Chapter 1

I dropped a small fortune online on an incubus.

The listing described him as handsome and aloof, with eight-pack abs and a lean, powerful waist.

Above all, it said he was capable.

That final point sealed it for me. I didn't think twice before paying.

But the moment my order went through, customer service messaged me.

Customer service: [Hi, are you there?]

Me: [Yes, what's up?]

Customer service: [About the incubus you just ordered... He's certainly good-looking, but his temperament is rather cold. He's also fully matured, so his stamina... might be a lot to handle. If you think that could be too much, I'd recommend cancelling so we can suggest a gentler model.]

Me: [Not necessary. Cold and capable is exactly my type.]

Once she read that, the agent sent back something that sounded strangely like a blessing.

Customer service: [Very well. He'll reach your home on schedule. Enjoy yourself!]

Several days later, a cool, impassive incubus with broad shoulders and a narrow waist knocked at my door.

I went stiff the second I saw him.

Everyone knows incubi are unnaturally gorgeous, nearly too perfect to be real—but this one?

He looked like an elegant, remote heir who'd lost a wager and sold his soul to pay up.

"Master."

His voice was low and level, grazing my ear like a soft fur brush—light, teasing, impossible to ignore.

I flapped my hands in a fluster.

"P-please don't call me that. Just Odette is fine. Do you... have a name?"

"I'm Lucian Ashford."

As he spoke, he raised his tail toward me—a sleek tail ending in a small heart shape. Truly lovely.

"Per protocol, you must hold my tail to confirm you've received me."

"Oh, okay."

I quickly took it. It was smooth and supple in my hand, pleasantly soft—like some luxury toy. I couldn't help squeezing it lightly.

"...Mm." Lucian let out a low sound, close to a groan.

Startled, I released it at once, guilt surging up my throat. "I'm so sorry, did that hurt?"

He dropped his gaze, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as a strange, rumbling noise rolled out of his throat—deep and rhythmic, like a purr.

"No. I just wasn't ready."

"Oh, good." Assuming he was tense from nerves, I tried to calm him. "Don't be nervous, okay? Rest first if you like. You'll need plenty of energy later."

"If you wish, we can begin now."

"Now?" I wavered. "Well... sure, I guess."

"Good."

The rumble in his throat got louder.

I gently took hold of his arm. "Why are you still so stiff? It's fine. Once you're used to it, the nerves will go. Come with me."

He followed me meekly into the kitchen.

Then he halted.

"The... kitchen?"

"Yep, the kitchen. What's wrong? Would you rather start in the bedroom?" I asked, sincerely trying to be thoughtful.

His eyes darkened, a heat flickering beneath his calm. "...The kitchen is fine."

I nodded, turned, and under his scorching gaze, set a brand-new dishcloth in his hands.

"All right, Lucian," I said warmly. "I'm counting on you, my capable incubus. You know how to wash dishes, right?"

"...Wash... dishes?"