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One day passed in heated impatience for Puck as he restrained himself from visiting Koshka as his true self. The delectably devious way Koshka had parted company with him the day before left him with plenty of pent-up energy, and no way he could properly express it. Normally, he would have just taken care of it himself, but Koshka’s promise gave him pause. Thinking of the reward she’d promised him, while it made him aroused all over again, also gave him the patience – or at least, the bare minimum needed in this case – he needed to refrain from his self-ministrations.
A few cordial texts were exchanged between them. Another day passed. She made no mention of a time for their next date, and Puck was given pause, wondering if Koshka did this to other men on a regular basis? Nah. He had the feeling that she was not one to easily fall in bed with someone, and whatever she was doing now, was for… a reason. Why get someone all hot and bothered, and leave them like that? Perhaps as punishment, but he couldn’t imagine having done anything to displease her.
There was the reward. Aha. Perhaps she was ensuring that he’d have plenty of pent-up need for their next date. Hadn’t she promised he could be fierce with her? He remembered her responses when he’d taken control during their lovemaking. Aha. You like it rough then, don’t you, kitten? Well, then. I’m all yours. Two can play at this game, and I think we can share the victory, he mused as he stroked his chin.
Another day crept by. He considered going to her shop as Malcolm, to sell more coins for his ‘client’. Would that be too obvious? Koshka had said that her weekend was going to be busy since she would be going to estate sales. He’d actually considered showing up at one, as if by chance. That was a tactic that could be used at another time if needed, and Puck decided to set it aside for the time being.
With his history with Koshka, great care had to be taken to ensure that she did not have the least suspicion of Malcolm’s true nature. His relationship with her as Malcolm was still relatively new, and as was very clear, there was plenty to learn. He would wait to surprise her till later on, and have a good exercise in patience for the time being.
What is time to an immortal? It is not an oft-said, but well-remembered litany among the folk who do not fear death. Puck was a creature who had seen many centuries pass by, but each day that went by without seeing the feisty demon who had him in her thrall felt like an eternity.
Two more days went by, with some flirtatious texts and some light talk. Malcolm had kept himself controlled, keeping himself warm and open yet calm and reserved, not wishing to seem too pushy in seeing her again. He knew she had been busy, and that was how it was for mundane and magical folk alike. Finally, Puck could no longer hold his tongue when he woke up with a hardness between his legs that stirred when he rolled over under the blanket as he stretched. He’d been about to reach down, when he remembered her words.
He only had so much patience, and by mortal standards, nearly a week later seemed like an appropriate time to talk about their next night together. He’d become considerably more proficient in the use of his smartphone since he’d obtained it, and reached across the blanket for it.
‘I really need to see you, Koshka’ He paused as he looked down at what he had just typed. Fuck it. He deleted the message and dialed her number instead. He figured that perhaps around this time she would he having breakfast, or just setting out for the day.
It was only a couple of rings before he heard her voice. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully. Mmm. A vengeance demon in a good mood was a blessing.
“Good morning, kitten. I know you’ve been busy lately, but all work and no play… well, you know.” He kept his voice calm, adding just a hint of flirtatiousness to the usual collected tone that Malcolm spoke in.
“Well, guess what? Today’s your lucky day. I’m free tonight.”
Puck felt his heart skip a beat. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.
“Well, since I cooked last time, why don’t you take care of dinner tonight?”
Puck swallowed thickly, recalling his ineptitude with the mundane way of cooking.
“You picked such a good restaurant last time we ate out. I’m sure you can find a nice place for us.”
The imp held back a soft sigh of relief. No problem. He’d already researched several places. “Sounds good to me. I think I have the perfect place in mind. What time works for you?”
“Mmm. Six?” she asked.
“I’ll pick you up then.” Yes. Finally. He leaned his head back, seeing the day unfold in front of him. Where could he take her? He’d been thinking of how to engage her in something that he enjoyed as the Puck. Playing Malcolm could be amusing at times, but the tall, blonde, bespectacled man was nothing more than a guise.
It’d finally hit him. Koshka had given him the answer on their first night together. She’d canlı bahis danced for him, and moved with the grace of experience and practice. Puck was a creature that loved music and dance, and to dance with this nimble-footed demon was sure to be a pleasure. He was very familiar with the dancing styles that had been the vogue through most of Europe for the last several thousand years. Many had passed into obscurity, or were only performed at ceremonies. However, several dances had managed to survive the ages…
“What if I asked you to wear a dress that is suited for dancing?” Malcolm asked.
“… Oh?” Koshka’s voice had a lilt of curiosity. “You dance?”
“Dancing is an excellent way to exercise and maintain flexibility,” came the slightly dry response in Malcolm’s voice as Puck felt his lips twitch up into a faint smile.
“Well, the results are hard to argue with. I’ll see you then. Looking forward to the dinner and dance.”
“No more than I am,” he shot back in a somewhat lighter tone. “See you then.”
He sighed softly and leaned back, closing his eyes as he ran his hand down his stomach, stopping at his belt. Just hearing her voice had caused him to stir, and he took a deep breath.
It was easier to keep himself controlled in this shell, with the rules he’d created for his alter ego. He lifted his hand, running it along his short blonde hair.
Koshka smiled as she looked in the full-length mirror. She turned around, admiring the way the skirt swished around her legs. Oh, Malcolm was going to go gaga over this. And if he’d been a good boy, he would have his reward. She smirked as she remembered the sight of him standing there with an erection, and no chance at relief, at least not from her. Just thinking about his boner sent a sear of arousal through her core. She hoped he had been a good boy, because then it would be even more fun for the two of them. She walked down the stairs and outside, waiting for him, looking quite the sight in her dress. The black silk and gossamer flowed down her legs, coming halfway down her calves. Her feet were laced up in black velvet pumps.
A black velvet bolero with a sky blue trim hugged the upper half of her body, keeping her warm against the brisk evening. Her hair was pinned up, a pair of light blue flowers adorning the upsweep of the ruby locks.
The now-familiar black town car slid to the curb, and Malcolm stepped out, as sharp as she expected, a red dress shirt complemented by a grey vest and a black suit.
“Good evening, Koshka.” He took her into his arms, pressing his lips to her brow. She leaned against him, breathing in the scent of his cologne as she did so. She murmured a fond greeting before she backed away from him.
“You look ready for our night out. Have you… been a good boy?” she whispered, looking carefully at him to gauge his reaction.
“It has not been easy, I will admit. Thinking about you made me ache. But yes… I have earned the reward that you promised.” His tone was even, masking his desire and excitement. “The night is young, shall we?” he asked, offering his arm. She took it, feeling a warm tingle as he squeezed his arm around her own.
He opened the door for her, and they seated themselves. Turning on some quiet classical music, he pulled into the street. She squirmed in her seat, shooting him an occasional glance as he drove. At appropriate intervals, like when they were at a red light, she would reach out and give his leg an affectionate squeeze. “I’m hungry for dinner, but I’m also hungry for you,” she purred.
“Mmm, good to know. We should probably have dinner first though. Build up our energy.” He drove them across the downtown area of the city. As they approached the restaurant, the crowds shrank, and mainstream businesses gave way to more ethnic fare. Though that didn’t mean they were going to some traditional hole in the wall.
Casablanca was a trendy restaurant and dance bar, bathed in red lamplight from the evening’s decor. Already, a handful of couples had taken to the dance floor, shaking and spinning with the upbeat Latin music. Thankfully, there wasn’t much of a crowd; enough people to make things lively without them becoming stifling.
“You like?” Malcolm inquired, watching to gauge her reactions as they approached the building from the parking lot and were approached by the hostess.
“You might not be much of a cook, but you certainly do find nice places to feed me,” Koshka smiled as they entered and were led over to a comfortable alcove that had a view of the dance floor. It surprised her that he’d mentioned dancing, since she hadn’t imagined the uptight, reserved blonde to have any interest in dancing. The equipment at his house made her think that lifting weights and mixed martial arts were the sole basis of his exercise regimen.
She certainly was not about to complain, of course. Though Koshka was a creature of the East unlike Puck, she was still familiar with enough of Western Europe to appreciate bahis siteleri the genuine Spanish touches to this place. Whoever had designed this place obviously knew at least a thing or two about Portugal and Spain. The menu also featured many examples of authentic cuisine from both Spain and Latin America, instead of the usual Tex-Mex crap that many “Latin” restaurants offered.
“I like to think that despite the difference in our culinary skills, our palates share a certain level of refinement.” he commented. She smiled, and he smiled back before a waiter approached, handing them menus and depositing a bowl of home-baked tortilla chips with a Spanish tomato sauce comparable to salsa. “Perhaps a bottle of sangria to start us off?” he asked. She nodded, and the waiter retreated from the table as they discussed meal options.
“I think I’ll start off with a small bowl of gazpacho. It’s been far, far too long since I’ve been able to enjoy some real Spanish cuisine.” When was the last time she was in Spain? Sixty, maybe seventy years ago? Of course, she couldn’t mention that to Malcolm, him being a human and all. Oh well. They looked up as the waiter returned with the wine and a couple of glasses, pouring for them.
“Great choice. I’ll have the escudella, then.” Malcolm selected the hot soup. He didn’t see the charm in a cold soup like gazpacho, but to each their own. “Some patatas bravas too. As for the main course, I think I will have the garlic lemon chicken, and some Valencian paella.”
“Chicken sounds great, but without the paella.”
The server nodded and retreated, leaving them to enjoy their drinks and chips.
“You really do look beautiful tonight. Already caught a few of the people out there,” he cocked his head toward the dance floor, “staring. Can’t say I blame them, of course.” he reached out to gently stroke the back of her hand, which had been resting on the table. On her wrist were several slim silver bands and one with several diamonds mounted along it. His thumb caressed the her own, and she smiled faintly.
“I know they’re checking you out too. And you do look rather sharp tonight. Although I can’t wait to get that clothing off you,” she added with a wiggle of her eyebrows. With a small, dignified lift of his chin, he straightened his black and dark red tie before he relaxed a bit.
“Your appreciation is duly noted. As is your… desire.” The corner of his lip quirked up in the faintest of smiles.
“Well, you were quite the sight when I left your apartment the other day. I’ll admit that memory does get me aroused…” She smirked before she took a sip. “Though I do appreciate your mind, I won’t deny that just the sight of you is very… pleasing, regardless of what you’re wearing. or not wearing.”
“The feeling’s mutual, of course.” Malcolm sipped his wine, dividing his attention between admiring her and watching the dancing. People-watching was, more often than not, rather amusing, and he noted that Koshka was enjoying the same activity, her eyes half-lidded as she watched the other patrons.
Before long, their appetizers arrived, and Koshka took a sip of her soup, nodding in approval before plucking a potato off his plate. He picked up a piece himself, enjoying the solid crunch of the outside and the softness of innards.
“So after we eat, we gonna get out there and show them how it’s done?”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you suggested dancing. It’s kind of hard to imagine you letting loose, I’ll admit. But we’ll see what happens.” She had the feeling that he wouldn’t have suggested dancing if he wasn’t already confident in it. Breaking up a few of the tortilla chips into the soup, she idly ate it while studying him as he sat staring out at the floor. The slightly muted lighting in the alcove cast shadows that highlighted the fineness of Malcolm’s face, and the skilled construction of his features with the aquiline Roman nose and a lean yet strong jaw. His appearance could argue for the existence of a God, given the rest of him and how… perfectly he seemed to have been created, as if said deity had taken extra time and care in his making.
As their soups and appetizer were running low, their dinner appeared. The hot meal after the cold soup was refreshing, and she sat back, savoring the spices on the chicken.
“Well hopefully I can keep on surprising you.” He took several bites of his meal, enjoying the chef’s obvious culinary skills. “How is everything?”
“Fabulous. You’ve done your research.” She easily shared the wine, relaxing and having a good time. “I can’t remember the last person I’ve enjoyed their company so much,” she admitted as she finished off her chicken.
“Excellent,” he smirked, finishing off another glass of wine. He stretched beneath the table, running a foot slowly up her leg. His expression conveyed none of the teasing, the movement hidden by the tablecloth. She let out a small sigh and leaned back a bit, allowing the food to digest as she sipped some water. As she felt bahis şirketleri his foot, she scooted closer to him, ostensibly to be able to see the dance floor better. Her foot responded to his playing, her toes sliding along his ankle and calf.
He trailed his foot higher, pushing aside the fabric of her dress, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He watched the dance floor, tapping his fingers with the rhythm of the music, doing well to conceal the teasing beneath the table. “I’ve always liked salsa music,” he commented. “So very passionate.”
She raised her eyebrow. “How about flamenco, or tango?” She shivered at the gentle caress, though remained outwardly calm, finishing off her glass of wine. After a bit longer, she slid off her jacket and rose to her feet. “Ready to show m your moves?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye
“You’ve seen my moves,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “But we can do some dancing.” He slid his jacket off, draping it across the back of his chair.
He took her hand, and they they moved into the open space. The current song wound down, and a new one started up. She started swaying to the beat, getting a feel of rhythm. She was more used to Middle Eastern and Russian dancing, but music was music, and the Spanish music had a beat she enjoyed. Her hips swayed, the skirt swishing around her shapely legs.
Malcolm seemed to know his way around the dance floor, putting a hand to her hip, leading, guiding and occasionally copping a subtle feel. For someone so stoic, he could really move with the music, showing off a grace that he normally reserved for their time in the bedroom. All the while, he offered her smiles and passionate glances over the rims of his glasses. She was quick to pick up the steps from him as he easily guided her, his feet moving with the surety of long practice.
She pressed up against him, dancing almost cheek to cheek as they moved to the tempo of the music. As the crescendo increased, she moved closer to him, letting him hold her more tightly while allowing enough room for their feet to move. He moved with increasing proof of skill, seeming to let the music lead him without thinking, her pulse picking up on both the tempo and his desire for her. She could almost taste the nervous energy that was thrumming from him. It thrilled her to no end to know that he had pined for her, and had exercised patience for her reward. Oh, he would be rewarded well.
She rode on the music, having quickly memorized the pattern, letting Malcolm spin or dip her at intervals. The night went on, they danced on, feet quickly moving across the floor. Eventually others stopped to watch, and then a song that was perfect for tango came on. She pressed herself against him again, dancing cheek to cheek as the two of them reveled in this passionate dance.
For all their differences, Venjanca and Puck had at least one thing in common. Music and dance nurtured them, and they found a valuable channel of self-expression within the union of sound and motion. The imp took no small amount of pleasure in how well his stratagem worked, and enjoyed the way her feet moved around his, the way her swaying hips felt under his hands, and the gleam in her eyes as he spun her around or pulled her to himself.
Malcolm leaned his head down and growl or whisper in her ear. “They look at us and admire us. Many of them wish they had either of us, or perhaps both, in their beds. But I am yours. All my dances belong to you.” Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow, and despite Puck’s superhuman strength, Malcolm was still a shell of flesh and blood. Puck had given his human guise the same responses to stress as an ordinary if very healthy and fit human.
She was beginning to sweat as well, though with their rapid movements and spins they barely noticed. He could feel the fast beat of her heart as they continued the dance, pressing against one another at intervals. He was semi-hard in his pants, hard enough to let her feel, but not for others to see. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, the skirt swishing wildly around her legs when he spun her around, and when the song finally ended, she was in his arms in a dip. Over the sound of her heartbeat, she heard a few claps and whistles.
Malcolm stood her up and offered a dramatic bow to the crowd, stopping himself from giving a flourish with his hand. That would be too… Puckish, he warned himself. “Your adoring fans,” he murmured, nudging her teasingly, pulling her into an embrace. He leaned in, kissing her lips with a low murmur, drawing another round of applause from the crowd.
She melted into the kiss before pulling away from him, her cheeks rosy, her chest heaving a bit. The dancing had her blood pumping in more ways than one, and he was eager to revel in her heat.
After quickly finishing what was left of their wine and paying the bill, he led her outside, feeling admiring and envious glances on them as they moved through the lobby. In the relative privacy of the parking lot, she pulled him in for another kiss as she groped his crotch. Already semi-hard, he was quick to respond, his manhood throbbing almost painfully in the confines of his slacks and underwear.
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