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softenerescape · 4 years ago

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Feedee Teasing

Part 1: Greed

So this greedy whale wants some food does she?

Look at yourself! Look at all that flab! You’re disgracefully obese and you still just want to eat more and grow fatter?!! Hungry for more to fill your shamefully huge overhanging gut are you piggy? Well okay then you bloated cow if that’s what you want then maybe it’s time you were taught a lesson! You really want more food? You’ll get more food alright! Open wide piggy! Let’s just stuff you so full of fattening treats that people will stare in horror as you swell up like a big fat human shaped balloon shall we? Give you all you can eat, yes even you porky! And then more, and more, and MORE. Strapped down and forced to eat, eat, eat! A never ending flow of sinfully fattening cuisine to stuff you full to the brim, overfull, until you swear one more bite might just make your stomach explode, a 24/7 overfed sow, so much food you’ll swear you can feel yourself getting fatter by the minute as you’re wheeled from restaurant to restaurant, buffet to buffet, and made to eat and eat until all the food is gone as everyone stares aghast in morbid fascination at the size of your belly spilling out in front of you, at your huge bloated body slowly but steadily bursting the seams of your clothes as you gorge yourself on dessert after dessert until every last one is gone.

Well?! Is that enough fucking food for you greedy-guts? Poking your belly makes you burp! Nope, there’s still room in there! Off to the next place. Do you like donuts? Four dozen for starters? Doesn’t matter how ridiculously full you are, you’re going to eat them ALL. Everyone knows you’re probably too helplessly horngry to resist anyway haha! Greedy gluttons as naughty as you never can say no can they? So why not wash them all down with full cream milkshakes! Just hook you up to the drink machine and pump you up until you can’t take any more? Sound good you obscene tub of lard?! Then everyone can watch you blow up with fat until you burst from your clothes, until you’re so fat not even your shoes can fit your bloated round feet! What’s the matter piggy? Too full? But that’s never stopped you before! You’ve gotten too fat to move? Well no matter then you’re not going anywhere till you’ve eaten every last donut in the store. Aww you’re so heavy your chair has collapsed. Damn you’re a complete fucking whale aren’t you? Don’t think that means this is over! We’ll just have to haul you around on a big 1 ton trailer or something. All that obscene fat wobbling unsteadily down the road as you travel to your next awaiting feast. I know! We’ll put some mattresses on it, several cause one won’t be wide enough before long, maybe soft rubber ones so we can hose you down between feedings. Haha we can do that at a carwash, imagine the looks you’ll get! Huge soapy obscene fat rolls as thick as a man’s waist glistening in the sun!

Where next? The chocolate factory? Okay and then the ice-cream factory! Think you can eat it all? Well you’d be in no position to refuse now that you’re a massive helpless fat blob! You’re so fucking greedy it’ll probably only take you a couple of weeks. We’ll make you eat yourself so fat and round it’ll be a struggle to wiggle your arms. So much blubber! Unable to do anything except watch yourself grow and grow until you’re the fattest woman there ever was and ever will be. Swelling up fatter, and fatter, and FATTER until you’re nothing but a gigantic horny round butterball. Constantly tempted with so many naughty tasty treats. You can’t help it that they taste so good can you? You can’t help it that they make you swell up like a balloon! A big horny balloon.

Whimpers and moans muffled by huge handfuls of cake as you feel your enormous bloated body expand by the minute, plumping up, up, up, as your huge overstuffed stomach extracts calories from ungodly amounts of food, forcing them unceremoniously into your fat reserves. So huge and FAT that you’d wonder if you might actually burst whilst your titanic belly digests your next meal, oh dear! Yes indeed you overfed sow, that’s far, far too fat for your own good! But even then it’s a good bet you’d STILL be hungry, wouldn’t you porky? Look at yourself and admit it haha! Guess we’d have to launch food at you somehow from a distance, no way we’re risking getting any closer to a girl who’s clearly so greedy she’d be in danger of eating so much she could blow any second lol!

That’s what happens when you’re such a shamelessly naughty greedy glutton! Be careful of the path you’re starting down fat girl! That appetite of yours is clearly already out of control! You better put down that box of donuts before it’s too late!

Part 2: Gluttony

You waddle to the fridge. I can hear your panting and wheezing and grunting for the effort of moving your gelatinous body. You're addicted to glutting that doughy body. You're never full, even when you're not hungry. You chew and slurp and pour thousands of calories down your throat. Meanwhile, your fatty form pleads for mercy. You know what the doctor said. You're already morbidly obese -- even with all your supposed dieting -- and your cholesterol is still climbing, your sugars are all off. You're so massive that you're winding from the effort of standing on your weak knees in front of the fridge.

Do you even care? You can barely hold yourself up, and you've only been standing a couple minutes. You're far too greedy to pull your lips away from the quart of cream you're sucking down. Instead you ease yourself to the floor, heavy body still landing with a thud. That feels so much better on your pained joints, doesn't it? Now you can focus on how turned on you are. How good all that cream swelling your blubber feels. You switch arms because one starts to tire, moving on to the next quart of cream with ease. You suck down more than your greedy mouth can hold. Two trails of cream seep from your greasy mouth corners. What a thirsty piglet.

Underneath the mountain of growing lard, you squeeze your thighs together. It just feels so good, your empty hog brain can barely process it. You feel sparks shoot from between your legs and crawl up your spine. You toss the second empty and your gut gurgles. All that gas rolling around just makes you hungrier and hornier. As if you aren't always hungry and horny, right? You used to pretend that, once upon a time. Good to see you've slipped so far into the pit of hedonism that you're incapable of thinking that deeply. It doesn't matter anyway, right? Eating and cumming over and over while you bloat and grow... that's how you'd rather spend your shortened life.

You reach your stubby arms into the fridge and pull down a mess of Tupperware. Most people don't have this many leftovers in their fridge, you know? But I keep cooking and cooking for you, making more food than you can handle. For now, at least. These fridge raids keep happening more frequently... is your appetite getting that much more insatiable? You don't think about that, though. You don't think about anything. You just tip container after container into your desperate maw. You make a giant mess, but it doesn't matter to you. Under the food stains and drippings, you feel pleasure. Your gut gurgles and gas slips out of you, but you barely notice. I hear your wheezy sniffing. It sounds shockingly close to real pig grunting. You smile dumbly at the wretched smell and suck more slop down.

What's happened to you? Is the old you still hiding under all that sweaty, stretch mark littered flab? Is the old you screaming, begging this new gluttonous monster to stop? Or since resigned, submissive to your gassy, growing form? A bassy belch rolls off your tongue. You're drooling -- is it from the taste or your room temperature IQ? It doesn't matter, because you work the cap off a two liter, and greedily suck it down. You get even gassier, and your smile looks dumber and dumber. Pleasure is painted across your features. Your eyes aren't even focused, just glazed over and half lidded. Are you high, or is that all you? Not to mention the trail of slobber and food remnants coating your chin, and the bits hiding in the chins below that. You've hardly got a neck anymore. Your body just keeps blowing up, and you can't even stop yourself. The better it feels, the less you fight. And from the looks of it, it feels heavenly.

You have no appetite control, that much is obvious. Just like your self-control and discipline, it has withered away. You force gas out of your gut with your thick fingers, then resume cramming in calories. I bet that feels so good, doesn't it? Look at how hard your nipples are. Those swelling tits. I bet you're making your undies pretty wet too. Too bad I can't see them between gargantuan thighs and an overfed sphere of a gut. Another belch rolls off your tongue and your eyes practically end up in your skull. Your stomach is too stretched to ever be normal again. Even if you stopped your constant grazing and night long stuffings, your capacity is through the roof. We can't eat the same meals any more. If there's not an excess of fats, sugar, butter, or bubbles, you won't be full. You need to be full to the brim, and more. And if bleary eyed fullness doesn't stop your over-indulgence, a piddly salad never will.

You just keep sucking down all that grease. Don't think too hard about it. Keep growing. Get dumber. Get fatter. It's okay, piglet. Nobody is judging you. Nobody knows that you used to be a quarter of this size. That you used to walk without breaking a sweat, that you could see your toes before, that you used to eat healthy. Don't think about before. Think about now, or nothing at all. I'll keep cooking for you, making sure my sow gets all the necessary nutrients, like lots of carbs and sodium and sugars. All you have to do is tip another Tupperware in your mouth, crack another soda open. The weight will pile on, and you'll get all the pleasure you need.

Let's see how long your body can handle it, shall we?

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 20

Hot fudge ran down my chin as I slurped up another bite of my Sky Scraper sundae. Cookies & cream, chocolate and vanilla ice cream with layers of caramel, hot fudge and crushed Oreos topped with whipped cream, sprinkles and a cherry. The wafer that had been jammed into it had been snapped up by Tom before the waitress even managed to set it on the table.

“This. THIS is ice cream.” My eyes closed as I licked the spoon clean for the umpteenth time. We were seated in the rear of the Creole Creamery, at a round table behind a row of booths. It was two miles or so from the hotel, and we’d decided to try something local instead of yet another chain…totally the right call. On the walls around us were photos of previous guests, pinned to corkboard with the motto ‘Eat Ice Cream. Be Happy.’ painted above them. Words to live by, according to the book of Maude.

Tom offered me a spoonful of his Cookie Monster sundae, which consisted of cookie monster ice cream, crushed Oreos, chocolate chip cookies and a generous helping of hot fudge, all topped with whipped cream, cookie crumbles, a cherry, and a wafer. He’d eaten that one, too. I’d taken a picture for him to post as he posed looming over the sundae, head down, spoon in his hand and mouth open wide. He’d uploaded it everywhere.

The Cookie Monster Sundae. Eating it RIGHT NOW. #delayedgratification, #idon’thinkso, #settingabadexample, #sorrynotsorry

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue to receive the spoon. He slid it along the center until I closed my lips around it, and I wasn’t sure if the moan that followed was because the ice cream was so delicious or if it was due to the fact that I wished it was his cock instead. I shut my eyes as he pulled the utensil free, ever so slowly. When I opened them he was staring at me, licking his lips.

I kicked him under the table. “Stop that right now, young man. I am finishing this ice cream. Finishing. It.”

He leaned all the way across the table, up off his seat and bent at the waist, in order to whisper in my ear. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the dress you were wearing, sans panties, when I fucked you up against the wall of the bathroom at Talk Story?”

I was up out of my chair before he finished his question, grabbing my bag off the floor. “You know what? I think I’m full. Yep. Full. Time to go.”

He followed me out to the car, chuckling when I got in the driver’s side and sat behind the wheel.

I glared at him. “Shut up. Get in. Move it.” He’d barely buckled his belt when I pulled out onto the street.

I made it back to the hotel in record time, and as soon as I put it park Tom’s mouth was on mine, one hand working its way up my thigh to the promised land. I slid my hand down the back of his pants, cupping one ass cheek and pulling it to the side. He grunted and broke the kiss.

“In. Side. Inside. Room. Now.”

We booked up the steps to the second floor, and Tom had to swipe the keycard three times because he was doing it so quickly it wouldn’t register. He pushed me in before him, closed the door with his foot and pinned me up against it, grinding his rock-hard cock into me, circling his hips and intermittently thrusting forward, eyes on mine the entire time.

I looked down as I reached to unbutton his jeans, then unzipped them carefully and took him in hand, stroking up and down, using the fluid drooling from the tip as lubricant.

He whimpered, a long, drawn out sound that made me so wet I was certain I’d leak through my cotton undies and start dripping on the floor. He began pawing at my dress, unzipping the back and working it over my shoulders, and I was forced to let him go in order to pull my arms out. It hung up at my hips, and he gave it a pull and it fell to a heap on the floor. He caught sight of the giant wet spot that my crotch had become and sank to his knees, breathing me in before pulling the fabric into his mouth and sucking on it, continuing to do so as he slid them down my legs with his hands. I stepped out of them, and my dress, leaving me clad only in my bra. I shed it instantly on my own as he removed his clothing, nearly falling as he tried to take his boots off without sitting down. He steadied himself and kissed me, and I could taste myself on him, though only faintly. He pulled away and flopped on his back in the middle of the bed, legs hanging off the bottom, a space of a foot or more between him and the headboard.

I raised a brow, unmoving. “Whatcha doin’ there, Thomas?”

He patted his upper chest. “I need to taste you. Sit.”

I looked at the headboard, sizing it up to see if I could get a good enough grip so I could hold myself up and not crush him. I shook my head as I climbed into the space between him and the headboard, high on my knees, spread wide as I raised my arms and latched onto the wooden frame in front of me.

“Nuh-uh. If I sit I’m going to ride you so hard I’m afraid I’ll wind up breaking your nose or something.”

“Maude, don’t be ridiculous. You won’t…”

“Thomas. Trust me. Now slide up under me and get to work, won’t you?”

He wrapped his arms around my thighs and pushed himself into position, using his hands to spread my lips open.

“Mmm, the view from here rivals a Hawaiian sunset. Endless shades of pink and purple, glistening as if it were the sky reflecting on the water.”

I was about to tell him to shut the fuck up when I felt his tongue start at my taint and drag painstakingly slowly up to my clit, pausing to flick, then circle it. When he stopped I whined, until I felt it enter me.

“Fucking hell, Tom.” Something began rubbing my clit…I wasn’t certain what, but it didn’t matter. Not one single bit. His tongue delved deeper, and I began to swivel my hips and rise up and down, fucking it. He held still, and I came in what seemed like seconds, screaming his name, head hanging between my arms as I held onto the headboard for dear life. I tried to lift a knee, but he held me in place, laughing.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

I panted. “Off.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. That was just the appetizer, love. Main course is up next, and I’m famished.”

He gorged himself on me, licking, slurping, tongue inside me again and swirling against my walls, tugging my clit gently between his teeth and then sucking it into his mouth, pulling harder and harder until I came again, and then again when he worked two fingers inside me and rubbed my G-spot furiously as he continued his relentless sucking. I hadn’t even realized that he’d stopped until I felt him behind me, feverish and sweaty, nipples hard against my back, cock nudging at my entrance. I pushed my hips back, and we groaned in unison as the head slipped in.

He growled in my ear. “Is there room for dessert?”

I nodded emphatically. “Always.”

His arms wrapped around me, hands on my breasts, lifting them, squeezing the nipples firmly. I felt his cock moving forward, dragging against my oversensitive flesh until he was fully seated and breathing raggedly.

“Maude, let go of the headboard. I’ll hold you up.”

I let my arms fall, then reached behind me and grabbed him, thumbs on his hips, fingers on his ass, pulling him closer. He keened and began thrusting as I straightened my torso and rested my ass lightly on his thighs, gyrating as I clamped down on him.

He moaned, long and low, making me shiver. “Ohgodohgodohgod…love, please keep doing that. Please.”

I squeezed in time with his movements, appreciating the angle of his cock that resulted from this particular position. He felt…bigger. And deeper. I would have sworn I could discern the ridge of his head as it pressed against my walls, and every time it hit my G-spot I whimpered. His mouth was on my neck, then my shoulder. I felt him sucking, then nipping, then applying his teeth and abruptly stopping and licking instead. He lowered one hand and tugged at my clit, holding it between his index and middle finger as his cock pounded into me mercilessly.

“That’s it, Thomas. Fuck me hard. Don’t hold back, baby. Just like that. Ungh. Oh god. Don’t stop. Do. Not. Stop.”

He began repeating my name, moving faster and faster, like a jack rabbit, then becoming irregular, his entire body spasming as he neared his peak. I commenced riding him like it was the final stretch of the Belmont stakes, my fourth orgasm rendering me both breathless and voiceless as I leaned back, applying my full weight to his thighs as he filled me with his come. He pulled me down to the bed with him, cock still inside me as we spooned.

Several minutes passed before I could speak again. “Good golly Miss Molly that was fucking incredible. Holy shit.”

He kissed my neck. “I concur. Fully.”

His gesture reminded me that he’d refrained from biting me. I pulled away and rolled to face him, up on one elbow, head in my hand.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He sat up, concern in his eyes. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

I sat up as well, come running out of me and onto the bedspread. I rolled my eyes. “Shit. Sorry, housekeeping. Again.” I reached out and put my hand on his knee, finding myself unsure of how to proceed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…you were…my shoulder…”

He frowned slightly but didn’t speak as he placed his hand on top of mine.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, opened them, then met his gaze. “Limits. I think we should talk about limits. Sexual limits. Because I don’t want either of us to be afraid to do the things we enjoy, or try things we think we’d enjoy, for fear of the other person being uncomfortable.”

He exhaled, relief in his eyes. “Thank you. After everything I told you last night…it crossed my mind that you might assume I have a proclivity for certain things that you’d rather not participate in, and I wanted to discuss it but with everything else that’s going on…”

I interrupted him. “My ‘no thanks’ list is pretty short. No bondage, no punishment, no subjugation, no shaming, no submission and no sharing. Other than that, I’m open to anything. Wait…actually, I’m not into serious pain, either, but love bites are fine, and you’re more than welcome to heartily slap my ass because you want to watch it jiggle.”

He snickered. “Maude, you wouldn’t revel in being submissive? I’m shocked, I say. Shocked.”

I feigned surprise, opening my eyes wide. “I know. Completely unexpected, right? I’m aware that some people who are very dominant in their everyday lives find letting themselves go in such a fashion to be a welcome release, but…no. If I can’t be in charge, the playing field has to be nothing less than equal. It’s how I’m wired.” I paused. “I think I was most apprehensive about the whole swinger thing. I don’t even like to share my food, never mind my partner. Prior to being in a committed relationship I might have been persuaded to consider…fuck. Sorry. Let’s try that again. Monogamous, maybe? Though by definition that excludes other parties…oy. Didn’t mean to imply that we’re…but it feels like…son of a bitch…here, Thomas, have some extra pressure you don’t need. Good god, will you please say something so I shut the fuck up?”

He leaned in and put his hand on my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “It’s not an implication. It’s the truth. For me, at least. I’m aware it seems ridiculous on the surface because we’ve known each other for such a short time, but…I am committed. In my heart, and in my soul. To you.”

I sighed contentedly. “Well, that shut me up. Nicely done. And, you know, me too. Committed.”

He embraced me. “Good.” I felt him shudder before he let go in order to face me. “In no way, shape or form do I wish to share myself with anyone else but you. And just thinking about you with…right in front of me…no. I can’t allow myself to visualize it. I’ll go off the rails.”

I rolled my eyes again. “I hear that, dude. Though I’ve been battling with myself all day, trying to resist Googling Claudia. I have no idea why. It’s weird. I guess I see her as the competition. Even if she’s not. Or maybe I just want to know what she looks like in case we run into her. Or maybe I just like torturing myself.”

He kissed me, tender and soft. “I think that’s normal. I was curious to know what your partners looked like as well. But Maude, Claudia…she was…she wasn’t really anything. She was just…there. Which makes me feel like a horrible person when I say it out loud. Anyway, my point was that there is no competition. It’s not even the same sport.” He shook his head. “Fuck, that sounds…ugh…your turn to say something to shut ME the fuck up, please.”

“No problem. So, what’s on your ‘no thanks’ list?”

“Same as you. Though I’m not averse to having my hands tied together or to an inanimate object, but it’s not something I…”

“Nope. No can do. I read Gerald’s Game. I’d be fine with using my hands to restrain you, though. Or pretending to restrain you, I should say. Because you’re just a smidge more powerful than I am. Anything else?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s not on the ‘no’ list, actually, but since we’re already chatting about such incredibly awkward matters perhaps it’s a good time to bring it up…”

“Lay it on me, baby.”

He covered his eyes and said a mumbled a single word. “Anal.”

I pulled his hand away so I could see him. “We don’t have to do that ever again if you don’t want to. It’s…”

“No, no, NO. I love the way it feels when my cock is buried in your ass. I was talking about…me. Anal.”

I sat for a moment until the light bulb switched on. “Ohhhhhh…NOW I get it. Totally fine with me. What do you usually like? Tongue? Fingers? Plugs? Prostate massagers? All of the above?”

He put his face in his hands, mumbling again. “I don’t know.”

“I…what do you mean you don’t…oh. OH. Wow. Do you mean you don’t know because you’ve never tried it with someone?”

He nodded from behind his hands. “Correct. And because your next question will be why…while it’s something I’ve always fantasized about, I never trusted or felt comfortable enough with anyone to reveal my interest. Even when I was so drunk that I could hardly see, I’d pretend it was out of the question if propositioned.”

I moved behind him and put my arms around his torso, leaning forward to kiss his neck. “Please don’t be embarrassed. Your face is still covered in my pussy juice and your come is dripping down my thigh. I can’t think of a more opportune time to discuss what you’d like me to stick up your ass.” I could feel him chuckling. “Have you ever, erm…done…anything to yourself?”

He lifted his head from his hands and sat up, twisting so he could see me. “I have. Just a finger.” I raised a brow and he turned back around. “Fine. Two fingers. God, this is mortifying.”

I ran my thumbs over his nipples and whispered in his ear. “Actually, I think it’s ridiculously fucking hot. I can just see you…” They were still hard, like little pebbles, so I pinched them. “And now…though it’s not quite the same…I get to take your cherry. Mmmhmm. So very, very, very hot.”

He turned to the side, and I knee-walked down the bed to sit next to him. I yawned.

He laughed. “Not so hot after all?”

I shook my head. “Still hot. But all of a sudden I’m exhausted.” I looked at the clock. It was ten after five. Plenty of time before we had to meet Anne at eight. “Thomas, can I interest you in a naked nap?”

“Yes, please. Let’s.” He rested his forehead on mine, his voice barely audible. “I love you, Maude.”

I patted him on the back. “I love you too, Thomas.”

We used the bathroom, cleaned up, took the coverlet off the bed and conked out on the sheets, my head on his chest, one of his hands in my hair and the other in the dip of my lower back.

**************************************** It was six-thirty when I opened my eyes, the sound of Tom in the shower having woken me. My first thought was of what he’d said about Will, and curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed my phone out of my purse, as well as the picture of the dress Barty had written his cell number on. There was a message for me from the Reverend Thompson at the Christ Church Cathedral requesting a call back. I typed in the number and hit call. It rang twice before someone answered.

“Reverend Thompson, how may I help you?”

Nothing like talking to a member of the clergy while you’re sitting naked on a bed in the hotel room where you were currently shacking up with your boyfriend. Religious guilt. It lingers on even if you were never officially one of the flock. I cleared my throat. “Hello, Reverend Thompson. Maude Gallagher returning your call.”

“Miss Gallagher, thank you kindly for getting back to me so quickly. I am terribly sorry for your loss. While I believe I have all of the standard information for your mother’s service on Thursday, I was wondering if there was anything special you wanted to add. Will there be a eulogy? Would you like me to pause for folks to state remembrances? Things like that.”

“Well, there won’t be a eulogy as far as I know, and I very much appreciate your asking, but let’s just stick with the type of service you normally conduct without attendee involvement.”

“You’re quite welcome. In that case, everything is in order. How would you like to handle things if comments arise spontaneously?”

I smirked to myself as I considered the sort of remarks I’d let fly if I had the opportunity. “If they do, we’ll just roll with it. If that works for you.”

“It does. May I phone if anything else comes up?”

“Of course. Thank you, Reverend Thompson. I look forward to meeting you.”

“And you as well, Miss Gallagher.”

Tom wandered out of the bathroom, naked and toweling his hair dry. “Everything all right with the service?”

I nodded, giggling. “He called to find out if I wanted him to pause during it so people could say things…remembrances, he called them. As much fun as that has the potential to be, I said no. And he asked about a eulogy. Which I am not giving. So, that’s settled. Now I’m going to call Barty.”

“Barty?”

I tapped my index finger on my lips. “Yep. I have a question for him.”

Tom returned to the bathroom as I dialed. Barty picked up on the first ring.

“Howdy do ya, Barty here.”

I smiled, picturing him in his giant seersucker suit. “Hello, Barty. It’s Maude Gallagher. Terribly sorry to bother you so late in the day…”

“Well hello, Maude. It’s not so late…well, it may be but I’m still at the office so pay no mind to the time. What can I do for you?”

“Let me start by saying you may feel free to say no to what I’m about to ask if you believe it compromises your principles or integrity in any way.”

All I heard for ten seconds was his booming laughter. “Young lady, I cannot WAIT to hear what you have to say.”

“I’m looking for information on Will Bonaventura’s current wife. Is that something you can assist me with? Even if it’s just her name…then I can investigate further on my own.”

He was still laughing but managed to speak through it. “I must confess I had high hopes that you were going to ask me to step out for a drink, an invitation I’d be regrettably forced to decline due to my marital status. My ego is disappointed, but my mind is intrigued. Yes, I can provide you with her name, as well as her circumstances. All a matter of public record, and I had no skin in that game so my principles and integrity shall remain intact. May I be so bold as to ask why?”

“Tit for tat, eh, Barty? So be it. Though I’m relatively certain you’re privy to these two particular tidbits of information, I’ll tell them to you anyway. I was married to Will for a little over a year. I discovered he was sleeping with my mother right after my father killed himself. The why of it, to make a long story short, is that as I look back on things myself combined with the benefit of a fresh pair of eyes peering in from the outside, I’ve begun to wonder if he seeks out women with a significantly higher financial station than his own. Looking for a pattern, I guess.”

He cleared his throat. “You are correct, Maude. I did know about you, and your mother. But it never occurred to me that it was about anything other than him having a roving eye for lovely women. Pray tell, what made you think it might have been the money?”

I snorted. “I didn’t think it. Tom did. When he mentioned it, everything clicked. And I’m willing to bet the farm that the new wife is quite well off.”

“Tell your fella I’m impressed with his deductive reasoning skills. Because yes, she is. Or, she was.”

My heart skipped a beat, overactive imagination immediately thinking he’d done something to her. “Was?”

He must have heard something in my tone, because he addressed my concern immediately. “I was only referring to her economic circumstances there, Maude. Let me elaborate and clear things up. First off, her name is Anna Beth, former surname Dailey. When she was sixteen, back in 2005, she was involved in a car accident wherein both her parents were killed. They were at a railway crossing and hit by an oncoming train. She survived with only minor injuries. After an investigation was conducted, the authorities determined that the signal was not only broken, but it had been for quite some time. They offered her a seven-figure settlement…a number which started with a two…and it was placed in trust for her until she was no longer a minor by her guardian, an aunt. Belinda, if I’m not mistaken. She and my wife belong to the same garden club. No matter. What does matter is that it was big news ‘round these parts, and Anna Beth was a rather gifted pianist who wound up taking guitar lessons from Mr. Bonaventura at the start of her senior year of high school. As soon as she turned eighteen, he left your mother to marry her and they relocated to Los Angeles. Last I heard through the grapevine that is my wife’s social circle, the ostentatious house they bought was in the final stages of foreclosure and they were flat broke.”

An unattractive sneer adorned my face as I realized he’d almost certainly show up looking for a payout before the week was out. Barty continued.

“That’s really all I know at this point in time, but if anything else turns up I’ll ring you. And if he comes sniffing around, you just call me and I’ll take care of everything. All righty?”

“I shall…as long as you promise to bill me for your time.”

He laughed again. “I will indeed, young lady. I’ve got mouths to feed just like everyone else.”

As we said our goodbyes Tom sat next to me on the bed, still naked. I filled him in on all the details, watching his jaw clench when I mentioned that I anticipated not only a visit but a confrontation.

I kissed his cheek. “I’m not worried about it, at all. You don’t need to be, either. I have insider information. I’m almost hoping it happens so I can trip him up and make him look like the loser he is. He’d hate that. SO much.” I ran my fingers down the center of his chest and stomach, starting at his collarbones, not stopping until I reached his belly button. “Why are you still naked? You need to not be naked.”

He grinned at me. “I’ve no idea where we’re going. Nor what the dress code is.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s your excuse?”

His teeth gripped my earlobe and tugged. “Yes. What’s yours?”

“I was waiting for you to stop bogarting the bathroom.” He tickled my ribs. “No, no. Nope. Cease and desist. I have to pee.”

He let me go and I bolted to the toilet, speaking as I gratefully relieved myself. “Oh. Right. We’re going to the Court of Two Sisters. Business casual, I’d think. Check their website, will you?”

“Doing it already.” A pause. “It says ‘nice casual’.”

I flushed, turned the shower on and got in. “Um, that’s an oxymoron as far as I’m concerned. All I know is I’m wearing my black tank dress. And some sort of shoes. Probably.”

His voice was closer, and when I peeked out he was standing in the doorway. Still naked. “The one with the grommets? That you wore the day we met?”

I nodded. “That’s the one. I know, totally lame that I’m repeating myself already. Twice in one day, even. All the stuff I bought for Comic-Con is way too heavy for this weather. Which reminds me…tomorrow I need to go find acceptable viewing and funeral attire. So exciting!” I closed the curtain and put my head under the spray to wet my hair. I heard it open and turned my head to look at him.

He smiled. “Hi.”

I smiled back and reached for the shampoo. “Hi.”

“Do you mind if I hang about?”

I shook my head. “I’d love some company, actually.”

He remained, watching me rinse my hair, soap up, then rinse. Neither of us spoke. When I was finished, he held a towel open and wrapped it around me as soon as I stepped out, kissed me, then went into the main room as I dried myself off.

He’d gotten dressed, in dark blue jeans and a light-blue button down shirt, said buttons working way too hard to contain him as per usual. His feet were still bare, and I stared, marveling at how exquisitely elegant yet unmistakably masculine they were. I lifted my gaze to find him smirking.

I stuck out my tongue. “Yes, Thomas, even your feet are gorgeous. Bastard.”

He shrugged. “I find myself incapable of deciding which shoes to wear. The boots are my favorite, but good Christ they’re hot.”

“If you’re asking for permission to wear your white Vans…I have no comment.”

He laughed. “I have navy blue ones. Do those fit into the ‘nice casual’ category, do you think?”

“I’m going to say…yes.” I dug around in my luggage for some clean underwear and came up empty. I hadn’t done laundry at the beach house because I had plenty of things to see me through until we got to New York, and never gave it a second thought in the midst of all that had gone awry. “Shit. It appears that I’m out of underwear. Add laundry to the list of ‘adulting we need to do tomorrow’. I’d ask to borrow a pair of yours, but that would most likely be an exercise in futility. Do correct me if I’m wrong.”

He shook his head. “All I have are my swim trunks. Sorry.” His tongue ran over his lips, tortuously slow. “Guess you’re just going to have to go without.”

I rolled my eyes as I hooked my black bra and spun it around, slipping my arms through the straps and tucking my boobs into the cups one at a time. “No undies in a dress that barely hangs to my knees. What could possibly go wrong?”

He grinned, tongue between his teeth. “I’ll be spending the entire evening wishing for a good, strong breeze to descend upon us at just the right moment.”

The dress was in my garment bag, and I removed its hanger and pulled it over my head. “Yeah. Don’t bother. Not necessary. I’m totally going to drop something, bend right the fuck over at the waist and boom…HELLO NEW ORLEANS! Maude’s ‘a coochie for every city’ tour continues.”

He guffawed, laugh cycling through all of its gears in seconds.

“Sure. Laugh. See if you’re still laughing when you have to bail me out after I’m arrested for flashing an entire restaurant. And on the front page of TMZ.”

Tears were running down his cheeks. “Oh…MAUDE…you are…fucking…HILARIOUS.”

“Mmm hmm. I speak the truth, Hiddleston. THE TRUTH.”

He was still snickering after I applied my makeup and put my hair in a bun at the base of my neck. I tied on my gladiator sandals, then remembered the black tourmaline necklace my father had given me. I went back into the bathroom, as my jewelry was in its own bag, nested in with my makeup. I took it out and held it in one hand, running the index finger of the other over it. Tom’s laughter quickly faded when he saw it, and when he reached to take it from me I could see in the image reflected by the mirror that his eyes were damp and full of reverence.

He spoke quietly. “May I put this on for you?”

I nodded. He took it from my hand, held it to my neck and fastened the clasp. His hands came to rest on my shoulders. I turned my head to the side and kissed the left one.

“Thank you.”

He kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome, my love. Ready to go?”

“Yep.” I grabbed my phone, shoved it in my bag and slung the works over my shoulder as we headed out the door. “Oh, and by the way…don’t be surprised if Anne tries to rope you into playing Lestat over dinner.”

**************************************** The Court of Two Sisters, located at 613-615 Royal, was built in 1832 for Jean Baptiste Zenon Cavelie, president of the Bank of New Orleans. In 1886 it was purchased by an aristocratic Creole family…the Anguads. Shortly thereafter Bertha Angaud set up shop with her sister, Emma Camors, selling notions in what they dubbed ‘The Shop of Two Sisters.’ Over the years, they provided Mardi Gras costumes to the city’s wealthiest women, along with formal gowns and imported perfumes from Paris. The large courtyard was used by the sisters to serve tea and cakes to their very favorite customers from time to time.

In 1904, the sisters closed the shop as the Creole population was replaced with Italian immigrants, interest in their wares waning with the implementation of the traditions they brought with them. The property passed through many hands until 1963, when it was purchased by the Fein family, who toiled to preserve and restore it while in the process providing New Orleans with an unparalled dining experience that embodies the spirit of the city. Anne had grown up poor, but always had a deep appreciation for the rich architectural history that surrounded her, and her mentions of The Court of Two Sisters in her novels added to the magic and helped make it a tourist ‘must see’ destination. I’d eaten there at least once a month when I was growing up, my mother dressed to the nines and refusing to buy me desert. When I went with Anne it was a different story…always seated at her favorite table in the courtyard, right near the wishing well fountain, also known as the Devil’s Wishing Well due to the fact that legendary Voodo practitioner Marie Laveau lived nearby and was assumed to have practiced her craft in what was then the city’s largest open area whenever she got the chance.

I relayed all I knew, as well as my experiences, to Tom on the car ride over. We parked two blocks away, and as we walked up the street I once again found myself staring at him as he took in everything around us. When we reached the front of the building, he turned to me, gaping.

“Maude, look at this architecture…the brick building, the balcony, the dark wooden façade on the main floor, the plantation shutters…” He whipped out his phone and began taking photos, which I wasn’t sure would turn out well as all the outside lights were on since the sun had just set.

I put my hand on his back. “Wait until you see the courtyard. You’re going to lose you shit.”

He put his phone away and linked his arm with mine, pulling me forward. “Let’s go, let’s go, LET’S GO!”

The hostess advised us that Anne had already arrived and escorted us to our table. When we stepped into the courtyard I realized once more how many memories I’d had to suppress in order to survive…I’d made myself forget that it even existed, and it was so incredibly beautiful that I nearly burst into tears. For the bazillionth time in twenty-four hours.

The flooring was comprised entirely of brick pavers, all weathered smooth from years and years of traffic. Above, the wrought iron pergola was nearly invisible, hidden by a variety of climbing vines as they weaved throughout the structure and around each other. White lights were strung amongst them, casting an ethereal glow and drawing me in to look closely at the greenery, fully expecting a fairy or two to peek out and say hello. All the tables and chairs were wrought iron as well, with white tablecloths and napkins, and a lighted candle as a centerpiece. The fountain’s circular brick base was painted blue on the inside, the second tier displayed a rainbow of colors, and all other components were made of metal and darkened with age so their composition, though likely iron, couldn’t be accurately determined with only a glance. I heard Anne before I saw her.

“Maudie! There you are!” She was standing, clad in a high neck white blouse and black slacks, and as we reached the table she threw her arms around me, then pulled back. “Honey, it’s been far too long…let me look at you.”

I stood stock still as she sized me up like a blue ribbon heifer at a county fair. She let out a low whistle.

“You look downright ravishing, kiddo. Wowza.”

Tom laughed, and she turned to him. He sobered and held out his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Rice. I’m Tom. Tom Hiddleston.”

She ignored his hand, snorted and hugged him instead, then stepped back and stared at him. “Hmpf. As if I don’t know who you are. Please, call me Anne. And, what’s so funny? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Tom blushed and turned to me, eyes pleading. I decided to rescue him, pointing my thumb in his direction. “What’s funny is that the first time he saw me in this dress he said the same exact thing, more or less.”

He recovered quickly, pulling out Anne’s chair. “Imagine my delight when she found hearing it so gratifying that she requested I repeat it immediately while employing my Loki voice.”

It was Anne’s turn to laugh, sitting as Tom pushed her in. “Who could blame her?”

I pulled out my own chair before Tom could scramble to my side, began to plop down and remembered that I was pantyless just in the nick of time, slowing my descent to a dainty crawl, tucking the dress underneath me. “Damn right. And I’m still not over it. So, what’s for dinner? I’m starving.” I picked up a menu and began perusing.

The waitress came over, her blonde hair tied back neatly in a braid, dressed in brown pants, green jacket, white shirt and black bow-tie.

“Good evening, all. What can I get you to drink?”

Anne and Tom opted for iced tea, and I asked for a Coke. We were ready to order by the time she brought them to the table. For an appetizer, we decided we’d split a serving of the jalapeno stuffed bacon wrapped duck. For dinner, Anne chose shrimp and grits, served with Andouille sausage. Tom decided on the corn fried Louisiana catfish, served with jumbo lump crabmeat, Napa slaw and cayenne tartare sauce. After debating whether to have chicken or pork, I settled on the grilled double cut pork chop with a potato mash and roasted baby carrots, topped with a bacon and red wine reduction. As soon as the waitress collected our menus Anne bent and reached under the table, fumbling in her giant purse that more closely resembled a small suitcase. She handed me a framed photograph.

“Here. I’ve had this on the wall of my study for years, but I thought you might like it. I wasn’t sure if you had any of your own, and in case your mother didn’t save…”

I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, captivated by what I held in my hands. It was from when I was around ten or eleven years old, my father and I at Mardi Gras, beads around our necks, smiling and waving at the camera. He was wearing a black windbreaker over a white T-shirt, his red hair a mess of curls and hanging over his forehead, eyes an impossible shade of blue. I’d forgotten about his dimples, and the crinkles that would appear around his eyes when he smiled. I was in floral print leggings and a yellow sweater tunic, turquoise Converse Hi-tops on my feet and a black jacket tied around my waist. My hair was in a side ponytail, and my glasses were huge, with purple frames. Tom leaned closer to see what I was looking at as I fought back tears. I handed it to him and turned to Anne.

“Thank you, Anne. I have no pictures of myself, or of him. When did you take that?”

“1989, I believe.”

I shook my head. “So he was about to turn thirty. And now I’m almost eight years older than that. Life is fucking insane.”

She chuckled. “I’m not going to argue with that. This year I turn seventy-four. Still feel thirty on the inside, though. And sometimes ten.”

Tom had been silent during our exchange, studying the photo. He looked up at me, smiling softly, and took my hand. “You have his smile. And his lips. And his dimples, his jaw, and his hair, though yours is a different color. I have a feeling that you laugh like him as well.”

Anne nodded emphatically. “You know what, Tom? She does. And she sings like him, too.”

He squeezed my hand. “He sang?”

I shrugged. “He did, when I was little. All the time. I didn’t see him often then, but when I did, he was always singing. Pop hits, folk songs, you name it.” I frowned. “The singing just…stopped. So did the smiling. I guess he was unhappy for a really long time. I mean, how could he not be?”

He set the picture down carefully, put his arm around me and kissed my check. “I’m sorry, love. You all right?”

I kissed him back. “Yep. Thank you.”

I looked at Anne. She was smiling, eyes filled with tears. I raised a brow. “And are YOU all right?”

She waved a hand at me. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just having a moment.”

I knew that meant she was missing Stan and that I should let it go. A moment later she perked up, pointed her finger back and forth between Tom and me and inquired as to how we met. We’d just finished telling her about our Talk Story adventure and our surprise afternoon meeting when our appetizer arrived. It was amazing, and we were all so focused on eating that the conversation was minimal. Ten minutes later the waitress returned with dinner.

I cut into my pork chop and stuffed a piece into my mouth. “Yum freaking O. Meat.” Tom snickered and I stuck my tongue out at him.

He offered me a bite of his catfish. I shook my head. “No thank you. You know the deal. It swam once. I’ll pass.” He started at me, pleading with his best puppy dog eyes until I shared my pork with him.

I ignored all rules of etiquette and spoke with my mouth full. “So, Anne…how’s my book coming?”

She chewed the bite of sausage she’d been eating, then swallowed. “Still just the initial draft. Haven’t had any time to look at it over the past few weeks. Another project keeps getting in the way.”

I raised a brow. “More Mayfair Witches? Or Beautry, perhaps? Lord knows the world could use some well written erotica after…”

She shook her head and picked up a shrimp. “No. The Vampire Lestat screenplay.” She popped the entire thing into her mouth, grinning fiendishly.

“Why would that be getting in the…wait…are you, like, writing it?”

She nodded. “Wrote it would be more accurate. With Christopher. We finished it last week. Universal worked with three other writing teams but got nowhere, so they called to see if I’d jump in. I didn’t even make them beg or anything before saying yes.”

I glanced at Tom, who had inhaled his catfish as well as the crabmeat that topped it and was now using his finger to get the last bits of sauce off his otherwise empty plate. He shrugged and smiled slyly. “What? I was in desperate need of sustenance. It was such a busy day…have to replace all those lost calories, you know.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Anne, who winked at me. I put my head in my hands, sighed and returned to the remaining bites of my pork chop. “So, they’re skipping Interview and going right to Lestat?”

She nodded again, taking another bite of sausage and held up a finger until she was done. “That was their intent, to combine The Vampire Lestat and Queen of the Damned into one movie. I told them if they were going to do it right, they needed at least some of the elements from Interview and that Queen should stand alone as its own picture, replacing that god awful…whoops…oh, screw it, it was awful, wasn’t it?”

I laughed. “Yeah. I like Stuart Townsend, and he looked fine with his shirt off, but…he’s just not…Lestat. Plus they left out the vast majority of the actual story.”

Tom was watching us as if her were at a tennis match, waiting to see where the ball would go next.

Anne threw her hands up in the air. “Exactly, Maude.” She turned to Tom. “Have you seen it?”

He shook his head. “I’d say I was embarrassed to have missed it, but based on what I’m hearing I shouldn’t be. I did see Interview with the Vampire though, back in the day.”

I looked at him, brows raised. “And?”

He grinned. “I was thirteen. I’m not sure my opinion should count.”

“Point taken. I was seventeen and Brad Pitt had long hair and cool contacts, so I could almost ignore Tom Cruise. But it wasn’t all it could have been, mainly because they chose him, that I’m certain of. Though that may be bias talking because I have my own vision of Lestat in my head, always have since I read the books, and…yeah. Not sure anyone could compare with it, really.” I could feel the flush creeping across my chest and up my neck as I swallowed the last piece of pork.

Upon spotting my blush, his grin grew ever wider. The waitress returned, collected our dirty dishes and asked if we’d like dessert. Anne passed but ordered a cup of coffee, Tom opted for the same and some chocolate mousse, and I asked for a cup of Earl Grey and a slice of German chocolate cake.

Tom edged his chair closer to mine, rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, gazing pointedly into my eyes as his grin transitioned into a smirk. “Surely there must be someone you’d deem appropriate for the role, Maude.”

Anne’s smile lit up her face. “Yes, Maudie. Who would you choose, if you had carte blanche?”

My eyes narrowed, then I tapped my lips with my index finger. “Hmm, well, I know I’d want Lee Pace to play Louis. His eyebrows are epic.”

They both stared at me, silently amused.

I pointed at Anne. “This isn’t fair and you know it. If you want to ask him, just ask. I already told him you might. But there is no way I’m saying those words, people. No way. I’m just the social media manager. Not my place.”

She pointed back. “Stop hiding behind your work, kid. You didn’t give me your opinion when I first mentioned it to you…though you did pause for an inordinate amount of time to consider it, didn’t you? And I want your opinion. But not your opinion as his social media manager, or his girlfriend. I want your opinion as a fan. You love Lestat. You’re told me more times than I can count that he’s your favorite fictional character…”

Tom put a hand over his heart, mockingly crestfallen. His face shifted, and I knew I was in for a dose of Loki before he even opened his mouth to speak. He leaned in, face ridiculously close to mine. “I was under the assumption that I am your favorite fictional character. How…disappointing.” He sneered. “Is this love, Maude Gallagher? Perhaps I need to pay this Lestat fellow a visit…”

Anne roared with laughter, and I put my head in my hands and breathed deeply, my hormones galloping along and making it almost impossible for me to be rational. Picturing him as Lestat, followed by Loki’s cameo…nope. No. Nuh-uh. Too fucking much. I focused my attention on the slice of cake that would be arriving soon in an attempt to distract myself. Layers of chocolate, caramel, pecan and coconut filling and topping. I repeated it eight times before I felt capable of semi-coherent speech again.

I lifted my head and rolled my eyes. “Fine. Here you go. My opinion from a purely fan-based perspective.” I aimed my thumb at Tom. “He’s fucking perfect for the role. Happy now?”

A different server brought our dessert and drinks. I scarfed up a giant forkful of cake, closing my eyes and groaning as it hit my tongue. I felt Tom’s hand first on my knee, then slip under the hem of my dress and onto my bare thigh. My eyes flew open and I put my hand over his before he got carried away.

Anne reached into her purse again and pulled out what appeared to be a draft of the screenplay, dropping it on the table with a thud.

Her smile was cherubic. “I think he is too.” She pushed it in his direction. “No pressure, Tom. If you feel like giving it a read, great. If you’re not interested, I understand. You’ve already done the vampire thing…I enjoyed Only Lovers Left Alive immensely, by the way…and I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you’re repeating yourself…”

He reached out and put his hand over hers. “Of course I’ll read it, Anne. I’m honored that you’d consider me for such an iconic character that so many hold dear. I’d like to read the books as well, and I’ll see if I can find them when we’re out tomorrow…”

She pulled her hand out from under his, fished around in her bag some more and came up with dog-eared copies of Interview, Vampire and Queen. “Here you go. There are more, if you want to really get into it. Maude can fill you in on the details. Obviously, the final casting choices aren’t up to me, but I’d like to think they’ll be open to my suggestions this time around. We don’t have a director yet, either, but I saw a screener of Crimson Peak that Christopher was given and now Mr. Del Toro is at the top of my list.”

Tom’s face lit up. “Well, I’d love the opportunity to work with him again, that’s a certainty. He’s brilliant, and has such a unique methodology.” He pointed at the screenplay. “Have you sent him a copy?”

She shook her head.

Tom tilted his to the side, pondering, then nodded. “If you email one to me I’d be happy to pass it along if you’d like.”

Anne beamed. “That would be fantastic, Tom. Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive me for springing it on you like this.” She looked at me. “And you too, especially. I had everything with me, just in case, but I hadn’t planned on bringing it up until later on in the week. After meeting him, though, I just couldn’t help myself.”

I was still trying to get his hand out from under my dress. I snorted. “Yeah. Welcome to my world.”

**************************************** We chatted for a while after dessert until we’d each finished our fourth cup of coffee and tea. Tom had started in on the screenplay after the second round, and Anne and I discussed my new job, the possibility of Will showing up, and what I’d do with the house. As we parted ways Anne said she’s see us at the viewing, and we arrived back at the hotel at ten after eleven. I’d barely even put my bag down, but Tom was already sitting on the side of the bed, screenplay in his lap, continuing from where he’d left off. I sat next to him, watching him read.

I put my hand on his arm. “So…you’re, like, into this, maybe?”

He turned and smiled at me, face full of excitement. “Yes.” He gestured to the page he was on. “This is amazingly well done.” He turned back to the beginning. “And look, they even created a biography for him. He’s multi-faceted, conflicted…I can’t wait to learn everything about him.”

I changed into a T-shirt and washed out a pair of underwear in the sink, using my body wash as soap, then hung them on the towel rack to dry. He was still in the same spot when I came out of the bathroom.

I kissed him on top of his head. “You’re not going to stop until you’ve finished that, are you?”

He looked up at me, grinning abashedly. “Probably not, no. Do you mind?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. It’s the first time I’m seeing you in your element…it’s fascinating. And adorable. But I’m going to crash out, I think. Cool?”

He pulled me down and kissed me, biting my bottom lip gently, and I explored his mouth with my tongue. We both whimpered as I backed away. He reached up under my T-shirt and cupped my breasts, resting his head on my stomach.

“Maybe I’ll finish this tomorrow.”

I ran my hands through his hair. “Or you could just wake me up when you’re done.” He lifted his head and I giggled at his expression. “What? Sex is one of the few things I LIKE being woken up for. Are there really people who feel differently?” I shook my head. “Scratch that. I don’t want to know.”

He giggled as well, then spoke, his voice low and obscenely erotic as he slid his hands down my belly and out of my shirt. “As soon as I’ve finished the last word, I’ll be coming for you.”

I put a hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow. “Well I’d fucking hope so.”

We laughed, and I pulled back the covers as far as I could and crawled into bed. He turned around, puzzled. “I thought you’d want to go upstairs…you’re going to be able to sleep here, with me up and about and the light on?”

I yawned. “Yep. And this way all you have to do when you’re done is roll over.” I held up my hand. “No, no, don’t thank me. I enjoy accommodating your every need.”

It was his turn to raise a brow as he snickered. “Oh, of course. Not a bit of selfishness in your motivation, is there?”

I held my index finger to my lips. “Shh. Maude is sleeping now.”

He grinned, patted my thigh and returned to his task. I watched him from behind, the muscles in his back rippling as he turned the pages, hearing him inhale when something surprised him, laughing softly at Lestat’s antics, the peaceful silence while he was absorbing Anne and Christopher’s words. He reached behind him at some point to rest his hand on my ankle, then began to rub it gently. It was better than any lullaby, and I felt my eyelids growing heavy, falling asleep within minutes and dreaming of him dressed as Lestat during his rock star phase, leather pants and no shirt, his white-blonde hair gleaming in the stage lights as the entire world was bewitched by his majestic charisma.

#your light in the mist #Chapter 20

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