Rub

Chapter 5

five

I’ll take him to my apartment.

I mean, where else would I bake for him if not my shoebox-size one-bedroom unit positioned above a tattoo parlour? Japher’s? Not likely. But the issue trying to gnaw away at my common sense now is that taking him to my place means being alone with him. Completely alone. With how turned on by him that I am, being alone with him in a small area is probably a bad idea.

Probably?

As we begin walking, Kaami casts me a sideways look, eyes dark and unreadable, and asks where we were going.

“My place,” I reply, my heart thumping up into my throat.

“Your place,” he murmurs.

We walk for a few minutes, and I, for some unknown and thoroughly ridiculous reason, point out inane things. “That’s a magpie, a type of Australian bird,” I say. “And that’s a gum tree. And we call those birds bin chickens.”

Far too quickly, we’re inexplicably on the footpath outside the tattoo parlour. I frown and flick him a glance, noting the glow of his eyes and the hint of a dimple in his cheek. We climb the short flight of stairs to my place, and now, here we are inside.

Alone.

Suddenly nervous, I clear my throat and wave a hand at my tiny living area. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He scans the nihilistic space. When you move around like I do, you don’t collect stuff. There’s no room for nostalgia in my suitcase or van. He arches one eyebrow and clicks his fingers.

My living room is suddenly overflowing with more cushions than you’d find in Spotlight, vases of flowers so beautiful a florist would weep, and lots of squat, fat candles all burning perfectly still single flames.

“Wow.” I stare at it all. Under the second-hand IKEA coffee table I’d bought myself a week after Japher employed me is now a lush gold-tasselled purple rug, hiding the worn floorboards long overdue for a polish.

Kaami inspects his work with a happy nod, and directs a beaming smile my way. And narrows his eyes. “Not what you meant?”

I open my mouth, close it, and let out a low laugh. “Not at all, but I love your style.”

He grins. “As much as I love hearing you laugh.”

And with that, he drops himself onto the sofa in amongst the cushions and crosses his ankles on the coffee table.

Huh, when did change his clothes? In the last click?

Instead of the jeans, Doc Martens, and snug blue T-shirt, he’s once again wearing the loose and baggy black pants he wore when he first appeared in the alley, along with a loose black buttonless vest and black…

“Are those slippers?” I smile, pointing at his feet.

He lifts one leg—and damn, the way his abs coil and flex when he does—and looks at the snug black woven shoe on his foot. “These are Giveh.”

“They look comforta?—”

He clicks.

“—ble,” I finish as a pale-mint-green pair encase my feet. I look down at them, wriggling my toes. “And they are.” I laugh. “You could put Converse out of business.”

“You like?” he asks, and that same vulnerability whispers through his voice.

“I do.” Seriously. They really are comfortable.

He nods. “A gift.”

“Not a wish?” How the hell had I forgotten about the three wishes? Well, two wishes now. Though even if the Giveh are my second wish, I’m not complaining. Only a moron would complain about the most comfortable pair of shoes they’ve ever worn.

He rises from the sofa, eyes glowing, and closes the small distance between us. “A gift. Because you bring me joy and laughter and fun.”

A thick lump fills my throat, and I swallow, gazing up at him. “Thank you.”

He dips his head, a single nod, and touches my pulse. “You’re welcome, master.”

“Al,” I correct on a breath.

His stare holds mine. “Al.”

We stand motionless for a heartbeat, like statues cut from marble. My body aches for something on a level I’ve never experienced before. My lips part, and his gaze drops to them, his eyes glowing brighter.

Kiss me. I wish for you to kiss me. I wish for you to f ? —

“Savoury or sweet?” I burst out, staggering back a step. My arse bumps into the small breakfast bench that juts out from my just-as-small kitchen, and I grip it like it’s a freaking life buoy.

Kaami’s eyes return to their normal storm-cloud grey, and he frowns, confusion etching his face. “Savoury or sweet?”

“I want to bake for you, Kaami.” A smile stretches my lips as a warmth flows into my chest. I’ve never said those words to anyone before. Ever. The closest was with Dad when I wanted to practice a particularly tricky macaron or éclair recipe, but this…is different. Baking fills my heart with joy, and I want to share that joy with Kaami. “What would you like?”

A stillness falls over him. “You want to give me something?”

“I do.”

His gaze goes to the pulse in my neck, and my breath catches. “I am honoured, mas— Al. Whatever you make, I will devour.”

Would you devour me ? “How ‘bout baklava?” I say, pressing my arse harder to the breakfast counter’s edge. If I don’t, I’ll climb him like a freaking tree.

He arches an eyebrow. “I love baklava.”

I chuckle and point to the sofa. “You’ve never had baklava like mine. Now sit.”

His dimple creases his right cheek, and he bows deeply. “As you command, oh powerful one.”

I snort and hurry into the kitchen, yanking open my pantry. “Yeah, yeah, just remember that.”

He laughs, and the sound makes me feel like a big bag of happy goo.

I am in so much trouble.

Or my heart is.

Baklava, Al. Just focus on the baklava.

Making pastry from scratch, especially phyllo pastry, is a balm against stress for me. The process of mixing and kneading the dough, proving it, kneading it again… It’s not a quick process, but it’s a calming one. After washing my hands, I begin.

Behind me, Kaami sits in the collection of cushions he’s created. Silence stretches between us, and I flick him a glance over my shoulder. He’s holding the TV remote, turning it over in his long fingers, studying it. “This is very different to the last one I saw,” he says, somehow aware I’m looking at him.

“How long has it been since…” I peter off and bite my bottom lip. Is it bad etiquette to ask a djinn questions about their time in their…well, in Kaami’s case, mason-jar-type thing.

He chuckles. “Since I was released from my prison?”

I blink. “Prison?”

“A confined space I’m prohibited from leaving unless granted permission by a master.”

Oh fuck. Yeah, prison.

I swallow. “I?—”

He shrugs. “It is as it is. The life of djinn is not all musical numbers. Those moments of release though…” He smiles, the expression wistful, and steely resolve knots in my chest.

No way in hell am I going to be responsible for him being imprisoned again. No way.

“But,” he continues, placing the remote back on the coffee table and then stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, “to answer your question, it’s been twenty-four years since I was immured by my last master.”

A cold lump fills my throat. I wasn’t even born when he last was free. Oh God, Al, what have you got yourself into?

His smile stretches wide, both dimples on dangerous display. “And then you released me.”

“And then I released you,” I echo, trying to comprehend twenty-four years of being confined in…whatever other existence he experiences when not released. “Wait, if you were last released twenty-four years ago, why haven’t you eaten for a millennium?”

He shrugs. “None of my masters before you thought to offer me food or permit me the freedom to eat.”

I stare at him, the phyllo dough forgotten for a moment. “Are you serious?”

I want to punch every master he’s ever had. Hard. In their faces.

“I don’t need to eat to live,” he says. “But I do love food so much. It is one of life’s greatest joys and pleasures.”

Delicious heat prickles my skin at the way he says pleasures . Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me.

Or maybe I’m imagining the whole thing, and he sees me only as another master binding him to my bidding…

“Please,” I wave a flour-dusted hand at my fridge, “help yourself to anything you want.”

His eyes glow a deep violet, and he dips his head slightly. “Thank you. When you are ready.”

Tight lust ribbons through me, and I turn back to the neglected ball of dough on my counter. Focus on the baklava, Al. The baklava.

“Ready when you are,” I croak, thumping my fist into the pliable dough. Yeah, like that’ll alleviate the craving eating me up right now.

Behind me, Kaami lets out a low chuckle, and I hear cushions fall to the floor. “In that case,” his murmur caresses my senses a heartbeat before warm fingers brush against the back of my neck.

Concentrated pleasure shivers over me, and my nipples harden, aching to be touched. Sucked… A soft whimper falls from me, and before I know what I’m doing, I turn. My thighs kiss his as our hips align, and I gaze up at him.

He studies me and slowly brushes the pulse in my neck with his fingers. “My Al…”

Heart pounding, I lick my lips. “Why…why do you do that? Touch my pulse?”

His glowing eyes lift to mine. “It helps me feel your heart’s wishes.”

I gently close my fingers around his wrist and move his hand to my chest, pressing his palm to my heart, my breast. Liquid need pools deep in my core, and with another soft whimper, my eyes flutter closed.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he instructs on a low whisper.

Something warm and tight throbs between my legs, and I open my eyes. “What do you feel now, Kaami?” I ask. “What does my heart wish?”

His nostrils flare, and he lowers his head closer to mine. “This,” he says and crushes my lips with his.

Hell yeah!

He nips my bottom lip, sucks on it, slides his tongue along mine, flicks the corners of my mouth, bites my bottom lip again. His hands cup my jaw, titling my head back, granting his mouth deeper access to my willing one.

Holy fuck, it’s incredible. I’ve never been kissed like this, but it’s everything I’ve wanted in a kiss—lust, passion, hunger, power, craving… It’s as if he exists to worship my mouth with his. And worship he does.

I surrender to the carnal mastery of his kiss. His lips and tongue and teeth mate with mine, feeding the desire I’ve felt for him from the second I laid eyes on him. His fingers caress my neck at the base of my skull, sending a raw shiver through me that turns my nipples into pointed tips of aching urgency.

I want him to suck them. Hard. I want him to suck them deep into his mouth. But I don’t want him to stop kissing me… It’s a conundrum I have no answer for. The junction of my thighs is hot and damp, and oh God, how do I survive this? I’m on the cusp of orgasmic detonation, and we’re only kissing. How will I survive him fucking me?

He drags his lips from my mouth, nipping a hot path down my throat, tilting my head to the side so he can tongue the pulse his fingertips have caressed so many times.

A hitching moan falls from me as he sucks the delicate skin there, and I grind my hips forward, aching for more of him against me as I claw my hands down the backs of his arms.

He rumbles his approval against my pulse and moves his mouth upwards along the line of my jaw to my temple, to my ear. He draws my lobe into his wet mouth, flicking the tiny fleshy pad with his tongue before returning his hungry mouth to my neck, just below and behind my ear. He sucks again, hard, and a shard of liquid pleasure sinks into my core.

“Holy fuck,” I moan as his thick hardness presses against me. “Kaami…”

Lifting his head, he brushes his fingertips over my lips, his eyes a brilliant violet. “You heart calls to me, my Aliana. It is as if I’ve been released for you.”

The proclamation steals my breath. I gaze up into his eyes—his glowing, non-human eyes—and know I’ll never want anyone again.

“I’m yours, Kaami,” I whisper. “I want you. Now.”

His eyes burn brighter, and he feathers his fingers down my throat. His other hand tangles in the hair at my nape. His erection—barely contained by the soft silk of his loose black pants—nudges my lower belly. “Tell me to remove your clothes, Al.”

“Remove my clothes, Kaami,” I instruct.

His dimple flashes, and he lifts his hand between our lips and clicks. Once.

We’re naked.

Both of us.

And we’re no longer standing in my kitchen. We’re stretched out on a four-poster bed, cool silk sheets beneath us, gossamer chiffon curtains floating around on the softest of breezes. And beyond the curtains…

I don’t have a clue. Nor do I care.

Kaami is all there is. His incredible body slides between my thighs. The head of his cock nudges my clit, and I gasp, already consumed with pleasure, but he doesn’t thrust into me. Instead, he slides his hands down over my throat to my breasts—oh fuck, yes yes—lingering there for a tantalising moment, his fingers teasing my rigid nipples before he moves farther down between my spread legs, his palms high on my inner thighs.

His thumbs part my folds, and his warm breath fans my wet centre. “May I taste you, my Aliana?” he asks, stroking one thumb over my throbbing clit.

My Aliana . The words almost plunge me over the edge. I’ve never had someone want me like this. I’ve never wanted someone like this. If it’s real, if it’s not djinn magic…

“If you don’t,” I reply, my voice a shallow breath, “I think I will?—”

His tongue swipes the length of my seam, paying delicious attention to my clit, and the rawest sound I’ve ever made tears from me.