Beingawomaninthis lifestyle was balls.
Surreptitiously, I wiped away sweat from my forehead. There were no nice guest privileges. Nowhere I could sit and try to subtly drum up some much needed lust. After lugging all the plates and silverware to the giant hall, they put me on egg peeling duty. The first few I had butchered until Christabel slumped her shoulders in disappointment and arched her eyebrow at me. She was very expressive, even without speech. The more time I spent around her, the less chance I thought Trent had. This girl was so deep in her head, a melancholy shrouded her like a shield. While the other girls chittered around us, their cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink in their covert discussion of Pastor Young, Christabel tore eggshells off with a resigned, withdrawn expression. Her eyes were pinned to the table. What had happened to this girl? Was she morose by nature? I didn’t think so, given the way the girls in the kitchen flitted around her, looking through her, rather than at her.
One thing about me? I was ridiculously nosy.
It was part of my nature. Usually, I had to dig through mountains of shame and guilt to find the secret kinks or attractions people had. I needed to know how best to use my powers and had become a bloodhound in recognizing there was something lurking under the surface of people. Not that Christabel was lurking. Whatever had happened to her was clear as a bell through the night.
I nudged her with my elbow, gently enough to get her doe eyes to blink at me in confusion.
“Can you show me where the bathroom is?” I whispered. She nodded, flicking her eyes towards Margie. I grimaced.
“I’ve got to get permission to pee?” I shook my head in disbelief. The side of Christabel’s lip quirked up. I dropped the egg I was peeling on the pile and called out.
“Excuse me, Miss Margie? Christabel is going to show me the bathroom. I hope that’s alright?”
Margie looked up from where she was slicing bread and gave an absent-minded nod.
“Of course, dear. Don’t dawdle. There is still much to prepare.”
I curled my hand around Christabel’s elbow. She jumped. I pulled back immediately.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I should have asked.”
She didn’t reply, walking to the door and down the hall silently. I followed with a sigh. The sound of a toilet flushing made me falter, and I hovered in front of the plain door. Christabel’s face froze before she panicked, tugging on my arm and trying to get me to move.
“Can I not use this bathroom?” There wasn’t anything on it to say men only, but it was a possibility. I could totally imagine them having gendered bathrooms. Christabel’s breathing was labored, her rapid puffs sounding like whimpers. She obviously didn’t want me to use this bathroom. Strange. When she heard footsteps approaching the door, she let go of me, her hands flying to cup her cheeks. Her face drained of color, her eyes wide with terror, and she turned and ran. Her skirts flapping up in her hurry to get away.
How odd. I was perturbed until I turned around and saw who was in the doorway to the bathroom. From the hulking height and the pulse of lust that slammed into me, enough to push the breath from my lungs, I knew who it was.
Paul Wicker.
He was so dull it was laughable. Tall, with wide shoulders, a crown of flaxen hair that looked to be receding. His face was pleasant enough, if forgettable. Then he smiled. It was oily, his eyes little coals on his face.
“Hello there.” He stepped towards me with intent. “Are you lost?”
“Hi,” I replied, soaking up the lust he gave me, even though I wasn’t excited about who it was coming from. I was desperate. I would have taken anything. Still, something told me it would not do well to encourage this man. From Trent’s warnings and Christabel fleeing, this guy inspired little goodwill. “I’m just needing the bathroom.”
Paul’s smile widened, and he pressed open the door with a meaty hand.
“I’m Paul. I noticed you in church. What’s your name?” I noticed a flash of gold on his ring finger and grimaced inwardly. He was married and still bailing me up with his questions. To anyone else, they might have seemed innocent. Except that every sweep of his gaze over my body sent me another knee wobbling jolt of lust.
Gross.
“I’m Trent’s cousin, Allera,” I said, moving towards him to get past. He didn’t move, forcing my shoulder to brush against his bulk as I passed him.
“Allera,” he rolled my name around his mouth like candy. I shivered and closed the door, turning the lock. Hardcore creeper vibes. Even if Trent hadn’t warned me about him, I would have picked up on the inherent wrongness about that guy. I pitied his wife. He was out here ogling girls when she was likely somewhere in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a meal for him he probably wouldn’t even acknowledge. Finishing up, I slipped out the door. The hallway was empty, and I walked back slowly, trying to stall before going back into the kitchen. A door in the hallway swung open, and a hand wrapped around my arm, pulling me into a darkened study. I squeaked, stumbling into Paul’s bulky chest.
“Come in here.” Paul strong-armed me, his fingers flexing around my arm. I shook him off and plastered my back against the door, swallowing the curse that threatened to spill out.
“Glory gracious,” I exclaimed instead, wishing I could swear properly. “Paul? What are you doing?”
He stepped back and gave me a sheepish grin, bringing his finger to his lips and tapping it once.
“I just wanted to talk for a minute.” He sounded so innocent, but again, my lust barometer revealed he was certainly not wanting to just talk.
“I’m not allowed to be here,” I breathed, leaning into that innocent, naïve persona hoping he might take pity on me. The lust intensified. Of course, dude was a creep. He’d get off having a young, innocent girl trapped in a room with him. Obviously not the first time he’d done something like this, considering his reputation. He gestured to the chair.
“Oh, just a minute,” he pressed. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”