“Yeah, but it’s not Lakota,” said Felix. “I think it’s Iroquois or something.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it matters at this point,” said Dan, looking weary. “Besides, everyone’s got some story about unearthly beautiful women.”

Kiyo linked his hand with mine and murmured, “And fortunately, I’ve got my own.”

“Sly man,” I said back. “Sly as a fox.”

When the poetry reading wrapped up, Tim sold his self-published poetry books. I think this was the most remarkable part of all-he always sold a bunch. And the women…the women loved him. A number were cozying up to him already, no doubt wanting to go out later. Watching the women, Dan declared that he was going to quit his job as a computer-support technician and start up on Tim’s gig, causing us all to laugh.

“Say what you want,” I said to Kiyo, watching Tim and his admirers. “This all means Tim probably isn’t coming home tonight.”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“That the sauna is all ours.”

Not that anyone else could have really fit into it, though. My wet sauna wasn’t that big, which just meant that when Kiyo and I got home, we had to be that much closer to each other. Neither of us really minded.

We shed our clothes in the hallway, and he pulled me to him, hands running over my waist and lips grazing my neck. “You owe me big for making me endure that poetry,” he growled in my ear.

“Whatever. That was practically foreplay. Are you saying Tim’s poem about Brother Woodpecker plunging his beak into the tree didn’t turn you on? You know that was a total metaphor.”

Kiyo’s only response was a smothering kiss that ended any other witty commentary I might make, his lips hot and hard as his tongue sought mine. Without breaking the kiss, we somehow managed to open the door to the sauna and stumble inside. Immediately, heat and steam surrounded us. Everyone always praised Arizona’s heat for being dry, but I loved humidity and the way it enveloped my body.

I also loved the way the moisture dampened Kiyo’s dark hair, making it curl up even more against his neck. Still holding on to that kiss, he pressed me against the sauna’s wooden wall, his hands gripping my hips. In only a short time, the heat had us both slick and sweating. I tangled my fingers in his hair and then ran them down his arms and chest. The oil and sweat made my hands glide effortlessly across his skin. I paused to run circles around his nipples, slowly increasing the pressure and squeezing them in the way he so often did to mine.

He gave a small grunt of surprise and pleasure and then moved his lips to my neck. I tipped it back, giving him greater access. His kisses were hard, like he was trying to consume me with his mouth alone, and there were even a few teeth involved. With as fair as my skin was, he actually left me with the occasional hickey after sex. It always made me feel like I was sixteen and foolish the next day, but in the moment? It seemed totally worth it.

His lips moved from my neck to my shoulder while his hands slid up from my hips to my breasts, again moving easily with all that sweat and moisture. He rubbed them and cupped them, his fingers slipping back and forth against my wet skin and occasionally pausing to stroke my nipples in a way that sent waves of need throughout my entire body. Driven to impatience by my own desire, I slid my hands down his stomach, down to the erection pressing against me. I grabbed a hold of him and started to bring him into me.

Unexpectedly, he turned me around, still keeping me pressed against the wall. I held my hands against it for support while his strong fingers rubbed my back, massaging the muscles that always seemed sore lately. I gasped, finding the massage almost as arousing as the rest. It was fleeting, however. His hands soon moved to my hips again, tipping me out slightly so that I was bent over, rather than pressed flat against the wall. A moment later, he pushed against my body, and I felt him enter me. My own wetness made the thrust almost as effortless as our hands had been on each other’s flesh. I cried out at the feel of him filling me up, pushing harder and harder into me. I rested my check against the sauna’s wall, bracing myself and allowing him to take me more deeply.

He gripped my breasts as he continued moving in and out of me, and I moaned as his touch sent shockwaves through my skin. I was overloaded with sensation as he seemed to take control of every part of my body, both inside and out. His thrusts grew more urgent and fierce; his hold on my breasts became tighter. Having him inside me built a heat between my thighs that radiated out to the rest of my body, rivaling the heat of the air around us. That bliss grew and grew to unbearable heights, until at last the orgasm burst within me, making my legs go weak and nearly give out underneath me. Every part of me tingled and burned, and the feel of him still slamming into my body was almost too much for my flooded senses. Yet, even as I thought I couldn’t handle any more, I still felt that intense pleasure building within me once more and knew that it would take only a little more of this for me to come yet again.

By then, Kiyo’s hands had moved back to my hips, steadying himself so that he could push even harder. With all that force, it was a struggle to continue bending and not simply get pressed flat against the wall. Then, I felt his body grow tense and knew he was about to come. He made a guttural, primal sound, his thrusts growing long and deep as he came and let his own orgasm explode within me. He pressed his face against my shoulder, his motions gradually slowing down as his body sated itself.

When he was done, he slid his hands from my hips to my shoulders, turning me around and pulling me toward him. We wrapped our arms around each other, gasping as we leaned against the wall. He said nothing but gently kissed my cheek. I smiled, pushing closer to him and drowning in the scent of his sweat and skin.

“Worth enduring the poetry reading?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Definitely.”

The phone woke me up the next morning. Kiyo dozed naked beside me in bed, and I had to practically crawl over him to reach my cell. It was Roland.

“I found out about your crossroads. It crosses over to a town in Texas called Yellow River.”

“Texas, huh?” That was unexpected.

“Yep. And there are two shamans who live there already to keep an eye on it.”

“Two?” There weren’t really that many in our profession. We were spread thin, so more than one in a region (aside from a father-and-daughter team like Roland and me) was surprising.

“It’s apparently a big gate. Doesn’t take much power or effort to cross through it, so it needs a lot of attention.”

Interesting. Crossroads varied in accessibility. Most required more power than the average human or even gentry could use, fortunately. On certain days of the year-like Beltane and Samhain-areas between our worlds grew thin, making it easier for crossings. Those were dangerous times that kept Roland and me busy. A gateway that was usable the rest of the year was even more dangerous.

But, if it was easily accessible, then it wouldn’t be too difficult for these girls to cross and seek out humans to father their children. The whole thought made me squirm. A generation of half-Texan, half-gentry kids. God help us all.

“Eugenie?” asked Roland warily. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need the names of those shamans.”

He still seemed troubled at my involvement, but I think he felt better about me getting in touch with others-particularly others who were human. He pushed me a little about what was going on, but I still refused to talk about it. After much thanks on my part for the information, we finally disconnected.

Kiyo had climbed out of bed during the call and was in the shower. As I waited for him, I wondered how I should proceed. Presumably, I should contact these shamans and see if they’d noticed a recent influx of gentry girls. If I could confirm that, it’d ease my worry about bandits (or monsters) kidnapping them, even though it still left the moral dilemma of whether I should be kicking those girls back to their own world.