Page 7 of Shifted Desire

It’s hard not to feel like a kid again, because I don’t think she’s changed at all since I last lived here. Not even a stray gray peppered into her abundant black waves, nor more than a whisper of a wrinkle on her brow. Dad has to use magic to make her appear less preternaturally young, because while he admittedly doesn’t look much over 50 because of his magical heritage, he got tired of being side-eyed by humans for having such an age gap with his wife.

If only they knew she’s 80 to his 67.

She credits her youthful glow to always being well-fed, which grosses me out, but is excellent motivation for me to stay on top of my succubus needs.

See, fucking strangers at a kink club is actually a healthy life choice!

All jokes aside, I do feel a lot better this morning. The chronic tension in my neck and shoulders is gone, as is the dull, persistent headache I’ve had for weeks. Weeks I’ve been too busy scraping up the shitty pieces of my life to find hookups. Besides, my parents may be very sex-positive, but there’s no way I’m bringing anyone back to my childhood bedroom to bang.

Mom deposits a basket at the foot of my bed with a cheery smile, though I can feel her trying to assess my mood. “I know you said not to worry about your laundry, but Dad was already doing ours, so we popped in some of your darks.”

She lifts tidy piles of folded clothes out of the laundry basket and sets them on my dresser. Judging by the amount of clothes, I doubt they washed anything else. It takes everything in me not to get pissy that she came into my room and dug through my hamper, and to take it at face value—a kindness for their slob of a daughter who has been too busy wallowing to deal with her mountain of dirty clothes.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no trouble. We want to help you, peanut.” She’s in her natural succubus form this morning, and her tail twines around my ankle like she used to do when I was little.

For some very annoying reason, the touch makes me want to cry. I forgot how nice it was to have a touch that’s purely meant to comfort. I’d ask her for a hug, but then she’d probably end up crying too, and I’d feel like an asshole for pushing her away since I was old enough to wear a bra.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, looking away so she doesn’t see my glassy eyes. “I really appreciate you and Dad letting me crash here. I promise it won’t be for long. I have a few leads on jobs that I’m going to follow up with on Monday, so I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“Are you kidding? We’re thrilled to have you here! We’re old and boring, so having one of our babies back at home is wonderful.”

I snort. My parents are the opposite of boring old people. Mom is a clinical sex therapist and teaches pole classes, and Dad has his PI business and his passion for enchantments. When they’re not working, they’re all loved up doing things I’d rather not think about down in the basement that I pretend isn’t absolutely a sex dungeon.

Meanwhile, I’m an unemployed administrative assistant with no hobbies unless you count a slight addiction to online shopping and trolling men on the internet.

“Oh yes, I’ll make your life so much more fun,” I reply sarcastically. While I know they love me, and we’re in a much better place than when I was in my teens and twenties, we both know I’ve been a pain in their ass most of my existence.

She doesn’t laugh like I expect, her brow furrowing as she gives my ankle a squeeze. “You’ve always made life better.”

“Stop it, don’t make me cry,” I huff, playing off how her words hit me in the chest.

Mom chuckles and holds her hands up. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t do emotions until after you’ve had your coffee.” She unravels her tail from my ankle and picks the basket back up. “You look like you’re feeling a little better today.”

“Yep.”

She smiles, violet eyes filled with empathy. “I’m glad. You never need to worry about taking care of yourself, okay? No one here will judge. It’s part of who you are.”

I grimace. “Yeah, I know.” I refuse to discuss anything involving sex with my mother, even though she’s a succubus and sex therapist. Even though she’d probably give me amazing advice, I just…can’t.

“Well, I’ll let you get dressed! Max should be here soon. He called to say he was running a little late so you should have time to shower, and Dad is brewing you some fresh coffee.” She stops with one foot out the door. “Oh! Remember that we have family dinner tonight, so if you can get back by six, that’s when your sisters are coming.”

Right. I forgot about that. Maybe because I’m not exactly pumped for our first family gathering where all my siblings see me back living with Mom and Dad.

“Got it,” I say, forcing a smile.

It’s not anyone’s fault but my own that I’m in this situation. I just had to go and open my mouth to my creepy boss instead of grinning and bearing it.

I know how this world works. People in power don’t give a shit about what’s right and wrong as long as they protect their own asses. Why did I expect different results?

Things could be a lot worse. I could have shitty parents that wouldn’t welcome me back into their house as a freeloader. I’m being a spoiled brat, all things considered.

Dad smiles as I enter the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in some of my clean clothes for my outing with Max. He’s in the middle of pouring pitch-black coffee into my insulated travel mug, knowing I like it strong enough to strip paint when I’ve had a late night.

“Morning, buttercup. Or I guess I should say, afternoon.” Dad chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He sets the coffeepot down and comes in for one of his patented hugs, which even I can’t pretend to dislike.

My dad is possibly the sweetest man in existence, and it’d be almost sickening if he wasn’t also such a total nerd. You can’t help but love him.