Sex Magick wasn’t as dark as it sounded, in fact it was probably the most natural form of Magick around - because the only thing you really needed was a willing partner. There were no candles, or sigils, or anointing oils. There were no herbs or spices. It did not require sacrifice of any kind. Rather, it was the connecting of two people, the taking and giving of pleasure, and when the gateway to climax was flung open, that was when a Witch should cast her intentions - in the throws of an orgasm. When the others discussed it, it was always revered as a holy experience, something beautiful - divine, even. But it was also a standing joke within the Club that if your partner was too good, sometimes you would be so caught up in the entire experience that you forgot to cast your intentions. The belief was that through your orgasm, you created a bridge between the present-situation and everything you were trying to manifest. Some Witches believed that such Magick worked best as a booster to an existing spell you had already cast, thus heightening the spell's reach and how effective it was.
Was it something I wanted to experience? Of course it was, just not with one of those boring men that somehow managed to check all the boxes on my mothers list. On paper, I supposed they were ‘perfect’ - an ideal match for someone like me. But face to face? There were zero sparks. None. Zip. If it wasn’t for my early attraction to Charl, I would have assumed that I favoured the fairer sex because not one single boy that my mother introduced me to excited me in the slightest.
Padding to the bathroom, I saw that the candles had burnt down neatly, the wax barely existent within the tin encasing that the candle came in. The smell of honeysuckle lingered in the bathroom, soothing and joyous in its existence, much like Isis herself. But a joyous deity could still exact vengeance, and I had a feeling that we would need to brace ourselves for what was to come. I showered, basking in the smell of honeysuckle, naked, content to soak up the divine feminine energy that my deity seemed to encompass, as if femininity and the act of sex itself were a gift, sacred only in that it connected two different energies. In that context, my hangups of not wanting to have sex with one of my mothers setups seemed more like an excuse. But I didn’t know how to do casual sex because I was a coward and hadn’t allowed myself to experinece anything of the sort.
I didn’t know what kind of man I wanted, but I knew what I didn’t want - and it wasn’t the Andrews of this world. When I looked at the type of man that Dimitri was, I found myself considering his characteristics, placing them on some sort of mental check-list I was creating for what I - apparently - liked. Minus the Bratva, of course. I watched as the shampoo from my hair swirled down the drain, and I chose to throw my rising anxiety down with it.
Seeking movement and distance from my thoughts, I dressed quickly, forgoing all my normal beauty routine, choosing to get out of the room as fast as possible - away from my imposing thoughts.
I found my way to the kitchen where Dimitri sat at the center island, a lone wolf, stirring his coffee as he stared vacantly ahead of him, no doubt his mind a jumble of everything we were experiencing. For a moment, his aura shifted, becoming visible to my eye, the ebb and flow of his various colours - red and black, with the small bleed of grey. And in the next blink, I could no longer see those colours dancing off of his body, but that snippet of insight was probably purer than any conversation I had had with him. He was a protector who was fuelled by pain and suffering. Red was a strong colour - usually associated with someone of presence - and as I stood, lingering slightly, taking in the sight of Dimitri, I could agree that the colours were not wrong.
I knew that something terrible had happened to him. I knew that he had experienced torment and pain - both Arlo had alluded to it, and my visions had shown me snippets of his childhood. Always either alone or with Arlo, but never with his parents. They had died - I did not need confirmation of that fact, but how they died was a different matter entirely. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know that story - the horror of it all. Because if I knew - if my gut was correct in assuming that that was the reason that Dimitri had such a hard exterior - then I wouldn’t be able to simply label him a jackass - even if he did murder people. The guilt of my own role in Olek’s death rose fast and swift, singing all judgement of others in its wake.
Last night should have been enough to send most people running - perhaps even most Club members tapping out of this contract entirely. And yet, I couldn’t find the moral boundary within me - the one that believed that peddling drugs was inherently bad or wrong. It was as if by simply being in Dimitri’s vicinity, my moral code was corroding and I was justifying all sorts of terrible behaviour and actions.
I found myself constantly justifying that some things were simply subjective. Who were we to tell people that they could or could not buy that product? And at the end of the day, Dimitri and his ‘organisation’ were providing the world with a product - and it was up to the buyers of that product to use it responsibly. This line of thinking was a slippery slope because I was justifying Dimitri’s criminal activities. Worse yet, I wasn’t quite ready to examine why I seemed content to justify them at all.
And even if I wrapped my head around his product pushing ways, that didn’t take away from the fact that he was a murderer - that he had ordered Olek’s death. But then, Olek was bound to die anyway - it had been fated the minute Sergei and the Voodoo Priestess had leveraged his death as the kindle to their own spells, so was Dimitri really to blame?
I shook myself from my thoughts, the very notion that I was standing here, mentally justifying Dimitri executing someone should be more than enough to tell me exactly how far down this rabbit hole I had fallen.
I needed a break from all this damn heaviness. Since stepping foot in New Orleans, I hadn’t experienced a moment of reprieve - a minute where I wasn’t thinking about impending war, or death, or executions, or Dimitri. His presence was everywhere, spiralling into my thoughts, confusing and intoxicating. And I hated it. I slid onto the stool next to him, helping myself to a plate of croissants on the counter, a steaming pot of coffee seated beside it.
“You sleep okay?” His gaze remained focused on the window - the lawns outside really, as he asked the question.
“Yeah,” I offered awkwardly, “thanks…”
He turned to me, a playful smirk coating his lips, and he looked younger somehow, more at ease. His hair was still mussed from sleep, which made me think he either hadn’t been awake much longer than I had, or he simply hadn’t bothered to brush it. The shift between us hadn’t solely been in my mind, Dimitri.
“Do you want to talk about your choice of literature, Miss Rand?” His eyes danced with amusement and I couldn’t help the answering blush that blossomed under his playfulness.
The memory of him flicking through the pages of my book, absorbing Dani Dark with her triplet men - a harem all her own, had me biting down on my lip in embarrassment. And yet, despite wishing that the floor would swallow me whole, I liked this playful Dimitri.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said with all the fake bravado I possessed, filling my mug with the smooth coffee before me.
“Of course," he chuckled darkly, and the sound sent my desire - a desire I had not fully experienced - rising to the surface.
“But I do find it interesting,” he went on, “that someone like you enjoys such literature.” He smirked again, enjoying this far too much.
“I didn’t take you to be such a literary prude,” I counter.
“Oh, on the contrary, Miss Rand, I am no prude. If you find yourself curious about experiencing what that book of yours talks about, I’ve been told that I’m a very good instructor.”
“Really?” I bite back sarcastically. Could this conversation be any more mortifying? “Are you saying that you measure up to three men - because that’s what my book is about - one girl, three guys.”
“Firstly, Bambi, I’m not sure you even know what to do with one cock, let alone three. And, secondly,” he leant forward in promise, his hot breath caressing my cheek, “I’m fairly certain you need to be schooled in the art of pleasure first.”
I gritted my teeth, averting my gaze in an attempt to hide my embarrassment. Had Dimitri just offered to educate me in all the experiences I had been missing out on? Was it that obvious that I was innocent? I could deal with Demons and was apparently capable of summoning Isis herself, but the prospect of grabbing what Dimitri had to offer saw my nerves wrack through my body.
My hands felt clammy, and in an attempt to recover, I forced a smile to my lips and said with all the bravado that I possessed, “You mean, then, you’ll be up for a Reverse Harem?”
His eyes flared in anger or maybe irritation?
Maybe what I had been assuming was anger hadn’t been anger at all.
“That’s not what I was implying and you know it,” he growled low, and the sound of his voice sent warmth rushing to my core. The idea of Dimitri possessing me was an intoxicating thought.
“I am willing to bet,” he leant forward, his voice low and almost guttural, “that between the sheets, you are something else entirely, you just need the opportunity to let go and allow yourself to experience true pleasure.”