Han leaned back against the cushions, stomach pleasantly heavy from the spiced stew, grilled fish and fresh flatbread. When he excused himself for a bath, Badb had offered to wash his back, voice low and teasing. He’d declined. Every pair of eyes in the common room had locked on him, Oshun’s wide and curious, Elea’s faintly amused or even jealous of Han, and even Hebe had leaned in at the window to listen. The refusal spilled out before he could reconsider. Now, alone in the tub, regret clung to him like the cooling water on his skin.

  He was never going home.

  Four Earth months had slipped away while he lingered in this realm. Badb had recounted the facts earlier with flat precision: his ex-wife declared him dead, collected the insurance, emptied the accounts, auctioned the furniture, sold even the beat-up car his father had fixed. Han had stared at the wall, numb, the words landing like distant echoes.

  The deepest cut was Mars moving on so swiftly. New man already. Living together. Han forced a smile, claimed he was happy for her, the guy had money, drove a sleek Jaguar, but the words burned like ash on his tongue. Nothing waited for him. No home, no job, no recognizable life. They offered a clean slate instead, and the goddess appeared oddly determined to keep him from rejecting it. She bent rules she once wielded without compromise. He still didn’t grasp why, yet the shift left him quietly grateful amid the unease.

  He had already chosen. Keltur: a water world much like Earth, complete with magnetosphere, molten core, plate tectonics. His geology and mineral knowledge might prove useful in a magic-driven, low-tech society. Perhaps he could teach, become a professor, share what he knew. Half-elf lineage promised four to five centuries. Plenty of time to forge something enduring. Plenty of time to get revenge on the goddess who’d pulled him here and settle that score. Oshun he could not hate; her gentle, almost childish innocence shone through golden eyes that blinked in honest confusion whenever he fell silent. The true rage belonged to the architect of it all. One day he would collect.

  Endless lists of skills, classes, and spells had exhausted him. Letters swam together in the ancient text. Hebe was already asleep in her rooftop nest, feathers fluffed against the chill. Elea curled up near the kitchen ovens, white wings draped around her like a living duvet. Oshun required no true sleep but occasionally closed her eyes to attune herself to the goddess, keep tabs on her lesser kin, and the distant thrum of other worlds.

  Han yawned until his jaw ached, stretched until his spine cracked, then muttered that line. “I’m going to bed.”

  Badb rose fluidly and followed without comment.

  He paused in the bedroom doorway, brow raised. “I don’t need tucking in. I’m not five.”

  Her smile curled slow and knowing. “It’s literally my job tonight, Han. Besides,” she tilted her head in close, “I still have to clean the bathroom. Only then can I rest. If I skip my chores I’ll be punished.”

  Han scoffed, but capitulated. When the door clicked shut behind her, he swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat and turned.

  She brushed past him in the cramped space, pretending to be indifferent to the close encounter as their chests touched. Han could smell the scent that followed her like pheromones, some sort of night-blooming flowers.

  “I won’t be long,” she murmured, closing the bathroom door. From inside she called, “Get settled. I’ll tuck you in when I’m done… or bring whatever else you need.”

  Han sank onto the narrow bed that dominated the room. Its old frame groaned under him. He stared at the beams in the ceiling, willing his heartbeat slower. He leaned over, blew out the only candle, and tried to sleep. Moonlight sliced through the high window in pale silver bars.

  The water stopped running. The bathroom door opened again; candlelight barely reached its threshold.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “You don’t mind if I bathe now, do you?” Badb’s voice came soft, almost shy.

  Han’s pulse hammered. Eyes widened in the dark. Only one tub. Of course she wanted to be clean. “No,” he rasped, throat dry. “It’s fine, Badb. Take your time.”

  The door was left open.

  Candlelight inside flickered as she moved, pouring herbs and oils into the steaming water. He could see the tub’s edge, the smooth curve of her shoulder as she tested the temperature. He almost demanded she close the door, then stopped himself. He didn’t really want the door shut.

  With her back to him, her silk gown whispered taunts as the black fabric pooled on the floor like ink. She stepped in; water sloshed gently. A low, contented hum rose as she sank down and began to wash, slow, purposeful strokes over her skin.

  Was this deliberate? Or was she as guilelessly unbound by human propriety as Oshun could be? Han couldn’t decide. Every splash, every soft sigh, pulled at him. Sleep abandoned him.

  Her hum became a quiet, wordless song, ancient, rising and falling like a distant surf. The rhythm seeped into his bones. Eyelids grew heavy. Bath sounds blurred and merged, transformed into the steady crash of waves on a beach that he used to call home.

  He remembered the basket, foil-wrapped crab legs, shrimp, scallops, three bottles of chilled white. Mars arrived with fresh warm bread, a rolled blanket, and that long black dress hugging every curve. They ate as the sky burned gold, then lingered over wine, laughter easy under the emerging stars.

  When he reached for the third bottle, Mars reached for her dress straps instead. Moonlight illuminated the lace bra she’d once tucked into his pocket. She popped the front clasp; full breasts spilled free, nipples already puffed and tight with want.

  She shoved him onto his back with surprising force. Kneeling beside him, she glanced once along the empty shore, then yanked his pants open, fingers quick and hungry.

  As he drew breath to speak, she claimed his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, tongue sweeping inside while her hand freed him from the constraints of his pants. Her hand moved slow and firm until he throbbed against it. Pleasure knotted tight; his hips jerked, moans muffled against her lips as his hand rose to explore her chest.

  She pulled back just enough to whisper hot against his ear, “Look at you… so hard for me. You WANT me, right?” Her fingers teased him relentlessly.

  “Yes,” he agreed pleadingly.

  “Show me how you NEED me.”

  He groaned, hips twitching upward. She laughed softly, low and wicked, then slid lower, taking him into her mouth with deliberate slowness. His moans grew slowly savage from deep in his chest as he throbbed, hips bucking. She pulled away before things could finish, leaving him aching and glistening in the moonlight.

  “Not yet,” she purred, eyes dark with hunger as she rose. Lifting her dress, she revealed how ready she was, not wearing any underwear. Clean shaven and already primed. “See what you do to me? Just thinking about you inside me has me so wet.”

  She guided him to her entrance, letting his tip press against her, then pulled back. Again. And again. Until he thrust up desperately, but she rose higher, preventing entry. “Call me your bad girl,” she demanded, voice husky. “If you want inside, say it.”

  “Please...”

  “Who’s your bad bad girl?”

  “You… you’re my bad...”

  She sank down hard, taking him in. Her sharp cry split the night; his groan answered it.

  Something in Han snapped. He was done being teased. He thrust up fiercely, matching her rhythm. Until her quivering body couldn't move, hands braced on his chest, breasts bouncing with every impact. “Yes, like that! Harder!” Her walls clenched around him; her cries rang out over the empty shore. “God, you're so huge inside me!”

  He shattered, pulsing deep inside. She ground down, trembling through her own release, as she gasped his name.

  She collapsed atop him, breathing ragged, then smiled at the feel of him, still hard, still wanting. Slowly she lifted off, strands of their shared heat clinging between them. She spun, straddling his chest, gazing down with wicked promises.

  Silky hair draped over him as she lowered her mouth onto him again, savoring him with slow, hungry lips. His hips bucked; fresh moans tore free. When he gripped her head she knew, and relaxed to let him in deeper, humming approval at his thrusts until he spilled once more.

  She crawled up beside him, face on his wet chest. One hand slipped between her thighs, fingers working herself unapologetically while she scooped their mingled warmth from in front of her lips. She slurped up most of it and plunged what was left on her fingers deep inside, moaning brokenly. Addicted to the pleasure as her hips bucked against her own hands, she rolled onto her back and surrendered to the rhythm. Han rolled closer, lips on her neck, his hand joining hers in the wet fury, until her cries peaked again, her final trembling sigh, "I'm your bad girl," drifting like a haunting tide.

  Han jolted awake, tangled in the sheets, sunlight slicing across the bed. Birds sang outside. Laughter and clinking dishes drifted from the common room. The scent of frying meat and fresh bread slipped under the door making him hungry.

  As he warily got out of bed, he realized.

  He was completely naked.