Realms and Rebels: A Paranormal and Fantasy Reverse Harem Collection

by C. M. Stunich

Jerome

  What the hell? What the hell? I pace back and forth in the bedroom I share with Mags. What the hell is happening? I’ve never been unfaithful to any woman and I would never do it to Mags, even if we are having problems. Even if I have been having second thoughts. But I did. The whole thing has come back to me in bits and pieces now, even if it did feel like I was watching it all from afar, like an out-of-body experience.

  I have no idea how I even got to Ichor in the first place. I’ve never stepped inside a vectum before. Why would I? I’m a shifter, not a vampire. I certainly had no idea they were whorehouses too before last night. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would I do that and why would I have no memory of making the decision to do so? Why would I risk ruining my entire life?

  I’ll tell Maggie everything. She’ll understand. But what if she doesn’t? What if she kicks me out of her life forever? I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but can I take that chance? Maggie and I may be going through a rough patch, but I still love her like a best friend. So what if our passion has waned? It happens to every couple eventually. So what if I’m not in lo— No. Not going there. Besides, on paper, we are perfect together. We both want the same things out of life and she is a good person. She treats me well and is totally drama-free.

  Sydney acted like she wouldn’t say a word. Maybe I can just pretend it never happened and Maggie will never find out and we can get married, have our babies and live our simple life.

  “Hey babe.” Maggie enters the bedroom and rushes over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “Is everything all right? You look upset.”

  “I’m . . . tired. Just tired.” I take her in my arms and kiss her hard, trying to force back the passion we used to share. Sydney’s soft lips flash to mind. I pull away. “Let’s just go to bed. It’s late. I’d love to cuddle with you for a while before I have to get up for work.”

  “Just cuddle?” She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “Where were you earlier? I called and called. Did you have to work after all?”

  “I did.” I don’t want to lie to her but I can’t tell her where I really was, not until I figure out what happened. How I even got there.

  “I was going to go by the restaurant but my mom called and asked me to bring her dinner at Ichor since she had to work late.”

  “What time was that?”

  Maggie starts to undress, slowly, with one knee propped on the bed.

  I look away, pretending to busy myself with the water glass on my nightstand.

  “Not that late, around ten.”

  Shit, that’s pretty much the exact time I was at Ichor too. After my tryst with Sydney, I sat at the vectum in the front room for an hour trying to figure out how I got there and what had happened. What if she’d walked through that front door? There’d be no talking my way out of it, and what if Eleanor saw me? I didn’t even know she was working there now. Did I?

  “I’m going to jump in the shower. Hospitals are filthy. When I get out . . .” She pauses, waiting for me to turn toward her but I don’t want to. I’m not worthy enough to see my stunning girlfriend naked.

  But Maggie crosses in front of me, catching my attention. She knows how lovely she is, I’ve told her a thousand times, and everywhere we go she garners appreciative stares. Maggie is every man’s wet dream. Her full breasts, a perfect C cup that defy gravity, top her slender body as though she was built to model. Chestnut-brown hair curls around a heart-shaped face pale as alabaster.

  I bite my lip and force myself to look away. The guilt is too crushing. I feel no sexual stirring when I look at her. I appreciate her beauty like that of a lovely flower but I do not wish to pluck it.

  As soon as she goes into the bathroom and I hear the water running, I jump into bed, sure to keep my pajama bottoms on. When she comes out twenty minutes later, I pretend to be asleep. She climbs in next to me and wraps her arms around my waist, insinuating a hand down between my legs. Immediately my cock responds as it always does to attention, but I mumble, “Let’s just cuddle. I’m too tired, sweetheart.”

  “Too tired for sex? You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Is this something we need to talk about?” She nuzzles my ear.

  “No, no. It’s me. I’ve just been working too much and last night I ate something at the restaurant that didn’t agree with me.”

  “Oh, poor baby.” She moves her hand off my cock and up to my stomach, where she rubs.

  I close my eyes and breathe in her scent of almonds and powdered sugar, trying to blot out Sydney’s scent of licorice and cloves with the tiniest hint of vanilla. I pray that when I wake up I will find out this has all been a dream, a nightmare. More than anything in the world I want to wake and find that I am not a cheater. We fall asleep with her arms circled around my back, her head lying next to mine on the pillow. Her soft breathing whispering in my ear. Taunting me with her kindness and my inexcusable mistake.

  When the alarm rings a few hours later I leap out of bed and practically run to the shower. Mags mumbles and turns over.

  I don my bathrobe and pad out to the kitchen for coffee. Sydney is awake, sitting at the kitchen table and reading one of my cooking magazines. She looks up, narrows her eyes and then looks back down.

  “Do you want some coffee?” I fill the pot and pour it into the back of the coffee maker.

  “That’d be great.” She doesn’t look at me again.

  “Sydney . . .”

  “Don’t. There’s no need. It happens all the time. Goes with the job.”

  Whoa. That’s sad, both for her and for the men. So I’m just another statistic? I stand in front of the coffee maker until it’s done and then pour us each a cup. Removing some milk from the fridge, I put everything on the table and sit down across from her. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  She looks up, wraps her hand around the coffee cup and brings it to her lips. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  I lick my lips and look down at my own cup. Seeing her face bruised and stitched like that stirs something deep inside my core, like my insides are being whipped into a béchamel. I want to kill whoever did that to her. God, life is messed up. “I don’t understand what happened last night.”

  “Well that’s a first.” She looks at me, a smile budding on her lips. A smile that doesn’t bloom. “Your penis, my vagina, pretty simple, really.”

  I fold my arms on the table. “Not the mechanics. I don’t remember going to Ichor. I don’t remember meeting with Cheryl. I don’t remember asking for . . .” I circle my hand in the air. “. . . services.”

  “But you do remember the awesome blowie I gave you and coming inside my pussy, yes?”

  The temperature of my face rises to an uncomfortable level. I’m sure even my ears are beet red. “Yes.” I look away and take another sip of my coffee. “Well, no.”

  “Which is it? I’m so bad in bed you’ve blocked me out too? You were acting pretty darn dissociative. I thought maybe you were special needs. Now I’m thinking it’s probably a case of selective amnesia.”

  I shake my head. “I remember what we did, I was there. It seemed like I was watching it from above, as though someone else was in my body and I was a spectator.” I plop my arms down on the table.

  “Yup, dissociating.” She cradles her coffee cup, keeping her eyes on me.

  “How do you know so much about that?” I fold my arms up and rest my chin on my hands.

  “I’ve been forced to learn over the years why people do what they do. It helps me with my job.”

  “Maybe that’s it but it’s never happened to me before. And after we were done . . . after I finished, it felt like I was slammed back into my body.”

  She nods, looks down at her coffee and swirls it around in the mug before taking a sip. “Textbook.”

  Shit. Why the hell would that happen? Why would I do that and risk losing the best thing in my life? The situation I worked so long to set up? The family I’ve convinced myself I want?

  9

 
; Sydney

  I send up a silent prayer of thanks when Maggie enters the dining area, ending this ridiculous conversation.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” She moves to him and kisses his cheek. “Thank you for making coffee.”

  Jerome leaps out of his chair and practically trips over himself running into the galley kitchen to pour her a cup.

  She sits down at the table next to me and looks over at the magazine I’m reading. “Can you grab the pot and pour Syd some more? She’s running low.”

  “Sure, sure.” He brings out the pot.

  She has him trained. “Is your day job a waiter?” I ask as he pours my coffee.

  “Waiter?” Maggie pulls her chair closer to the table when he places her cup in front of her.

  I gesture to her cup and then back to his retreating backside.

  “Oh.” She laughs. “No, no. He’s an executive chef.”

  “A chef?” I have no idea what the executive part means but it must be nice having a practical skill that’s both reputable and enjoyable. Not that I’ll ever know.

  “A chef.” he says, coming out of the kitchen with his own cup and placing it on the table.

  “No way.” I narrow my eyes and look between them.

  “Show her,” Maggie says.

  Jerome disappears back into the kitchen and a few moments later he’s humming and clinking pots and pans on the stove.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” Maggie takes a sip of her coffee.

  “Not really.” I hold her gaze.

  “Your eyes are purple but the bruising should go away in a few weeks. Do you want me to check under the bandage?”

  I shake my head too hard and wince.

  Maggie winces in empathy and then scoots forward on her chair. “You work at Ichor?”

  “Yes, I’ve been there for a few months.”

  “And you’ve never seen that guy before last night?”

  I shake my head. “Never, and no one’s been aggressive before.” It’s one of the reasons I love working there. “But I doubt Miss Cheryl will let me continue. After this.” I point to my face and inwardly cringe. Do I really love working there?

  “Your face was not your fault. You’re the victim here. She can’t fire you for getting beat up.”

  “If my appearance affects my earning potential, which it will, she can.” I put my face in my hands, then jerk it away again. It hurts.

  “Sydney.” Maggie puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to help you fix this.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet. A vampire probably.”

  I laugh. That’s what Dr. Delicious said too. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’ve always healed the old-fashioned way.”

  “If you let this one go, you’ll have a permanent scar.”

  On my face. I shake my head. “I wouldn’t be able to work with that.”

  “Why not? A lot of beautiful men and women have scars. I’m sure there are donors with them too. Plus being a donor isn’t a career.”

  “I’m not a donor.”

  Her mouth forms a perfect O. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize . . .”

  My throat tightens and I turn away, blinking rapidly. I’ve never met a kinder woman than Maggie. I don’t want her to hate me but—I’m used to it. No matter how much I wish I could fit into a socially acceptable life, I plucked the short straw. “It’s okay, common mistake.” I push my chair back from the table and stand.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving.” The most delicious smells waft from the kitchen and the last thing I want is to forgo whatever Jerome’s making.

  “Why?”

  “Because when people find out I’m a whore, they want me to leave.”

  “I’m not one of those people. Not everyone gets to choose their profession. I know I could help you find a new one. Something safer.”

  I shake my head, not daring to believe her offer. “That’s just it, Maggie, I love being a whore.” I clench my jaw. For once, it sounds false, even to my own ears.

  “What?”

  “It’s difficult for people to understand but I love my job. I have to.” I shrug and sit back down. “It’s all I’ve ever known and I’m good at it. I love the power. I love giving people pleasure. I look at is as a helping profession.” Why is that doubt niggling deep inside my head? It only happens when I interact with normies. Maybe that’s the real reason I don’t usually interact with them.

  Maggie snorts. “That sounds very healthy.”

  For a minute I think she’s being sarcastic but her smile says she’s not. I like her. I don’t want to but I do.

  Jerome reappears with plates piled high. He’s made something I don’t recognize. It actually looks kind of gross. Mounds of thick white sauce covering something. But if it tastes even half as good as it smells, I’m all in.

  Maggie squeals. “Eggs Benedict? You’re too good to me.”

  “You’re my queen.” He places the first plate in front of her and the second in front of me.

  By the time he returns with his own plate, I’m a quarter of the way through and trying not to moan aloud. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten in my life,” I manage to say with my mouth completely full.

  Maggie and Jerome exchange smiles but his is pained. From guilt?

  I like them both, so much. I want him to love her, but he doesn’t. Not like that. They’re both playacting without knowing it. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen that—yeah, I’d be living in a manor in Bosques de las Lomas with a servant spooning crème caramel into my mouth. Or perhaps I’d be draped over a leather couch in a Portuguese mansion munching on flan.

  These people have welcomed a home-wrecker into their lives. If only I could pretend, even for an hour, that I was deserving—that I was worthy—I could be comfortable here and let myself experience true safety. But I’m not worthy and I’m not deserving. I’m a relationship killer and a fraud.

  After breakfast I do the dishes while the couple reads from their devices. I don’t have a device.

  “You don’t have to clean everything up,” Maggie calls. “Really, it’s fine.”

  “There’s a dishwasher. I’m just scraping, rinsing and piling everything inside of it. It’s the least I can do. You’re feeding me, cooking for me and giving me a place to crash.” And I don’t know how long I can stay here knowing that if Maggie knew what we did behind her back, what I did, she would beat me up herself.

  “Thank you,” Jerome calls.

  They’re thanking me?

  The front door opens and Eleanor walks in.

  “Mom.” Maggie stands. “You could have knocked.”

  “You could have locked it.” She strides over to the kitchen table and glares at Jerome. “Jerome.” Her voice is stiff and curt. Then she looks over the counter and sees me. “What is she doing here?”

  “Mother. That’s rude. This is Sydney and she’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

  “Is she?” Her voice is robotic, devoid of emotion. “Maybe not after what I came here to show you.”

  I walk out of the kitchen and wipe my hands on a dish towel.

  “That’s it, everyone gather around.” She places a black leather case on the table that looks like it should contain a bowling ball.

  “Really, Mom? You’ve got to do this right now?” Maggie says but her voice is resigned.

  “Yes. I do. And you’ll thank me after.” She fishes through the contents of the bag, then pulls out a large, clear, glass sphere. Holding it in one hand, she digs in the bag with her other and removes a brass stand.

  I chance a glance at Jerome, who is standing, shifting from one foot to the other.

  Eleanor places the ball on the stand and waves a hand over it. “Replay last night, at Ichor.”

  I lean in, mesmerized as the ball clouds. I’ve heard of crystal balls but never seen one used before even though my own mother used t
o go to a fortune-telling witch. I never went with her. The mist inside swirls and thickens, and when it clears I gasp. There I am, in miniature, on the bed at Ichor with Jerome. I look over at him but he’s in shock. His curls spill down over his face, sticking to his forehead.

  “What is this?” Maggie looks at him and then at me.

  “This,” Eleanor points to the ball, “is what your boyfriend and this . . . this . . . slut were doing last night.”

  Maggie turns back to the ball and watches me suck him off. She looks at me, her eyes wet with tears.

  Shit shit shit. Not good. I’ve been caught by girlfriends and wives before, many times, but not by someone who’s been so kind to me. Not by someone who’s opened up her home to me. Not by someone I genuinely like. I want to crawl inside that crystal ball and rewind the film, turn back the clock, have a do-over.

  Eleanor runs her hand over the ball and it jumps to me riding Jerome. Maggie’s mouth has dropped open and she’s looking between the image of me fucking her boyfriend and her boyfriend.

  “Why?” she screams at him. “I wasn’t enough for you? I know we’ve been in a rut but I thought you loved me. I thought you’d talk to me first or break up with me. Anything but this . . .” She sob-hiccups.

  “Maggie, please . . .” He approaches her with his hand out, pleading. “I have no idea how it happened. I don’t remember going there. I don’t remember doing that.”

  She snorts. “Well then, why don’t you watch the fucking replay. Or better yet, take another turn.” She points to me. “I’m sure if you pay her enough she’ll pity fuck you.”

  Eleanor doesn’t bother hiding a wicked-witch grin.

  10

  Sydney

  Less than an hour later, Jerome and I are standing outside the gate and lush garden of Maggie’s complex wearing blank stares. He’s clutching a suitcase and I have my small backpack.

  “I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what to say. Sure, I’ve been the cause of more than one breakup. I’ve even been around for them, like that time the wife walked in to find her husband fucking me, reverse cowgirl, on the steps of their swimming pool. But this is different. It’s personal. Maggie is the first woman who’s ever truly been kind to me. And I screwed it up by fucking her man. Maggie. My black and deadened heart bleeds for her.