Chapter Twenty-One #3
I do not know what to expect when Theodore parts the fabric of my drawers and presses his mouth to me, but the soft jolt of heat that sings through me is a welcome surprise. I find myself arching into it, gasping when he eagerly rewards me with a long stripe of his tongue.
It feels indecent—Theodore on his knees in the dirt, his mouth pressed tight against me as he laps at my core like a man starved.
I should be embarrassed about it, surely.
I should be ashamed of how easily my hand finds his hair, how eagerly I rock my hips into his tongue.
But then one of his hands tightens around the thigh on his shoulder, and the other prods at my wet entrance, and I can do nothing but let the pleasure carry me away.
Theodore’s fingers feel nothing like my own when they slip inside me, though whether that is the angle or his joining tongue, I cannot be sure. Regardless, they slide deeper than I could ever reach, thrusting in and out in perfect time with every burning flick of his tongue.
I do not know which to chase after, but the heat in my stomach grows hotter and hotter with every twist of his hand and bob of his head.
My throat vibrates with soundless moans—more a quick gush of air than an actual sound, though I do not mind.
My lack of noise makes it all the more easy to hear Theodore’s quiet groans and whispered praise as he feasts upon me.
That, more than anything, is what finally sends me over the edge. The knowledge that he is enjoying this, that he is enjoying me. It sends a violent wave crashing through me—my hand tightening in his hair, my heel pressing into his back, dragging him closer and closer as an ocean writhes inside me.
It is so much more intense than what I achieved on my own that first time. My vision goes dark at the edges, my legs shaking hard enough to give out completely had Theodore not been there to catch me.
“Easy,” he says again, leaving one last kiss on my twitching thigh before carefully lowering my foot back to the ground. He resettles my skirts, smoothing them out as best he can, before returning to his feet. “Just take a moment. I have you.”
I have you.
He said that before, and the words warm my chest just the same.
They are more true than perhaps even he knows.
True in the way he holds me now, our bodies close enough to lean my weight on him.
True in the way his presence drags me out of my watery grave and keeps me anchored when the madness grows near.
I rest my shaking hands on his cheeks, mentally promising myself that one day I will count each and every one of his freckles, and I rise up on my toes to kiss him again.
I have you too, this kiss says. I have you as long as you want me, and longer even still.
This kiss is shorter than the others, partially because I have said what needed said, and partially because the wetness across his mouth and chin has me wrinkling my nose and drawing away.
I lick my lips before I can think better of it, and Theodore laughs at the way my face scrunches up in mild distaste.
“It’s not for everyone,” he assures me when his laughter has died down. “Some of us just have strange hungers.”
The joke has me rolling my eyes, but before I can try and imitate any kind of scolding, something off to the side catches my attention—movement, the sound of gravel shifting under feet.
Theodore must hear it too because he tenses, swiping his sleeve across his mouth as quick as he can before taking a measured step back, keeping himself in front of me like a shield as a figure comes into view around the corner of the schoolhouse.
“Fitzwilliam,” Theodore greets, the name sharp and curt in his mouth.
His hands flex at his sides like they want to curl up into fists, and I just barely stop myself from reaching out for them.
I do not know this new man, but it is clear Theodore does not like him.
My added closeness will only be likely to draw attention where we do not want it.
The stranger looks vaguely surprised to see us—or rather, surprised to see Theodore—but it does nothing to stop the ugly smirk that tugs at his thin lips. “Well, I’d come out here to rescue a pretty damsel from losing her virtues, and look what I’ve found.”
“Leave us be, Fitz.”
“So you can ruin this poor girl?” Fitzwilliam clicks his tongue loudly, the sound echoing against the trees and making me jump.
I cannot help but take a step closer to Theodore, grasping for the back of his coat.
The action draws the other man’s attention, and his smirk twists into a sneer in an instant.
“Already have her under your spell, Dora? Is that how you draw them in? Make them think you’re a gentleman before sinking your teeth in? ”
Theodore doesn’t answer, just reaches back and takes my hand in his.
At first, I’m not sure why, then he starts taking deliberate steps backwards toward the other side of the schoolhouse, slow and hesitant, like a frightened animal backing away from a hunter.
I try to remember if he has ever mentioned a Fitzwilliam before, if this is a man I should be afraid of, or just someone he is afraid of, but nothing comes to mind.
Still, the man makes me uneasy, so I follow Theodore’s wordless instructions without hesitation.
“Do you know what she is?” Fitzwilliam asks me, his voice dipping into something softer—as if he were trying to lure a frightened animal away from the safety of its hiding spot. “I don’t recognize you, so maybe you don’t know, but she’s not what you think she is.”
I want to bare my teeth at him in response, to show him I am more wolf than rabbit, but a snap of a twig behind us stops me. Our heads all swivel towards the sound, and relief floods me like fresh rain after a summer’s drought when we find Mr. Allard standing just at the corner of the schoolhouse.
He looks stern as ever, his hands folded behind his back and his chin raised with a sense of dignity. He stares down his sharp nose at Fitzwilliam, keeping silent for long enough to make the other man shuffle with discomfort, before turning to face me and Theodore.
“Young master, Lady Kolfina,” he greets with a slight bow of his head. “Mistress Alilovi? is waiting for us at the carriage. She is eager to depart before the night grows too late.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allard,” Theodore answers, ushering me toward the man with a hand on my lower back. He does not address Fitzwilliam, but he does pause when the other calls out to him.
“Bonne fête, Theodora. We can talk more tomorrow.”
The threat does not escape me, na?ve as I am sometimes, nor does it escape Theo.
He tenses at my side, his shoulders hiking up to his ears as we quickly circle around the schoolhouse.
He does not speak of it when we reach the carriage and Mr. Allard ushers us in.
He does not speak of it when Azizi’s worried gaze meets his.
He does not speak the entire ride back up to Echo’s Peak.
It is only afterwards, when we’ve changed out of our dress clothes and curled up together in Azizi’s large bed, that I realize he left his hat behind.