Dean: Incubus, mage. In a gentleman's house, but not in the mood.
I run a feather over the body of the delectable blonde prostitute who is laying on the bed. Still, there is something that doesn't feel quite like how I am used to feeling, in similar moments.
The hair color is a couple of too many shades too dark, for me to imagine either Vincent or Augustine. The body build is too slim, for me to droll over Atha.
I must be catching the flu because those thoughts keep on repeating in my head. The blonde, who has a swimmer's build, and delectable brown eyes, looks up to me.
Brown. Not blue, or green.
I sigh and begin to untie the man.
"Master," he moans out, but I silence him with a look.
"I am not in the mood, sweetling. It is not your fault. It is just that... Never mind. You will be paid for the three hours I booked you for, as promised," my fingers linger over the cock strap. The poor thing is hard.
