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Apparently, you've not only not confined yourself to e-mails that cross the borders of sexual harassment, but you have also been stalking me. I will meet with you tonight as we agreed, but after that I do not want to hear from you again unless I see fit to contact you with regard to a research study. Any attempts at initiating future communication on your part will be forwarded to the police.
Harrison sighed. He hated doing things like this, but he wouldn't stand for someone prying into his life. Too bad. He thought he might miss Martin.
A new message popped up. No subject line, but it had Martin's e-mail address. Harrison frowned as he opened the note.
You would be wise to think twice before attempting to browbeat me. I have enjoyed playing the silly flirt because it amused me; however, I believe you underestimate what matter of man I am. I am a Magician, Harrison, a genuine Magician, no matter how you choose to lie to yourself about the supernatural. I am entrusted with the magic that keeps Amour Magique running.
Amour Magique is far more than any silly dance club. If you remove your blinders for a moment when you enter, you may see for yourself; I doubt you will, though, as you remain so stubbornly closed to every scrap of magic in the world.
I have decided that, aside from taking you in any manner I see fit, I will also bring you face-to-face with enchantments that you cannot deny, and then I'll demand the truth: do you believe, or do you not?
I wonder how you willanswer.
But as to the other, make no mistake, Harrison, I do mean to have you. I have lusted after you for no small time now. Although you bluster and bluff about disdaining me, I can read men's hearts. I know you want me. I say this with no conceit; I simply state a fact.
We will light Amour Magique ablaze tonight. Yes, tonight.
To meet me, go through the main entrance and look for a statue of Bastet (I trust you know who she is). Her pedestal blocks a service hallway. Pass the statue and follow the trail I lay out for you.
You will come.
You don't want to make me angry, Harrison. I will take a great deal for the sake of entertainment, but you can only push me so far.
Now, you are quite piqued after reading this, aren't you? So: forget. Get up from your computer, finish dressing--don't forget to make sure your socks match--and come to the club knowing only this: above all else, you are there to meet me along the Bastet path. You must meet me, though Hell itself should bar the way.
Oh, and to hurry things along a bit, you will be fully aware of the attraction between us. Indeed, as you come to meet me, you will burn and shiver with the need to fuck and be fucked.
So mote it be.
Harrison sat back in his computer chair and frowned in confusion. What had he ... had there just been an e-mail? He could have sworn he'd been reading. But, no, his screen was bare of any new messages. Not a thing from Martin tonight aside from a quick, friendly note saying he'd be at the club, too, suggesting they meet for a casual chat in person.
No flirting, which was strangely disappointing. Harrison's pulse quickened as he stood, interest and excitement building at the thought of actually meeting the little vixen.
A momentary flash of a blond man in an opened purple robe flashed through his mind. A blond man whose cock jutted out, demanding to be serviced. He was as appealing as honey wine while he whispered wicked secrets.
Harrison blinked in surprise. The vision vanished.