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He smiles down at me with the cutest tilt to his head like when I first called him an incubus. It makes my heartrate quicken, like… like usually only being Madame Mattie causes. He peeks around me toward the windows. I peek too. It doesn’t seem like anyone caught sight of us or cares enough to be staring, but a few more people do pass by, including a hipster in a henley, harem pants, and a scarf.
“There we are,” he says. “Is this better?”
I look at him and watch his loincloth transform into a set of brand-new clothes, identical to the hipster’s but in shades of lavender, purple, and black. It suits him. Especially since he still has the gold earrings.
“Nice. Perfect, I mean! And amazing. You can conjure clothes?”
“I can conjure anything you desire, beautiful one.” His voice is still deep and rumbly but softer somehow, more intimate. More comfortable? After all, he isn’t chained anymore.
“Are you going to keep calling me that?” I ask.
“Would you prefer… master?” He eyes me again, and it’s difficult to tell his reaction other than curious. “A very different person appears before me than the one I tasted below.”
A voice that sexy should not say things like tasted, referring to me and… below. “This is still me.”
“Yes, but much more is changed than whether your lips are painted.”
“L-listen…” I finally pull my hands from his now clothed arms and dart my eyes down, but he tilts my chin up a little too reminiscent of how I tilted College Boy’s chin up with my fan.
“You needn’t stutter with me, cleric.”
“Cleric?” That’s a new one.
“A cleric of desire, aren’t you? Like Mattie and her seamstresses.”
“I am not like Mattie! This place is… it’s a museum now. It’s not a brothel anymore. I live upstairs and give tours in the tunnels explaining the history of what happened here.”
“Ah.” He releases my chin, and I immediately miss the warmth of his fingers. “So, you were playacting before?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“You made a very ravishing seamstress, master. More so, I dare say, than any of Mattie’s impersonators.”
“Impersonators?”
“Men who dress as women. Or are you one who is a woman? I have known all kinds and can easily adjust to master, mistress, or otherwise.”
No one has ever blatantly asked before if I identify as a woman or if I prefer being a woman, not even Cas. I should have more of an answer than rambling, “Uh… um, thank you? But no. He/him is fine. I mean, I don’t think I… I just… I like dressing that way. Sometimes! It’s not important right now. What is important is you. Mattie really used you to achieve her success?”
“She did. We were partners, she said. Until she locked me back where she found me.”
He was chained. The implications remind me to be wary that I am alone with a stranger with magical powers. “Um… why did she do that?”
“Because she was done with me. I could fulfill no more for her.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was not the first time.”
How many masters and ages has he known? But I have to focus on what this contract means. “Is this like Wishmaster, and every accidental desire out of my mouth, you’ll take literally?”
The reference makes his brow pinch.
“Sorry, Wishmaster is just, um… it’s a story about an evil being who grants wishes but always twists them around and has sinister intentions.”
“I understand. My only intentions are to satisfy you,” he says, close and quiet where we’re still tucked behind the wall. “That satisfies me. As does the satiating of any desires, yours, mine, carnal ones most of all.”
Right. Incubus. “So sexy things and, um, fulfilling my wishes is really all you want from this contract?”
