Chapter Twenty-One #2
Azizi hums and pats his hand. “Of course, darling. Madame Fortue and I have been having the most riveting conversation about the history of the forest and its folklore. I’d quite like to finish it. Go on, have your fun. Do call out for me or Mr. Allard if you need us.”
I hadn’t known the old steward stuck around after dropping us off at the edge of the village, nor have I seen him out and about during the festival, but the knowledge soothes me anyhow.
She’s never told us exactly what Mr. Allard is, but I know enough to know he’s not quite human.
If Azizi says we can call out for him if needed, then she must be confident he will come.
Enough so to let us wander about without her, at the very least.
It's all the permission Theodore needs before he’s once again dragging me away. I wonder if this will become a habit of his now that I’ve a body for him to touch. Wonder if he will pull me this way and that whenever his excitement gets the better of him.
The idea is endearing, and while I would not appreciate being yanked about by anyone else, Theodore’s hand is more guiding and gentle, his grip just tight enough to make sure I’m not lost amongst the throngs of people.
Theodore leads me outside, through a few narrow paths between the banquet hall and the schoolhouse, pausing around the back where the village meets the edge of the forest.
It’s quiet here, like he promised. I can hear the music and noise from the festival still, but it’s muffled by the distance, nearly overtaken by the ambient noise of the forest nearby—the rustling of leaves, the skittering of animals, the occasional hoot of an owl.
It has never occurred to me that there might be a difference between quiet and silence.
Before Azizi purchased the manor, before Theodore stumbled his way into her employ, my home has always been silent.
There was the creaking of the floorboards as roots writhed and spread below them.
There was the groaning of the walls as the flowers and vines invaded and tore through the paper.
There was the crashing of waves outside, calling out to me, calling me back.
But some part of me always knew that those things weren’t real. No matter how much noise my house made, it was always so terrifyingly silent around me.
This is different. This little space between us that forms when Theodore backs me up against the schoolhouse, this bubble around us that keeps the world at bay without erasing it completely… it’s so much more comfortable than the silence of my home could ever be.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Theodore says, voice kept low, as if he doesn’t wish to disturb the quiet any more than I do. He settles one hand on the cliff of my waist, the other coming up to cradle my jaw. “Your brow pinches when you’re all wrapped up in your head. It’s very cute.”
I wrinkle my nose at him in a pout, resting my own hands on his shoulders if only for somewhere to put them. His wool coat is warm beneath my fingers, and I find myself fascinated with the slow rise and fall of his chest when he takes a breath.
“What are you thinking about?”
Everything. Nothing. I shrug at first, unsure how to explain to him the whirlwind of my thoughts, but he waits, ever patient, ever curious.
After a moment, I press my fingers to my ear, then gesture back the way we came.
His head tilts slightly in consideration.
“The noise?” I nod, then reach up to cover his ears with my hands.
He struggles with this for longer, stubborn as he is to figure it out on his own.
Then a dawning realization settles over his face.
“It’s quiet out here, away from the noise? ”
I cannot help but smile in answer. My lack of voice, even in this borrowed body, is an inconvenience I despise, but there is a comfort in knowing that Theodore still understands me.
Still hears me. That he and Azizi are patient and accommodating, not only because they want to know, but because they want to listen. To communicate.
When was the last time anyone actually wanted to listen to what I had to say? Why does it feel like this is such a new experience?
“I wouldn’t think you’d like the quiet,” Theodore continues, absentmindedly twirling one of my loose curls around his finger. “I don’t think I would, if I were locked away in an empty house for so long.”
He is not wrong, but I offer him a shake of my head and a smile anyway, tapping his chest with my hand. It is not so bad with you, I try to tell him, and judging by the way his eyes soften, I think he understands.
“May I kiss you, Kolfina?”
The question surprises me. Not because I do not wish to kiss him, but simply because he has asked to do so. It’s so ridiculously endearing, that I cannot help but laugh, quickly covering my mouth with a hand when a wheezing sort of breath escapes it.
“What—” Theodore looks thrown by the reaction, but a smile twitches at his lips and his own chuckle joins me. “What are you laughing at?”
I give him no answer, too full of warmth and fondness to even try.
Instead, I take his cheeks in my hands and pull him down to me, swallowing his muffled gasp of surprise when he stumbles slightly at the force.
His hands catch on my hips to keep us steady, and when he finally deigns to return the kiss, he does so with an enthusiasm that leaves my head spinning.
Ever since that first time Theodore allowed me to possess him, I have realized I rather adore kissing. Whether I am any good at it or not, I’ve no idea, but Azizi has not complained yet, seemingly happy to indulge me on the rare occasions our lover lends me his body.
Kissing Theodore is something I have thought of doing for weeks, something I got a brief taste of before the festival and was left desperately wanting for more.
He tastes like the sweet breads that circled around the banquet hall, a hint of that first glass of wine still lingering behind his teeth. I find I like the taste much better now when accompanied by the sweet press of lips and the eager battling of tongues.
I chase after it like Icarus chases the sun, shifting my fingers into his hair to pull him closer.
Closer. Our fronts are pressed together with nothing but fabric between us, but it does not feel enough.
I wonder if this is what his hunger feels like.
If this is how desperate the strange beast beneath his skin feels every day. I do not know how he bears it.
I’m not sure how long we kiss for, but when his need for air becomes too much, Theodore pulls back, resting his forehead against mine and gasping into the small space between our lips.
My own chest rises and falls with frantic breaths I draw into lungs that do not need them.
Strange, what a body will do out of sheer habit, out of the simple memory that something was once needed.
“I want—” He pauses, his cheeks flushing in the moonlight. There is a nervousness to him now. I can see it in the way his teeth press into his bottom lip, can feel it in the way his fingers tighten on my hips.
Curious, I press my thumb to his lip, pulling it away from his abusive canines. He glances at me, and I tilt my head in question.
“I want to taste you, if you would let me,” he finally says, the words coming out in a rush of embarrassment.
I frown at him for a moment, confusion swimming through me. Is that not what he was already doing? Could he not taste me on his tongue like I tasted him on mine?
I lean forward to kiss him again, licking into his mouth only to be met with a quiet laugh and a shake of his head. He allows me a few more pecks before pulling away again. “No—no, I mean—I mean here.”
One of his hands leaves my hip, and he brushes his fingers across the front of my skirt, pressing just hard enough for me to feel them dip between my legs.
Oh.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself that night when I watched Theodore and Azizi pleasure each other, or that I didn’t enjoy my own hand between my legs when Azizi asked me to touch myself.
I had enjoyed it immensely, more so than I ever expected to, but it isn’t something I have really thought of since.
Well, that is not entirely true. I have thought of it—thought of the beautiful sounds escaping Theodore’s throat as he rocked down on Azizi’s fingers, thought of the look of pure bliss on both their faces when she dug her teeth into his shoulder.
They are works of art brought to life, beautiful and devastating in all that they do—pleasure included.
But I am content to watch, to experience. I find my pleasure when I’m bid, but more than that, I am just happy to be with them, both in the bed or out of it.
There is a hungry look in Theodore’s eyes, however, that makes me think about it now. He’d done the same to Azizi that night, cradled between her legs as he put his tongue to work. He’d seemed so desperate for the taste of her, and she’d fallen apart so beautifully beneath his ministrations.
I want that, want him, in any way he would have me.
Theodore is on his knees before I even finish nodding, bunching my skirts up with eager hands. His hat falls to the ground when he ducks in to kiss my thighs, teeth nipping at the bare strip of skin between my stockings and the hem of my drawers.
“Can you hold your skirts and lean back against the wall for me?” he asks, and though the order confuses me, I do so without question.
His fingers wrap around one of my ankles, and with a small tug, he lifts my leg to rest over his shoulder.
I wobble slightly at the change in balance, but his hands are there to steady me, his grin salacious as he looks up at me and whispers, “Easy. I have you.”