7.

Effie trailed her nails on the spines of the books on one of the bookshelves, more focused on her manicure than on the titles under her fingertips. Her nails were painted a moss green with flecks of gold and the occasional gem. At least, the Seam had a good nail salon and that was already something…

She tried to look like she was inspecting the library content to give Haymitch and Peeta their privacy. The boy was borrowing an essay about Slayers written by a Watcher half a century ago apparently. She had read it, of course, because it had been part of her studies but she had found it dreadfully boring. She didn't understand how a teenager could willingly submit himself to terrible prose and awfully misogynistic outdated ideas.

When it came to Slayers, Watchers' points of view were often misogynic. And patriarchal. But, then again, for centuries Watchers had traditionally been men leading girls who had to swear complete obedience by the hand. They got used to it. Women in the Council were too few to change eons olds ideas and most of them were stuck in the past themselves. That, however, was not a popular point of view and she usually kept it to herself – unless Mags was available to listen to her rant. Tradition was paramount in the Council building. A wonder Coin became president of the board of directors…

"You're coming to patrol later?" Haymitch asked, walking the boy back toward the hallway and, she supposed, the front door.

"No. I'm grounded and I don't think Katniss wants me there anyway." Peeta replied. "She's got Gale now."

She wasn't sure what Haymitch answered to that because they had left the room and she didn't dare follow to eavesdrop. She turned to inspect another bookshelf. His collection was impressive even though she figured most of the books belonged to Mags. She stopped on the shelf that was home to the Watchers' journals, fascinated despite herself. She lifted her hand to touch and then let it fall without making contact. Some of those books were so hold they should have been manipulated only with silk gloves.

"Those are the originals, aren't they?" she asked when she felt his presence in the room again. "I only ever saw copies."

Thousands of records lined the wall. Some thin and some thicker. Some bound in leather and some made of fragile sheets of paper. She was pretty sure there must have been scrolls from ancient Egypt somewhere in there.

She might have been a little obsessed with those journals when she had been a teenager. She loved to read about Slayers' victories. She loved to read about their death a lot less. It had reminded her too much that if she ever was called, her demise was assured.

"The original journals go to the active Watcher." he answered. "It's tradition."

She knew that, of course, but still. It was almost humbling to be so close to pieces of history. The fact that her name might have ended up carved on the spine of one of those journals if fate had dictated it another way sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't really a good chill.

She decided a change of topic was in order. "Are you training Peeta to become a Watcher? You know they would never accept him. It is cruel."

"Is it?" he scoffed. She turned around to face him. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Ain't training him to be anything, sweetheart. He knows about the real state of things and he wants to learn. The cruel thing would be to tell him to forget everything about it. I never believed in that stupid policy. I see its use, yeah, but I never found it really practical when you're not hiding in the Council's headquarters."

"Don't you wish someone had told you to forget?" she asked, a wistful note in her voice.

She knew he picked up on it because he let his guard fell a little. He watched her as if she was a riddle. It made her feel mysterious and she liked that.

He shrugged. "I've never been very good at burying my head in the sand."

"How unfortunate." she sighed. "I am very talented at it but by the time I was free to do so in my youth, it was too late for me to find a place in the normal world."

And she still regretted it. If her mother hadn't so readily given her up to the Council… Although with Elindra's own activities, she would have been exposed to the darkness in the world all the same. But she might have found a way to pretend it was all a sham. She did have a knack for lying to herself.

She swept that aside and let her lips stretch into a bright smile. "I believe you wanted a word?"

She walked toward the big round table, swaying her hips a touch more than strictly necessary. His eyes roamed over her figure again, just like she had known they would. She had picked the dress especially because she had suspected he would like it. It was short and flowed around her thighs. The color might not have been to his taste but he had looked so disgusted when he had seen her car the other night that she had been unable to stop herself. She did like pink. And infuriating him, it seemed.

"What are you playing at, moving right across the street?" he asked.

He didn't move. Not even when she leaned against the table, barely sitting on it, her hands propped a little behind her, her head tilted to the side… An open invitation.

And he wanted to answer it.

But he wouldn't cross the room. Because crossing the room would mean she held the power and this tension between them was all about control.

She wasn't about to go to him either.

"Is thatwhat you wanted to talk about?" she retorted, her smile turning into a more genuine grin. "It is not the conversation I had in mind."

His smirk was slow but just as genuine. "We're gonna get to that later."

They did not have to name it, she supposed. The attraction between them… It had reached potentially dangerous levels. She had felt it when they had been fighting the ghost. They had opened the pot when he had kissed her on the succubus hunt and they had stirred it when she had whispered a good luck charm against his lips.

The way he had looked at her when she had been shivering with only that frozen towel to keep her decent… There had been more urgent matters and he had done a good job at not leering too much but she had seen him ogle her and she hadn't minded it one bit.

The problem was, it was a distraction and distractions wouldn't do on such an important mission as the one she was on. The Slayer came first, always.

"I might not be so willing to address that particular subject later." she pouted, straightening up.

"I'm gonna take my chances." he countered.

"How bold of you." she retorted. "Good luck with that gambit."

She meant to strode past him, her head high and a vexed pout on her lips, but suddenly, he was filling the doorway, looking just a little panicked at the prospect of her leaving. She stopped and stared at him, refusing to be unnerved by the sheer built of him – he was tall and he had broad shoulders and he made her feel small and delicate. Truth be told, she was too aroused to be unnerved…

He was just so…

Infuriating.

He refused to curb to her expectations of him and she had had great expectations. He was coarse and boorish and he smelt like whiskey and grease – which might be because his hands didn't look that clean. If he had been anyone else, she would not even have given him the time of day so she really didn't understand why she was reacting to him like that.

Her own body felt treacherous around him.

Too eager to melt.

"Okay." he said, licking his lips. "Maybe we can have this conversation first."

"Good." she breathed out. "Where is your kitchen? You need to wash your hands."

This time, he let her slip past him, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "My hands need to be clean to talk?"

"Your hands should always be clean no matter the circumstances. I know Mags must have raised you better than that." she retorted, trying a door on the right.

The layout of the house seemed to match her own except for the two stories library. In her own house, it wasn't a two floors open space but a study at ground level and a guest room upstairs that she would probably convert into an armory. There were too many guest rooms as it was in the house. She liked her space and she liked grand living arrangements but this was bordering on ridiculous. Those houses could have lodged five people – easily.

His kitchen was in a dreadful state and she wrinkled her nose at the sight of the unwashed dishes in the sink.

"You live in a pigsty." she declared.

"Guilty as charged." he snorted. Although, she was pleased to notice, he did go to wash his hands and he was even generous with the soap. "You have a stick up your ass."

"You are so rude!" she gasped.

No one had talked to her the way he did before and lived to tell the tale. No one.

"And you're arrogant." he shot back. "If we have to list each other's finest qualities, we're gonna be here all day." He lifted his eyebrows and tossed her a mocking look. "Unless that kind of foreplay is what floats your boat."

This was a mistake.

She wasn't sure what she had been playing at trying to seduce him. She wanted it and she had never refused herself anything. When she wanted something, she simply went after it. Particularly men. Men were easy. Women were too most of the time. Haymitch Abernathy had been featuring in her fantasies for a long time and since he was obviously attracted to her, she had thought…

She had thought the best way to deal with the attraction problem was to fully face it so they could put it behind them.

But, attraction or not, he was not the kind of men she was used to dating or even have one night stands with. He lacked class, he lacked subtlety and he lacked manners. It would be a disaster of epic proportions.

"I should go home and supervise the movers." she said abruptly and turned around. She walked fast toward the front door, the clicking of her heels barely louder than the frantic beating of her heart.

She was halfway down the corridor when his hand closed around her elbow, still wet. It left darker spots on the pink fabric of her sleeve.

"Trinket…" he hesitated.

He was blowing hot and cold in the space of one second and she wasn't used to feeling so uncertain in that type of situation.

She looked up at him, waiting for what would come next, half ready to tell him they should stop this game before it blew in both their faces…

In retrospect, she should have seen the kiss coming. And yet it still took her breath away. His mouth was firm, warm, and when his tongue swiped against her bottom lip, she allowed him to deepen the kiss without a conscious thought. His hands tangled in her hair, tilted her head left… She clutched his shirt, tugged him closer…

She wasn't sure if he pushed or she pulled but soon she felt the wall at her back. The kissing was growing heated. His leg slipped between hers, pinning her to the hard surface, his hands left her hair and roamed down her neck, down her sides, went back up to cup her breasts… She gasped for breath and he took advantage of that to brush his mouth down her jaw.

"I had a thought…" she said.

"You don't say." he chuckled, nibbling on a spot behind her ear that had her closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the wall. "I had a couple too… How kinky are yours?"

His hand slid up her thigh, under her dress… She wrapped her leg around his waist without much prompting…

"I am serious." she insisted, placing a fending hand on his chest that was in total contrast with the way her hips jutted forward, looking for friction.

He propped his forearms on either side of her head and leaned down to peck her lips. It wasn't innocent. One peck led to another and to another and she almost forgot what she wanted to say because suddenly they were aggressively kissing again.

"I think…" she continued when his lips left hers. She was struggling to open his shirt , slowed down by her fake nails. Not that it seemed to bother him much because he was nuzzling her throat, nipping at her collarbone. His hands were running on her sides and she had the feeling he was looking for the zipper of her dress.

"If you're still thinking, I'm doing something wrong…" he mocked. She whacked his arm and he snorted. "Okay. Let's hear it. Should have known you would be a pain in the ass even about sex."

She pursed her lips and tossed him an annoyed glare. "Well… I was going to say we obviously have an attraction and it might be a good idea to get it out of our system so it does not affect our professional relationship."

"Won't lie. Thought we were already doing that, sweetheart." he taunted. He had finally located the zipper and he pulled it down. He didn't try to take the dress off though, he suddenly looked a little uncertain. "I ain't looking for anything, though, you get that, yeah? This ain't gonna be a thing… Doesn't mean we're gonna date or some shit…"

"Please. I was not proposing." she deadpanned. "How old is this shirt?"

He seemed thrown by the change in topic and looked down at himself before shrugging. "You want to give me fashion advices now?"

She decided it was as good an answer as any and she stopped trying to work out those buttons to grab the fabric and pull. That, her beautiful nails could handle.

Buttons flew off when it ripped and she didn't lose a second before kissing and licking the new skin available.

He coiled a hand around her nape and drew her head back.

"That…" he breathed out. "… was hot."

"Do not sound so surprised, it is insulting. I am hot." she huffed. "Now get that dress off me."

"Bossy." he accused, slipping the dress over her head.

"Is that a problem?" she grinned.

"Not in this context." he chuckled. "Don't mind a challenge."

They stopped talking after that. There was too much exposed flesh to explore – and it was too important to fight for control. It got out of hands, fast. The kissing was dirty, the hands were almost brutal in their caresses, the way they rubbed against each other almost shamed her… They were like animals.

They tore the remaining of their clothes away, only happy once it was skin on skin. He was hard and throbbing in her hand by that point.

A distant part of her noted that there might have been parts of him that had disappointed her since she had met him but this one wasn't one of them. Thankfully.

When he lifted her up, she hopped without question, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Condoms are upstairs." he mumbled in her neck. She simply nodded, let him carry her, trusting him to carry her up the stairs without tripping or killing them both.

It slowed things down a little, which was probably not a bad thing. She let herself explore his chest a little more thoroughly while he got them to the bedroom.

He had a collection of scars but the big swollen one on the right side of his stomach still looked painful even though she knew for a fact he had received it on the night of Mabel Larson's death, a good twenty-four years earlier. It was recorded in Mags' journals. He tightened his hold with his left arm and relocated her hand with his right one when she touched it too long. He didn't address it or tell her to stay away but she avoided the area afterwards.

If he had noticed her own scars, he didn't let on.

They were small and few because she despised physical fighting but you didn't work for the Council for more than half your life without getting a few scars. Most of them came from the time she had still been a Potential, not yet using magic as a mean of defense but forced to follow her Watcher's command when it came to fighting vampires twice her size without the supernatural strength of a real Slayer. They were imperfections on an otherwise perfect skin, a reminder of a time she preferred to forget.

He almost tripped at the top of the stairs and she found herself trapped against the banister. He captured her mouth again and she tangled her fingers in his hair, taking control of the kiss just because she could. He resisted and fought her for it right up until he must have decided it was more important for him to get her to his bed than to win a kissing contest because he gave in to her and started walking again.

He bumped into all the furniture on the way there and that made her giggle. The sound seemed to please him because he bowed his head to nuzzle her breasts, to hide his own smile she suspected.

Her neck and her breasts felt tender where he kissed, licked and nipped. She wondered if his stubble would leave a rash. She wondered how it would feel on her inner thighs.

His bedroom was in a worse state than the kitchen and she decided to ignore the heaps of dirty clothes on the floor, the abandoned bottles on the furniture and the stale smell in the air. It wasn't really hard because he was kissing her again and the rough calluses of his palms on her body were enough to thrill her. When he lied them both down on the bed, she let her hand drift south of the scar on his stomach and took the situation in hand again – so to speak.

She was gratified when he sucked in a breath and bit down on her collarbone. Clearly, he was liking what she was doing because she had him thrusting into her fist in seconds.

He grabbed her under the thighs, roughly tugged her higher up the bed so her head was on the pillow and then his fingers were between her legs and her eyelids fluttered close. She felt him reach blindly for the nightstand with his free hand, she heard him knock something over, a lamp or a bottle given the dull sound it made when it hit the floor… Not broken but cracked probably.

She reached up to arrange the pillow under her head because it was digging painfully at the base of her neck but her wrist was trapped in a tight grip before she could make contact. Her eyes flew open and she looked up straight into his grey eyes, confused…

At least until he let go and reached under the pillow himself to toss a hunting knife on the nightstand. She would have cut herself if he hadn't stopped her.

He waited for a second but, when she didn't say anything, he reached for the bedside table's drawer again.

She could understand why he would want a weapon close by at night. The only reason she didn't keep one was because she could summon a fireball at will.

Finally, he produced a square package with a triumphant smirk that was a little disproportionate. Looking at him, you would have thought he had just killed a hoard of demons by himself or something. She tried to hide her amusement but if she trusted the small bite of rebuke on her chin, she probably hadn't been very good at it.

She learned the planes of his shoulder blades while he rolled the condom on; she licked his neck and tested the scratchy feel of his beard on her tongue only to nip at his Adam's apple.

He didn't ask if she was ready or sought permission before entering her, although by that point she supposed it would have been redundant. She was more than ready and she was also obviously more than willing. Still, he gave her about three seconds to adjust before he started moving.

He imposed a hard pace, hard enough that their hips bumped with every new thrust, and soon enough she was making increasingly loud incoherent noises that culminated in a cry of bliss. He came with a grunt and collapsed on her a minute later.

For a while, the only sound in the room was their panting, then he slid off her upper body and to the side where he rested on his stomach, his face turned away from her. He hadn't slid enough that he wasn't still crushing her a little though, her left leg and her left arm were both trapped under him. She rolled on her side and hooked her free thigh over his ass, nestling her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck. He smelt like sweat and sex. She poked at his skin with her tongue, he tasted salty. Not entirely unpleasant though. His hand felt around for her ass and gave it a squeeze.

She had sort of expected to be kicked out of his bed as soon as the deed was done so it was a little unexpected to be allowed to cuddle.

It was entirely possible she dozed off for a few minutes. Her body was spent and limp, her mind was floating and she felt safe enough with his arm tossed over her as it was. She couldn't fall asleep though, she chided herself, no matter how surprisingly comfortable the uncomfortable position was: she had things to do. Haymitch wasn't asleep either. His body was far less relaxed than hers.

She started drawing patterns on his back, to test the waters. There were scars there too. She could feel them under her fingertips. Thinner, faded…

"Those things ain't nails, they're claws." he mocked but he didn't seem to mind her scratching his back too much.

She huffed. He tightened his awkward hold on her when he felt the puff of breath against his neck. It was an unconscious reaction and she liked it. She liked the way his body reacted to hers.

"Men are usually not this broody after having sex with me." she teased.

She didn't ask if it was because he hadn't liked it. She knew he had. Not only because she was that good but because it really had been particularly good. They had chemistry. She had known it the first time she had put a foot in his classroom, the moment he had looked up at her from behind his desk. She had felt it like a hook in her guts.

"I ain't brooding." he scoffed. She let out an unconvinced humming noise that he answered with a sigh. "I ain't. It's just… Some stuff that kid said the other night. Kept circling back to it."

"The Hawthorne boy?" she guessed easily. He wouldn't have talked about Katniss with that much blatant hostility and she knew he liked Peeta. That left the new addition. "You do not like him."

"What's to like?" he scowled. "Thinks he hung the moon, that one. Probably thinks he'd make a better Slayer than Katniss too."

"Why do you tolerate him, then?" she asked, curious. "You're Katniss' Watcher. Order her to keep him out of Slayer business. Where he does not belong anyway."

"You obeyed every of your Watcher's orders when you were a Potential, sweetheart?" he mocked with fake sweetness.

Probably because he could guess at the answer.

"It is a Slayer's duty to forsake friends and family to fight evil." she pointed out. "It is extremely rare for them to be allowed to still go to school, you realize."

She hadn't been allowed to. From the moment she had been detected as a Potential, it had been private tutors in between hours of pointless training. Lonely and boring. Is it any wonder she had sneaked out to bars and clubs as early as her fifteenth birthday?

"That's not how I do things." he countered. "And, yeah, you can report that to the Council."

"They are aware Katniss is still in high-school obviously." she answered, annoyed that he was bringing that up then. She would have liked to enjoy her afterglow. But perhaps that was why she was still there and he was keeping her half trapped under him. Pillow talk. "I have not, however, informed them of her connections yet. I did not think it wise to tell President Coin you were allowing teenagers to fight with her."

"I ain't allowing anything." he sighed. "Peeta wants to help. It's safer if I monitor than having him sneak around us and getting himself killed by his own ignorance." He paused and then she could hear the scowl in his voice. She wished he would at least face her. "The whole Slayers have to fight alone thing is bullshit anyway. I've always tagged along."

"Well, a Watcher is allowed to assist." she admitted.

"No. I've always tagged along." he insisted. "I was too young when my mother… But when Mags went out to patrol after, when there wasn't a Slayer in the Seam anymore, I went with her. She trained me for it. I asked her to train me for it. Think I got my first vampire when I was thirteen or something like it… When Mabel was called, I tagged along too. We were a team. Ain't a bad thing for a Slayer to have a team."

She considered that in silence, trailing her nails up and down the arm that was still around her.

"Perhaps." she hesitated. "I will observe some more before making that particular report." She had let herself get distracted from the original topic though. "What did Gale Hawthorne say that has you brooding even though I am naked in your bed?"

He chuckled. "You think a lot of yourself, yeah?"

"I like to believe I think just the right amount of myself." she grinned, bumping her nose against his shoulder. "Is it about his preposterous accusations about your relationship with Katniss? You should know it is all over the staff room but nobody believes it."

She had made sure of it.

"Nah… Other stuff." he sighed. "Don't need you to play therapist, sweetheart. I've got my liquor for that. You can tell that to Coin too."

He moved before she could answer. So swiftly, she had no chance to understand what had happened until she was trapped under him, her arms over her head and her wrists wrapped in his big hands. His face hovered over hers. He was propped up only by his hips and his hands so it wasn't entirely comfortable for her but the pain was mild and she was a little excited to have him between her legs again.

"Isn't it out of your system yet?" she challenged, a twinkle in her blue eyes.

"How many men get it out of their system with only one ride?" he smirked back.

"A few." she offered honestly. "Not that many."

They stared at each other for a moment. She suspected he was liking the nonchalant way she was lying trapped under him. He was enjoying the power just as much as her refusal to give him the satisfaction of being afraid of him. She liked having him on top of her. She could get used to it, she realized. Not that she would. Because this would remain a one time thing.

They would have sex again and then she would leave his house and they would put it behind them.

"Why did you move across the street?" he asked.

She laughed. She couldn't help herself. "Is this an interrogation?"

"Maybe." he shrugged, his thumb stroking her inner wrist.

"Peculiar torture technique." she teased. "Do you use it often?"

He didn't chuckle or play into the banter. His face grew serious. "You're a spy and I can't trust you. Did Coin order you to get closer to me? Did she tell you to get me into bed so I'd spill all my secrets?"

All the playfulness was gone all of a sudden and she was left gazing up at him, feeling sad and a little scared that he actually believed that.

"I moved into that house because I thought then, maybe, you would think about calling me before summoning a couple of teenagers when the next vampire cult wants to bring on the Apocalypse." she confessed. "I want to be involved, Haymitch." She stopped and licked her lips before pursing them. "As for the other accusation… I do not know who you think I am…"

"Spare me the offended act." he cut her off. "I know Coin. No sacrifice's too great. If she's told you to lie on your back and think of Mother England…"

She rolled her eyes. "I am an American and if you believe that why would you even…"

"'Cause you're hot and I needed to get it out of my system just like you said." he interrupted again. "Thing is, though, Trinket… How do I know what your real game is here?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, not quite sure what she could say to convince him. To convince him of what anyway? That she was on his side? Was she? She was there on Council orders. And why would there need to be sides anyway? Weren't they all on the same one? The side of good?

Haymitch's methods might be unconventional but they had been successful before, the Cresta situation notwithstanding.

"I want to help." she said again.

"Yeah…" he sighed, letting go of her wrists to sit up. "But help who?"

He was going to get up, leave the bed and she would lose any chance to explain herself…

She sat up too and grabbed his arm. "Haymitch, please…" He was kneeling between her legs and she almost wrapped them around him to keep him in place. But that would have been a mistake. He wouldn't thank her for feeling trapped. She swallowed hard. "Yes, I do make weekly phone calls to President Coin but… That does not mean I… I simply want to do my job the best way that I can. Perhaps then I will be promoted. And, of course… I told you I was interested in learning from you." She bit down on her bottom lip and met his eyes again. "The sex… The sex was because I really wanted to. I have wanted to since before I even met you."

That last addition was, perhaps, one too many but she didn't regret it because the way he kissed her next took her breath away.

There was no finesse or patience to their next bout of lovemaking. It was not even lovemaking, truly. If she had been more vulgar, she would have simply called it fucking.

"Don't make me regret letting you close to my Slayer." he hissed in her ear in the middle of it. "I don't want to have to kill you."

But he would.

She knew that with certainty.

"I would never make any move against a Slayer, Haymitch. I am not suicidal." she retorted before sucking his earlobe into her mouth and biting down on it. Hard.

This time, when they were done, he rolled them over so she was sprawled on his chest. She supposed that mean she was free to go when she wished. She wasn't quite ready to just yet however. She wasn't sure her legs would carry her.

"What time is it?" she whispered. "I am having dinner with Plutarch tonight."

And her dresses were somewhere in a box lost in a sea of other boxes. She had had everything shipped from England in express delivery since it was clear she would be in the Seam for a long time anyway and she hadn't been there to supervise the movers. Who knew what they had done with the brand new furniture or her boxes?

"You often have sex with a guy in the afternoon and then go out on a date with another for dinner?" he asked. There was no jealousy or possessiveness in the tone, though. Simply amusement.

She made a face. "I do not date Plutarch. It is work related. He wants to discuss the talent show."

"Oh, don't even talk to me about that…" he groaned. "He's been trying to sweet talk me into organizing it. Ain't happening in a million years."

She felt his fingers play with her hair and she forgot to answer, simply happy to close her eyes and let herself be lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart. Not that she would fall asleep.

"Thought you wanted to keep a close eye on the Hellmouth?" he asked, after a while. She thought back to the rotten tendrils of magic that had been so eager for her to use them back in The Capitol and she shuddered. His hand stilled in her hair. "What?"

"I think it got too close an eye on me." she whispered. "There is more than one reason I wanted to move over here. There is safety in numbers."

Not that she needed help or protection but… She would feel better knowing there was another Watcher close by in case she was in danger.

He let out a long breath, his tone was reluctant but resigned too. "You should come to patrol sometimes."

"Really?" she beamed, glancing up.

She wasn't thrilled about the prospect of a night stroll in a cemetery but being invited meant she would be accepted in the group and that was the important thing. If she could make herself useful to the Slayer, that would reflect really well on her abilities.

"Don't look so chipper about it." he grumbled, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and flipping them over again so she was underneath him. She didn't protest, particularly when she felt the poke on her inner thigh. "So… Is the thing out of your system yet?"

Her lips twitched. "Is that a stake again?"

"Not this time." he smirked. "Last time wasn't either, to be honest."

She had known that. Or, at least, she had strongly suspected it.

"You have stamina." She grinned. "How am I supposed to get it out of my system if I know you have stamina?"

He chuckled and attacked her neck with the blunt of his teeth. She would have to wear a scarf to dinner. Or find a turtleneck somewhere.

"It's been a long time." he admitted. "Or maybe you're a sex demon after all."

"It must be that…" she joked. "I am simply irresistible."

"One last time." he warned. "Then never again."

"One last time." she agreed.

Then never again.

THE END

Plot twist, effie might in fact be a sex demon ;) Who thinks it will never happen again? Raise your hand? XD

So with the end of this episode we take a two weeks hiatus so we'll see each other again on the 31st for a very magical talent show!