Chapter Five

M arina walks into the apartment I'm still getting used to as if she's always lived there. Graceful fingers brush the wall exactly where the light switch is as she sets her purse down on the arm of my cheap secondhand couch. When she catches me staring at her, she smiles, all easy charm.

"I have friends who used to live in these apartments. They're all laid out the same. You said you're a physical therapist?"

"That's right."

"Have you met Eddie Hyde, the paramedic? Or Dr. Jack Ellsworth? They both lived here at one point."

"I just started, so I don't know too many of the medical professionals yet. Small town vibes, though. It feels like I'll get to know everyone eventually." I put my gym bag by the door.

"There are definitely some strong community ties. I have a good circle of friends here." Marina nods and sashays into my kitchen. There is no other word for how she moves, like Marilyn Monroe trotting along, all booty and high-arched feet in tiny, strappy sandals, or Eartha Kitt, with hips on steroids. I don't understand why every move she makes is designed to go straight to the caveman part of my brain that demands I yank her over my shoulder and carry her off to my bed of sabertooth tiger pelts for another round of mating, but that's the image dancing in my mind.

And I bet she'd look so good in leopard print...

With an effort, I control myself.

You're the host, dummy. Ask what she wants for dinner.

"What are you in the mood for?"

Marina's long chestnut waves ripple like sunlight on a waterfall as she turns to look at me.

I know I do a slow blink. I thought that shit only happened in shampoo commercials.

"What am I in the mood for, or what do I want to eat ?" she teases. "In either case, the answer is you... but you need to refuel." With a wink she opens the cupboards and oven storage drawer, taking in my meager stock of pots and pans.

"You don't really have to cook," I say quickly. "I'm an enlightened type of guy—although maybe I didn't seem that way in the pool. But I can cook, too." I hurry into the kitchen and take my meemaw's handed-down cast iron skillet from her hand.

"I eat a lot of sushi and don't often get a chance to cook in a real kitchen. My houseboat isn't quite equipped for that." She smiles and tugs open the fridge. "But I see salmon, and I see steak. I feel like making a little surf and turf."

Goddess. Angel.

Okay, so I'm only thinking with my dick and my stomach, but it happens sometimes.

"Would you like?" Marina holds up the packs of meat and leans on the counter, one hip thrust out, showing the S-like curve of her body.

"Hell, yes. I'd like very much."

HE'S DIFFERENT FROM the men I have drinks with, then feed from. Different from the party boys.

Or maybe it's because I'm different. I treat him differently. I've handled our encounter differently.

It's because he's your first solid meal in weeks. It's because you want to savor it and get a third hit. Maybe a fourth before you leave in the morning.

You probably did the same thing last year at this time.

I tell myself that... but I know I didn't.

"So. You're obviously beautiful, amazing in bed, and dinner smells fantastic. Is there some boyfriend who'll be showing up with a baseball bat anytime soon?" Kev's voice is playful, but there's a hint of genuine worry in it.

Normally, I answer any curious man with a pat, "I'm single."

Tonight, more comes out. "I'm single... I... I had a partner. Fisherman. He... There was a boating accident and—I'm single. It was a long time ago."

Kev sidles up to me. Behind me. His arms wrap around my waist. "I'm sorry."

"The world should be. He was funny and kind and sweet."

"The good ones leave too soon," he murmurs.

I swallow and grind pepper on the steak, wanting it to have a hearty crust. I reach for the salmon, putting it in a sizzling second pan, skin-side down so it crisps.

"I'll make some microwaved baked potatoes. Don't tell my mom." Kev busies himself next to me.

It reminds me of Gregor and I. He'd clean the fish. I'd mend his nets. Or his sweaters. He'd sing to me in his bellowing bass voice...

Kev hums. Something I recognize, faintly, from the fifties? Sixties? It stayed popular.

My Girl.

He's humming My Girl , and my insides suddenly sparkle like the lights on a Christmas tree.

No. No sparkles. No comparing! No sweet talk—well, not until after dinner when he eats you for dessert. "The water is boiling for the asparagus," I say needlessly. I'm the one boiling the water. I'm the one pointing the short green stalks into the steaming pan.

"This is so nice," Kev sighs, getting out two white plates with a thin green border. "A romantic dinner for two with the most beautiful girl in the world."

Stupid sparkles inside. They just won't dim.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT I expected. I guess I figured we'd eat, and then maybe there would be awkward conversation until we hit the bedroom or she decided to leave. I didn't expect us to talk until almost midnight, for her to teach me dirty words in Russian (not Siberian, that's not even a language), or for her to be so mind-blowingly smart. She speaks a dozen languages! Russian, Finnish, French, German, English, Norwegian—and some other ones I can't remember right now. Somehow, we get to talking about the local college, and Marina is an expert. We talk about science and anatomy, and Marina takes it all in.

She's good for my ego. She seems genuinely interested in learning about the nerves and muscles of the human body, as if she's going to be using all of this knowledge later.

I think I'm good for her ego, too. When it comes up that I never liked history because it wasn't exciting, Marina asks me to name any historical event I know of in the last three hundred years, and I randomly pick a couple.

"The secret to good history is to tell it like you were there. Or like it's a story, not a couple of dusty figures and a sea of pointless dates."

And then I listen, absolutely mesmerized, while she tells me about how Napoleon was in love with his Josephine, but he broke it up to be with a younger bride who could give him a son, and of his fortunes and losses, and his exile on Elba.

I remember that old fairytale about Scheherazade, and how she kept herself alive for 1,001 nights with her amazing storytelling.

Marina would give her a run for her money.

"That's whack. He loved her." I'm rinsing out the glasses and still shaking my head over Napoleon's jerk move to Josephine. (Did you know he wasn't that short, either?)

A pair of soft lily-white arms wrap around my waist. Hands begin to massage my chest, thumbs brushing firmly over my nipples and sending an unexpected vibration of pleasure right to my cock. "He was an emperor. He needed an heir."

"Adoption?"

"Not acceptable. Bloodline, only."

Marina can't have kids. She said so. I want kids. I want a couple of them.

So, stupidly, my brain is already picturing holding Marina's hand as we fill out adoption paperwork or interview surrogates. Maybe there are new medical treatments. Maybe...

Maybe I'm an idiot.

"We should go to bed. It's late." Marina firmly closes the dishwasher after I put the last dish inside.

"I hope you know that I don't only pick up girls so we can hit the bedroom. I'm... I hope this isn't a one-time thing."

Marina smiles up at me, but there's something shuttered over in her eyes. "I think it can be a regular occurrence," she purrs, and pulls me down the hall.

MY STOMACH MUSCLES clench as Kev settles his head between my thighs, kneeling at the side of the bed. His forearm wraps around one leg while the other hand stays free so he can spread me apart like a botanist examining a flower.

His tongue is just a normal human tongue, not too long, not too broad, but by God, he knows how to use it.

"Mm. Saltwater and sweet. I love it." He praises my flavor while his eyes meet mine.

My pleasure is not strictly important to survival. I need men to come, I need their sexual energy. It would make sense to fake a swift climax and get Kevin back inside of me so I could build up a reserve, so to speak.

But I can't rush him. I don't need to fake what I feel, either.

His scientific mind might be my downfall, though. As he licks and sucks his way across me, his fingers explore inside. "What is that... Perfect circle," I can hear him murmur reverently as he finds the greedy sucker just inside the entrance of my pussy.

"Umm." My moan has a questioning note as I wonder if he's going to ask about it.

And my stupid body betrays me, sucking his fingertip inside. I moan loudly, unable to help it as a bolt of pleasure shoots through me, his mouth pursed around my clit and his finger pressing into it from below.

"Is that your g-spot? All spongy and sucking me into you?" he demands, awe in his voice.

I could lie. I could leave. Instead, I mewl, "Mmhmm. Don't stop."

"I never felt one, like, so pronounced." Kev's finger fights against the suction and wins, breaking my grip, only for him to purposefully start using two fingertips to thrust in and out of that secret spot.

My mind explodes in little pinpoints of pleasure. On occasion, someone has found this lucky little spot, and it's exquisite. But no one has ever deliberately fucked me there, exploited the juicy fountain of pleasure that turns me into a babbling puddle. Men don't know of that spot. I've never revealed it to them. Too risky. If they knew I was different inside, they'd be afraid to have sex with me, afraid of the freak, of the monster—and in most cases, they certainly ought to be.

"You've got like a little pocket. Soft, sweet little suction cup."

"It's... It's part of why I can't have children. I'm not formed like other women," I blurt.

It's true. I was formed by Koshchei, born of his essence. He made me. Only he can plant seeds in this garden.

"Well, dang, baby, that's okay. Everyone's got something unique. We call it bio-individuality." Kev lifts his head and studies me as his fingers deliberately press in and up—then start to circle hard and fast.

I almost sob in ecstasy. "Ohh! Oh, fuck, please... Please don't stop."

"Is this gonna make you come, baby?"

I bite my lip and nod, eyes falling closed. I love how he calls me that.

Baby. Precious. Something little and sweet that you keep safe.

I could tear out his throat, but he doesn't know that. Kev sees something naked and fragile pinned to his sheets by one muscular arm and his roving hand.

Centuries have taught me that there are many men who would view that as an invitation for the greatest evil possible.

They taste foul, but they were worth killing—back before I decided to stop feeding Koshchei.

It's one reason I half-starve sometimes. I have to choose meals that will leave us both satisfied and without risk.

"So good." I'm talking about him—and about what he's doing to me.

"It's okay. You can let go. Let go, sweetie, I want to see you come."

"I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me so hard," I demand, reaching for his wrist.

There's a hint of a laugh in his ragged voice. "Thank God—but ladies first."

Oh, hell.

With a long, wailing cry, I let go. I feel my juices flooding across his hand, down his wrist. I'm ruining his sheets and probably making him more convinced than ever that something beyond "bio-individuality" is going on here.

I don't care right now.

And to my shock—neither does he.

Kev stands up and yanks me to the edge of the bed. He rubs his cock in all the lubricant I've just made, moaning as he splashes against me, then enters me with a slick gush.

"I never... I mean... I thought squirting was only in porn," Kev whispers, voice a bashful whisper before it breaks into a satisfied groan as my pussy massages him, greedily grabbing and sucking him in.

"It isn't—but that wasn't even my proper ‘squirting,'" I laugh between moans of my own.

"No?"

"That's just how wet I get when a man is good at his job."

"For you, I will be employee of the year, baby."

And we giggle together. And we fuck until we're breathless. When he comes in me, then stays on top of me, kissing me slowly, letting my grasping muscles with their millions of hungry tiny suckers coax him back to life while he's still nestled deep inside.

MARINA IS GOING TO be my girlfriend unless she hates me or she's psycho. (Hell, maybe even if she's a little bit psycho.) I will do whatever it takes to get a second date, a third date, and eventually all the dates with this woman.

I've decided it based purely on three factors.

Her personality is incredible—sweet, witty, smart, playful, sexy, not stuck-up, easy-going—like, it's a checklist for what you'd want in a partner.

Her looks are breathtaking—in and out of clothes.

Sex.

Sex that's happening right now and is probably the reason why I'm not being logical about the dating thing. I know anyone can make a good first impression for a few hours, maybe even a few months.

But right now, as I'm kissing Marina on a soft cushion of cum and afterglow—her vaginal walls start to dance on me. Milking me up and down. Tiny little kisses pop along the spent surface of my cock as it stills inside of her, softening and beginning to withdraw.

But Marina's body has other ideas.

I lock eyes with her for a minute as I feel her insides stroking me, waking me up again. "Girl. There's a thing called a refractory period."

"That's fine." Her arms slide around my neck, and she pulls me back in for another kiss.

But I break it in awe, staring her down again. "Your pussy is sucking my cock. Like giving it a full-on deep throat blow job. And I'm sorry, because I know that's not like—the politest language—"

"Yet accurate," she laughs. "You're right. I'm very greedy there. I usually like my lovers to enjoy themselves a few times." Her accent lilts, skipping sweetly as her lips smile in pure sin. "Do you have any objection to fucking me again? Would you like to leave my sloppy, slippery little pussy and get some sleep—or can I keep sucking you inside of me until you're hard and ready to fuck me again?"

Back to personality. We're going to add "talks like a demon in bed," and I am here for it. I've never had a woman who talked to me like that. "You surprise me."

"I'm surprising."

Another laugh to share.

"Here. You did all the work. It's my turn." Marina nudges me over easily, so much stronger than she looks. She perches on top of me, my semi-stiff cock still buried in her as she begins to rock gently on it, squirming back and forth.

I lay back and look at her. She cups her breasts and then licks her fingers before using them to tease her nipples. I watch, mesmerized, as she tugs and rolls them. When she tugs just hard enough, her pussy clamps down on my cock and I groan with her.

"You're very comfortable with your body," I praise.

"It's the only one I have."

I roll my eyes. "A beautiful woman who cooks and makes Dad jokes? Hmm. You sure I'm not dreaming? Because you seem perfect to me."

"Ah, it's a dream, sweet one. I'm actually a terrifying nightmare creature with sharp fangs. I'll be gone when you wake."

"Hey, hey. Better not be." I rub my hands lingeringly over her hips and down her smooth, slender legs. "I don't care about your fangs, baby. I like a little bite with my beauty."

Marina gasps and stiffens—and then her squeezes turn so much more intense. My cock rages to life as she looks at me, lips trembling as she shifts and pushes me into that extra snug little pocket where it feels like a mouth is sucking on me as well as being enveloped in her tight, wet heat.

This time is hard and fast, explosive, with my hands smacking down hard on her ass to keep her in place as I pump my load into her and watch her shake on top of me.

She topples to my chest and we cling to each other, athletes at the finish line, holding each other up.

This time, our bodies naturally separate, but we keep holding each other. I want her to sleep in my arms. I want to fall asleep breathing in the fresh rainwater scent of her hair.

"Be here in the morning," I whisper.

"Okay."

As I feel sleep winning out, I hear one tiny murmur. "Kev? What's your favorite dessert?"

"Peanut butter mousse pie with a honeycomb crumble. My meemaw used to make it. Why?"

I feel her stiffen in my arms just for a few seconds, but then she relaxes. "Curious."