Origin

by Chloe Adler

  “What about them?” I move back to her and start kissing those full lips again, reveling in the taste of licorice hot and sweet on my tongue. I move one hand into the water and slip it under her waist, pulling her chest up and out of the water. Then I slide my mouth down to her breasts, where I bite and tease one nipple and then the other. She arches more, giving me better access, and I move both hands up her body from her waist to squeeze and play. Thumbing one nipple, I suck on the other and lift her breasts up further before squeezing them together to lick up her cleavage.

  Then I slip one hand down between her legs, where it’s slick, even under the water. I bury my face in her breasts and work her pussy, sliding a finger in and then out to rub her clit. She bucks and writhes, so I bury two fingers inside of her, angling them upward and then pulling them out to pinch her bud.

  Moving back to her mouth, I wrap one arm behind her neck and pull her up into me while rolling and plucking her bud.

  Her body bucks once and her clit swells under my fingers so I move my hand to her backside and slip just one digit into her anus. Her entire body shakes and I realize my mistake almost too late and pull it out. I rinse my hand in the water, then move it up to cup her chin.

  “Please don’t stop,” she breathes into me, her heart beating so fast I can hear it.

  “But you don’t come with your customers.”

  “I . . . please . . . just this once.”

  “No. Not today, sweetheart.”

  I bite her lip playfully, grab her under her arms and help her rise from the rapidly cooling tub. She’s wobbly on her feet and the look on her face is a cross between lust and anger, the bruises redder from the heat of the tub. I reach for a large, fluffy towel and wrap it around her, helping her out of the bath.

  Then I open the door and lead her to the bed, where I proceed to dry her entire body as excruciatingly slowly as I lathered it.

  20

  Jerome

  I’m lying on our couch, watching the sixty-inch television, when Sydney arrives home from Ichor.

  “You didn’t work at the restaurant tonight?” she asks.

  I pause the movie and sit up. “It’s two in the morning. I got home a little over an hour ago.”

  There’s a strange look in her eyes and I stand, my heart pounding hard inside my chest. The love I have for this woman wants to leap out, buy her all the red roses that exist in the world, lavish her with champagne, caviar and endless foot rubs. A love I never felt for Maggie, but I have no time to dissect it. I’d rather run to Sydney and throw my arms around her, bury my face in the crook of her neck, kiss her near perfect face . . . Healed face? “Your face, it’s so much better. What happened?”

  “What?” She walks into the kitchen and fills a large glass with water, then falls onto the couch next to me. I join her. “Oh. Yeah. I accidentally downed a drop of vampire blood, so there’s less bruising now, but otherwise . . .” She taps her flushed cheek. “The same bandages, same broken nose, same slashed cheek.”

  “You look amazing.” She really does.

  “Actually,” she licks her lips, “can you . . .”

  “Anything.”

  She takes my hand and places it between her legs, underneath her short skirt.

  Finally! I press the heel of my palm against her hot lips.

  Her head rolls back and for a moment I think I’m off to heaven, but then she stops with a tortured moan. “Jerome?” She holds my arm still. “Are you sure this is okay? I mean you’ve been acting strangely since we met and I want to make sure . . .”

  I touch her lips with my free hand. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

  Bending, I take her mouth, and she lets me. Her lips taste like licorice and everything forbidden in the world. They taste like sin and lust and a thousand ways to love. Her mouth yields to mine, opening and searching. Our tongues meet and meld. Where mine stops and hers begin I cannot tell.

  “I know what I want and that’s you. I need you, Sydney. Like coq au vin needs chicken and wine. Like the perfect baguette needs the perfect flour. Like ratatouille needs eggplant.”

  She drops her hand from my arm and breaks into a seductive grin. I press my palm into her once again, undulating and thrusting. “I need your cock,” she growls.

  “Mon douf!” I jump up and run upstairs to my bathroom, grabbing a condom from my stash in the medicine cabinet, and practically fly back downstairs.

  Sydney is sitting up on the couch where I left her, except now her breasts are pulled up and out of her tight-fitting bra top and her panties are gone.

  I yank off my pajama bottoms and my cock springs out at the ready. “No foreplay?”

  “I can’t wait. I need it, big and hard and right frigging now.” She stands.

  “Here?” I bite open the condom and slip it on.

  “No.” She walks over to me and grabs my throbbing cock, using it to lead me into the kitchen. I follow, all thoughts sucked out of my head like marrow from a bone.

  At the kitchen counter, she hikes her skirt up and turns to face away from me. Leaning over the shiny quartz, she guides my prick toward her entrance and I gasp. The woman is already ready for me, her drenched pussy practically vibrating with need. I drape myself over her and plunge my cock inside.

  She screams and presses her ass back into me.

  Hard.

  I wrap my arms around her and play with her exposed breasts and nipples while I make love to her. I want to go slow but she pulls at me until she’s set a pace between fast and frenzied. Her hand drops between her legs to rub herself but I bat it away and replace it with mine. Her head falls back onto my shoulder as I start to rub her clit.

  The woman is a dream. Her jet-black tresses fall over one of my shoulders and I grind my dick into her, trying not to come yet. I drop a kiss to her exposed neck, the light brown skin spicy under my tongue. Her body writhes and she bucks into me, overtaken with small spasms.

  She screams and howls, pushing hard into me, and her entire body convulses.

  I can’t hold back a second longer and let my come flow. Our bodies rock together and explode. I can almost see fireworks as my hot seed pumps out of me. Starbursts go off behind my eyelids as I squeeze them shut, trying to contain the pleasure from making love to this woman. The woman I love more than myself.

  “I love you, Sydney,” I cry out.

  21

  Sydney

  Jerome and I are cuddling on the couch, almost like a couple. He’s spooning me while we watch the rest of the movie. It’s weird and it’s nice. I get that he thinks he loves me and if I ever let myself feel that emotion or even accept that I am capable of it—I could love him too. But I’ve lived my life firmly telling myself that instalove is bullshit. Isn’t it? He was merely in the throes of passion when he screamed it. Luckily, I’m a professional and can count on my fingers and toes and several cocks how many times that’s happened. I shake my head to clear those thoughts because maybe for five minutes I can let myself believe . . .

  “Are you mad at me?” He brushes my hair out of my face.

  “For what?” I know for what.

  “For saying I love you.”

  I roll over to face him. “Of course not.” I kiss his nose and he smiles so wide his newly grown whiskers tickle my face.

  “I’m sorry I told you like that. I’d rather say it while looking into your eyes.” He cradles my face in his and holds eye contact. “I love you, Sydney Flores.”

  So he keeps saying. I stretch my arms above my head. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep.”

  We each go to our rooms. Jerome wanted to sleep together but I said no. Not only would that confuse him with mixed messages, I’ve never actually slept with a sex partner before, not even Connor. Okay, so I did briefly fall asleep next to Niall but that hardly counts, it was a mere postcoital nap. At the whorehouses, we often slept in one big room together but that is not the same thing either.

  I thought about slipping some money under
his door after I knew he was asleep but the truth is I can’t afford half the rent here. Jerome wants a mistress so really, what’s the harm in it? I’ve been so busy priding myself on never accepting a sugar daddy but what’s the difference between sleeping with one man for money and sleeping with a stable full? It could be argued that they’ve all been my sugar daddies. And not only would Mamá be proud that I’m choosing this route, if I do choose it, I could quit hooking altogether if I wanted to. I could stop running and settle down. Or, if I’m not ready to quit just yet, Jerome didn’t seem to have a problem with it. On the contrary, if tonight’s any indication, it turned him on.

  I peel off my clothes and take a quick shower before climbing into bed. Pulling the clean sheets up to my neck, I snuggle down under the comforter. What the hell did I do to deserve this? I’ve never lived in such decadence before. My mother truly would be proud.

  My mother.

  I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t cry for her. She was achingly beautiful and yet so foolish, never able to take her own advice, which is probably why she was so adamant about giving it. Even without proper education, she tried to protect me from her mistakes. The main one being that she fell for every man and his lies. She was a tragic, hopeless, helpless romantic who held out for love until the very end, even while she was in the hospital dying of AIDS.

  “Alejandro will come back, you’ll see. He’ll kiss me and hold me and tell me he loves me.” Those were the last words she said to me. Not “I love you, Sydney.” Not “I’m sorry.” Not “I’m scared.” Nope, until the bitter end she held out for some asshole who stiffed her a hundred bucks and left her bleeding in the gutter.

  Mamá always put men before me. Always.

  “You’re named after Sidney Poitier because I grew up crushing on that man,” she told me.

  “But why would you name me a boy’s name?” I asked.

  “Because I wanted a little boy so he’d take care of his mamá and look at me with unconditional love.”

  She must have been so utterly disappointed when I was born. She never said so, of course. And she was never abusive or mean to me. Some could argue that training me in the art of sex and letting her sell my virginity to the highest bidder when I was fourteen was abusive, but I don’t agree. She taught me a valuable skill, the only one she knew. And I will always honor her for that. Mi madre.

  Midmorning I get up and leave the house before Jerome wakes. The day is pleasant and the spring-blooming jasmine fills the air with its sweet candy fragrance.

  The walk along Discovery Highway is pleasant enough and I stop in a local coffee shop to grab two cups. Aroma Coffee is a tourist spot but now that we pretty much live in tourist central, there aren’t a lot of choices. I hug the ocean as long as I can, watching the surfers ride the waves, and then turn at the appropriate street corner to slowly ascend the hill. When I reach my destination, I balance one cup on my knee while I ring the bell.

  Maggie opens the front door with reddened eyes, takes one look at me and starts to close it. I hold the coffee cup out. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, takes the coffee and holds the door open, blinking hard. Even faced with a potential enemy, the woman maintains her grace. I enter, put my own cup down on her kitchen table and sit on the edge of a chair.

  “Why are you here, Sydney?” Her voice is shaky and clipped but not harsh.

  “We need to talk.”

  She sniffs. “Why?”

  “You know why, Maggie. There’s something not quite right about what’s going on and I think you may have an idea what it is.”

  Still standing, she crosses her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes at me. “All I know is that you screwed my boyfriend and now you’re living together.”

  I push my cup away, sliding it across the blond wood of the table. “How long have you known Jerome?”

  She huffs. “Apparently not long enough.”

  “You two were together for three years, right?”

  “So?” She juts out a hip and taps a finger against her arm.

  “So the way he’s been acting, especially the night he spent with me at the brothel, is out of character for him, is it not?” I tilt forward in my seat, willing her to see past her anger and think.

  “I don’t know, do I? I wasn’t there.”

  “Well . . .” I pull the cup back toward me and take a sip through the plastic top. Maggie does the same and then sighs and drops into the chair across from me.

  “Why are you really here, Sydney? To assuage your guilt?”

  “You’re a witch, right? Like your mother?”

  “Yass.” She snorts.

  “And you have a crystal ball?”

  Maggie freezes, eyes widening as she finally catches my drift. Then she puts down her coffee and stands. She disappears into the back room and returns with a ball and a stand. She places both on the center of the table. Then she freezes again. Time for another nudge.

  “Can you look and see what your mother was doing before Jerome showed up at Ichor?”

  She blinks at me, then sighs. “If I do this, you’ll shut the heck up and get out of my house?”

  I nod.

  She goes back into her room and returns with four candles, placing them around the table. Lighting them, she walks in a circle and recites Latin while tracing symbols in the air.

  When she sits down again, she cradles the ball in her lap with one hand and passes her other over it. “Show me Eleanor last Saturday night at . . .” She looks up at me.

  “Eight o’clock?” I shrug. I don’t know when to look back. Here’s hoping the thing has rewind and fast-forward.

  “Eight at night,” Maggie says.

  The ball clouds and then clears. I lean in. Over Maggie’s shoulder, I watch in the ball as Eleanor stands in a kitchen surrounded by herbs and candles. Maggie leans in closer too, her brows creasing. “Licorice root, calamus root and . . . devil’s shoestring? But why? Those are all used to sublimate the will, or put someone in a trance, or make them do—”

  The girl is finally getting it. Then she gasps. Inside the crystal ball, Eleanor has propped up a frame with a photograph of Jerome taped to it. She recites an incantation and burns the herbs, along with the black and red candles around the photograph.

  Maggie wails.

  22

  Sydney

  The next day the four of us meet at Maggie’s house. Jerome and I arrive first. Maggie opens the front door without making eye contact with him and ushers us into the living room, where we sit together on the couch. Maggie’s eyes brim and she blinks rapidly, looking away as she goes into the kitchen. Silently, I slide to the other side of the couch, and when Jerome starts to follow, I catch his eye and give him a small headshake. He stays where he is. Maggie returns with a tray of waters and places them on the coffee table, letting out a small sigh of relief when she sees that we’re no longer sitting together.

  Kaden and Niall ring the bell a moment later and Maggie brings them in. Kaden sits on the couch between Jerome and myself. Maggie and Niall choose the two chairs.

  “Why are we all here?” Niall asks, looking at each of us in turn.

  “Maggie has something to say and she needs to say it to all of you.” I give her a nod, softly touching the gauze still firmly affixed to my cheek.

  Maggie takes a deep breath and holds it. Her eyes close and when she opens them, her gaze is soft. “My mother cast a spell on each of you.” She looks at each of the men. “Jerome got the worst of it though.”

  “A spell?” Kaden says. “That’s not possible, I would have known.”

  Niall leans forward and takes a glass of water. “Why?”

  Jerome leans forward, past Kaden, so he can see me. “What spell?”

  “First she took control of Jerome,” I say. “She sent him to have sex with me so she could show Maggie what happened using her crystal ball.”

  “And then she cast love spells over the three of you,” Maggie says, “hoping that you’d all get in
a fight over her or something.” She juts her chin toward me.

  “Why?” asks Kaden.

  “So I wouldn’t marry Jerome.” Maggie’s brows crease and she shoots a sideways glance at her former fiancé.

  “But why make it affect us all?” Niall snorts. “And she’s not a very good witch. I’m not in love with Sydney.”

  “You’re not?” Kaden asks.

  “Fuck you,” Niall growls. “Mind your own fucking business.”

  Kaden nods. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Well, boys, it does explain the instalove.” I laugh but it falls short. No one laughs with me.

  “Are you saying that Sydney is unlovable?” asks Jerome. “Because I know what I feel, and it’s no spell.”

  “Look,” Maggie says, “I can show you all if you don’t believe me or I can just cast a nullifying spell.”

  The men look at one another and then back to me.

  “How do you feel about that?” asks Jerome, looking at me. “Because I like being in love with you.”

  Maggie winces.

  “It is nice,” says Kaden.

  “I’m not in love with anyone,” says Niall. “I’m going back to my hotel. This is ridiculous.” He stands up and places his water glass back on the coffee table. “Later, losers. I’ve got a race tomorrow. See you at the finish line.” He leaves while the rest of us remain seated.

  “Do it,” I say. “Just nullify the bitch, okay, Maggie?”

  “I agree,” says Kaden. “I don’t like anyone messing with my free will.”

  “I’ll need a photo of Niall. It’ll be easier for me if you’re all present, but a photo is the next best thing. I’m not as powerful as my mother.” Maggie gets up and starts rummaging around in the kitchen. “Everyone should move to the table,” she calls over the kitchen bar.

  The three of us take a seat at the dining room table.

  I pull out my phone. “I’ll text Niall and ask him for a photo.”