So I got down on the floor—gracefully, this time, thank you and fuck you very much—and caught his knees with my hands as he reflexively tried to bring his legs together. He pushed up on his elbows and gazed down at me, all wild eyes and tangled hair and heaving chest and kiss-reddened lips.

Oh, he looked perfect like this, all mussed up. Before this I'd never understood the appeal of smearing my partner's makeup during sex, or of tearing someone's clothes. Now I got it.

"You didn't tell me your name," I said, sliding my hands up his thighs excruciatingly slowly and pushing his legs wider as I did. The front of his pants had a visible bulge, pointing right at me. Ha! He could pretend all he liked that this wasn't about anything but a bet for him. "You don't like answering questions with a straight answer, do you?"

To my surprise, he smiled at that, and it looked genuine. He really couldn't be much prettier if he tried—although it might already be all effort and no reality, and I had no way of knowing. Fairies. Dammit.

"You can't really expect me to answer that, can you?"

"You just did," I pointed out. "Your name, if you please?"

"Touché," he said. "And no. Names have power. You should know that. Don't you use a stage name? Surely your parents didn't choose The Hammer for their newborn?"

So he'd heard Scott introducing me before I went on stage, then. I grinned at him. "My—"

"—penis is the hammer, yes, thank you, I get it," he cut in, with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"No," I corrected him. "You haven't gotten it yet ."

"Oh my dear lords," he muttered, collapsing back down with another thump of the mattress.

"You're the one paying me for my hammer," I said helpfully, earning a loud huff and enough time to throw him even further off balance.

Instead of going for that tempting ridge of his cock in those tight black pants, I went the other way, moving over to his left leg and running my hands down all the way to his ankle. That delicate little joint looked ridiculously fragile in my huge hands.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Making sure your shoes don't get ruined when I have your legs over my shoulders. I promised, right?"

This time, he didn't bother trying to contradict me. Good, he was learning.

Thank the gods his shoes didn't have any tiny buckles or laces or anything fiddly, although they did have perfectly smooth bright-red leather soles. I tugged at this one, sliding it off his foot and setting it aside on the floor. I didn't actually want to suck his gleaming-tipped toes the way I'd thought about in the club, but…

I shook my head, trying to clear the haze, but yeah, I still wanted to put every part of him in my mouth. My cock hadn't slacked off in the slightest, pressing persistently against the fly of my jeans.

Fairy magic really ought to be regulated. Or abolished.

The other shoe came off just as easily, and I put it next to the first, lining them up neatly in a way I never would have bothered with at any other time. I'd promised to treat his clothes gently, and the thought of valeting him with care and then stuffing him full of my knot gave me a perverse, anticipatory thrill.

By now all the fooling around had had the desired effect. His whole body vibrated slightly with the force of his heartbeat; I could feel it in his ankle, even.

"What are you doing?" he complained.

"What's your name?" I countered.

No, I wouldn't suck on his toes, but his second ankle proved irresistible. I kissed it, pushing his pant leg up a bit to nibble my way along the back of his calf. He made a soft sound that went straight to my cock.

He didn't answer—not that I'd expected him to.

When I lifted my head and took a peek, he'd lain back and closed his eyes, long eyelashes a dark shadow on his pink cheeks, hair fanned out all around his head and his hands clenching fistfuls of the bedspread.

Did he think he could pretend to be uninterested in the proceedings? Fine, let him try.

He stayed almost perfectly still while I unbuttoned his pants, only lifting his hips slightly as I tugged them out from under his ass to peel them down and then set them on the nearby chair. The black silk boxer briefs I revealed were way more brief than boxer. They probably had less fabric in them than the G-string I'd worn on stage earlier. His cock and balls filled them out nicely, especially in proportion to his stature.

But what really took me off guard, probably because the Lucky or Knot guys all shaved, waxed, and tanned within an inch of their lives (and I did the first two myself), was the contrast between his snow-white magically perfect skin and the silky dusting of jet-black hair on his calves. I hadn't imagined that a fae would have any body hair at all, somehow.

It only made him more delicious, that contrast between his willowy delicacy and feminine grooming, and the clear masculinity hidden away beneath his odd, androgynous clothing.

But it really didn't matter either way. If he'd been bright purple and covered with scales under his pants I might've been into it, because at this point, I'd gone so far past arousal that I'd turned the corner and entered another realm. My cock had settled into a resigned holding pattern, and the world had closed down to my immediate sensory inputs: the fairy's quick shallow breaths, the hard floor beneath my knees, not padded at all by the room's cheap carpeting, the way the low-watt light bulbs cast murky shadows on the man spread out half-naked in front of me. Even the bad lighting couldn't dim his radiance, though.

His looks had to be an illusion. Right? And this stabbing, desperate sensation in my lower belly when I focused on him, the result of magic?

Well, fuck it, I'd enjoy it while it lasted. And get paid for the privilege. I'd chosen this with my eyes open, after all.

He lifted his hips to let me get his underwear down, too, and then pulled out his feet one at a time, knees bending up toward his ears.

Oh, and that was—I tossed the boxer briefs vaguely in the direction of the chair, unable to give a fuck about taking care of his clothes anymore.

He tried to put his legs back down, but my hands landed on the backs of his thighs, and I wrenched him open again, his knees framing his indignant face. Not that I was looking at his face, gorgeous as it might be. My eyes had been riveted a lot lower, where plump balls hung down and almost obscured his pretty pink hole, and his straight, slim cock stood up at a sharp angle, the head thick and juicy and a slightly darker shade of rose than his lips.

My own blood throbbed in my ears, a whooshing that eclipsed anything else. My mouth watered. I had to taste—

"No!" A sharp pain bloomed in the side of my head, and I jumped and looked up, assisted along by the fairy's punishing grip on my ear.

Everything flashed back into focus. He was panting, and I'd gotten about a breath away from swallowing his cock. The scent of him rose up around me, heady and musky and sweet, almost overwhelming. Pure sex and desire, but still with that achingly familiar, comforting overtone that had short-circuited my brain back at the club.

"No," he said again, more gently, as I blinked at him. His fingers didn't relax their grip, though, and my ear had gone numb. "Don't do that."

"You," I tried, and had to swallow. My mouth had gone so dry, and my voice came out husky. "I'm not expecting you to reciprocate."

"Don't. I mean it. It's not about that. Fuck and knot me. You shouldn't even have kissed me, but that'll wear off, I think." He shook his head. "Keep your mouth to yourself and do what I hired you to do."

That'd wear off ? He thought ? The fuck did that even mean? Even if I really wanted to know, I for sure knew he wouldn't answer me if I wasted my time asking. Fairy magic. I couldn't even. No names, no kissing, no cock sucking, no fucking him with my tongue, no guarantee that I wouldn't wake up in the morning in the body of a diseased frog. Don't worry, it'll wear off! Fuck me.

"Fine," I said, declining to argue about it. Now that I'd snapped out of it—and to be fair, he'd been the one to do it—my single-minded focus on getting him in my mouth had been a bit unsettling, hadn't it? "I'll fuck you and knot you. No more kissing." He stared at me, unmoving. "You can let go of my ear before you rip it off, if you don't mind."

At last he released my stinging ear and lay back down, something wary and cloudy in the depths of those dark eyes.

In my turn, I let go of his legs and allowed his feet to thump down to the bed.

When I stood up and started to get my clothes off, he lay still, his eyes gleaming from under half-lowered lids with his long eyelashes shadowing their expression. Being watched like this was completely different from being watched on stage, and even different from doing a private dance. Loud music set a certain type of mood, and—well, his attention simply felt different. I hadn't been self-conscious about taking my clothes off ever, really, and certainly not since I started at Lucky or Knot.

But I almost started to blush under his steady gaze, and my skin was almost as pale as his. It'd show. Hopefully he'd think I was turned on and overheated instead of embarrassed and weirdly shy.

My shirt landed on the heap on the chair with his stuff, and I crouched down to untie my boots.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

I'd have preferred to slowly strip it off myself, but I knew without asking that wouldn't be welcome.

What had changed? Something had changed between when I started taking his clothes off and now. His mood had shifted, from that odd bravado he'd had at first into this pensive silence. My intention of putting him in his place a bit didn't feel appropriate anymore—if that word could've been applied at all.

He hesitated, but then he pushed up, unbuttoned his collar, and whipped the shirt over his head, keeping a perfect angle with his torso in an impressive display of core strength that would've had any yoga teacher drooling.

It had me drooling, too, only probably not for the same reasons. Christ, I wished we were here for fun and not for a transaction. I'd put him on top and make him work for it.

He lay back, completely bare. No hair on his chest, but a silky thatch peeked out under his arms. Maybe I'd get a chance to lick him there, at least, if not between his legs. And fairies did indeed have navels. Also nipples, small and pointed and nearly as pale as the rest of his skin.

"Do you want me to get myself ready?" he said. "Or do you prefer to—oh, lords of the air," he choked, gratifyingly wide-eyed, as I shoved my jeans and that G-string I hadn't bothered to change out of down to the floor.

Of course I wanted to get him ready. Fuck him slowly with my fingers, kiss him until he writhed underneath me, all red-cheeked and needy…

Yeah, no. "You'd better do it," I said, with great regret.

He paused, this time chewing on his lip. Another tell. I probably wouldn't have time to learn them all, and that realization hit me shockingly hard.

"How do you, ah. I, ah." His voice went soft and thin and high. "Want me?"

Fucking hell. My cock gave an almost painful pulse. How did I want him? Sprawled out in front of me, long, silky limbs akimbo and glowing white against the crappy bedspread, a diamond set in nickel, his hair tumbling over his slim, muscular shoulders. And he asked me how I wanted him.

My breath came in short little bursts, too shallow and too fast.

Magic. It had to be more magic. Otherwise I was just fucked.