Page 17 of Shifted Desire

I fully expect her to tell me to fuck off, but she just laughs. “I will, if you do.”

What attitude? I’m being professional.

This doesn’t bode well, but I’m desperate.

“Tomorrow at 9. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Sir.” The unexpected honorific makes my dick jerk.

There’s a flash of her bending over, spreading her thighs for me to inspect her pussy, and I barely register her hanging up the phone.

Fuck. What am I doing?

I’ll have to hope that Samantha gives me a reason not to hire her, because if she calls me “Sir” in person, she’s going to know immediately that I’m turned on.

She’s a succubus, for fuck’s sake. She’s going to notice, and then I’ll have to explain why I’m horny. She’ll get drawn into the horrifying reality of us accidentally sleeping together, which I’m hoping to keep her ignorant of for both our sakes.

This was a terrible idea, but it’s too late to take the offer back.

7

Moving back in with my parents is embarrassing and demoralizing as hell, but it definitely has its perks. Including Dad’s famous “magic” pancakes that I smell wafting from downstairs as I blow-dry my hair and put on makeup.

I didn’t sleep well, my damn anxiety making me dream about nightmare interview scenarios where Nathan ridiculed me for smelling and being a failure, and when I tried to reply, all my teeth fell out.

I shudder as I swipe on mascara. I hate tooth dreams.

Mom greets me as I emerge from the bathroom, holding out a hanger with my best work suit on it.

“Ah, so you’re the clothing bandit.” I’d hung the outfit up on the back of my bedroom door last night so it was ready to go, only to find it gone in the morning.

She chuckles. “I got rid of the stubborn wrinkles.”

I’m not a fan of her creeping into my room to secret it away, but it does look better. I couldn’t find the iron last night and wasn’t about to bother my parents, who were down in the basement for a suspiciously long time, so I had to make do with steam from the shower.

“Thanks.” My voice is a touch too sharp, so I attempt to balance it out with a smile.

She smiles back. “Of course, buttercup. I’ll tell Dad to put the coffee on so it’s ready when you’re dressed.” She hands me the suit, and a moment later her eyes light up. “Oh! Did you want to borrow that necklace you love?”

It takes me a second to remember what she’s talking about. “The one with the giant pink ruby?”

I was obsessed with that necklace as a teen, and “stole” it from her a few times to wear around the house while she was out. Man, I haven’t thought about it in years. Guess I’m not the only one who feels like they stepped back in time when I moved in.

“That’s silly, isn’t it?” An uncharacteristic flush rises on Mom’s cheeks, more noticeable because she’s in her human form this morning.

My stomach clenches at her need to brace for my dismissive and potentially cutting response. Am I really that acerbic?

Yes, you are. You were a second away from telling her you’re not a child playing dress-up.

“That’d be really nice, if you don’t mind.”

It’ll look weird and gaudy with my outfit, and I’ll probably stash it in the glove compartment as soon as I’m out of sight of the house, but there’s no harm in pretending.

Mom blinks a few times, unable to process my uncharacteristic reply. The delighted smile that rises a second later makes me want to hug her, but then I’d crush the suit between us and ruin her ironing efforts.

“I’ll go get it! Do you want the matching earrings too?”

“Uh, duh, I can’t wear the necklace without the earrings.” I worry I sound a little too sardonic, but she laughs, still pleased.