Chapter 20
B efore I know it, I’m gorging on sugarberry pies and persimmon cakes. My vision is blurry, turning the colours of the moon lanterns polychromatic. I shake my head, trying to clear the haze. It only makes it worse.
“Let’s just leave now.” A familiar voice winds in my ear as strong hands catch and twirl me.
I shake my head. “No, there’s something important I have to do.”
“What is it?” Obi tugs me towards a hidden alcove, covering my body with his as we blend into shadows.
I giggle. “I can’t remember.”
He laughs too. His back is to the party, and he’s towering over me. He rests his hands against my hips and presses himself into my waist. It feels good. My eyes dart over his shoulder as I lift myself onto my tiptoes. Can Dae see us? Will he catch us like this? The thought makes my heart slam against my chest.
Obi pulls me back down by the waist, sheltering me from the party with his broad chest.
“I remember now. First, I have to find something to trade.” My breath hitches.
“Uh huh.” Obi is at my ear, fruit covering his lips. My chest hammers against his as he gently strokes the side of my hip. I try to peer over his shoulder again, just to make sure we’re safe, but he pulls me back down until I stand flat on my feet.
Obi presses his hips against mine harder, shielding me from the outside world. I bring my hands up against his chest to push him away, to tell him it isn’t safe to stand this close, but his body is so warm against my fingertips—besides, no one can see us, not from here. “Then, I have to trade the item for breaking a curse, or if not, transferring a curse.”
“Good plan.” Obi voice is deep and strained, his eyes smouldering.
He pushes me one last, irrevocable step back until my shoulder blades press into a chilly wall. Lifting one arm, he rests it above my head.
“Is it really?” I ask, suddenly shy. I’ve never felt shy around Dae.
Obi reaches his other hand up to my face and strokes my hair behind my ear. “No.” Cupping my face, he brings his bruised, battered lips down to mine.
It is nothing like Dae’s harsh, possessive, painful kiss, more torment than pleasure. No. This is nice, soft, kind. It’s what I imagined a first kiss would feel like.
At first, it’s just the gentle press of his lips on mine, then his tongue glides slowly across the barrier of my mouth, pressing against me, exploring. His lips don’t just take—demanding strength and a fight—they also give. The hand cupping my face squeezes gently, holding me in place while his other hand comes down and pushes my hip hard against the wall as he pushes himself into me again. We both groan.
I pull away and try to catch my breath. “You could get into trouble.” My voice comes out in pants and a twisted, cruel part of me hopes he won’t care. I want to keep kissing him. But I can’t ignore the angry bruises strewn across his skin.
Obi ignores me, seizing my face again and pressing his lips into mine. Harder, this time. Is this a betrayal? No, no, Faeries and demons don’t abide by the same rules Nightelves and humans do. And Dae and I aren’t even together. Obi’s hand trails down the length of my waist, curving around my hips. I bite his bottom lip, something I’ve learned from my kiss with Dae, but Obi doesn’t bite back. Instead, he tuts, pausing his kisses until I let go. My lips part—pliant.
“Open your legs for me.”
I do as I’m told before leaning forward, trying to capture his lips again. He cups my face more firmly, holding me back, controlling my movements, sending flutters through my stomach, my chest, my legs.
He repositions his hips and presses his hard, firm body into my stomach. I groan.
“Shhhh,” he quietly murmurs against my neck, “stay quiet for me.” I press my lips together. “Good girl.”
It’s not like when Dae calls me a good girl. When Dae says it, it’s like he’s laughing at me, expecting me to turn on him at any minute. Like I’m a snake in the grass, one he’s decided to play with, even though he never takes his eyes off the poison in my bite. But with Obi, it’s like he really does want me to be a good girl. Feverish fire tears through my limbs, and I overhead, a bright red flush creeping across my chest and cheeks.
Obi reaches down between my legs, pushing my thighs open further. His fingers curl up, gently stroking back and forth. My hands ache with the need to touch, to explore, to do something, anything .
“Tell me you want me to touch you,” Obi says, his voice commanding and slow. I become hyper-aware of the surrounding sounds. Clattering cutlery. Dancing. The pounding beat of the drum-led music.
“We’re in public. You could get in trouble.”
Obi stops stroking and waits. I shift, attempting to create friction with his fingers once more. I’m too hot—only seconds away from overheating and dying. His hand dances out of reach, close enough that heat still emanates into me but too far away to give me what I want. “I want you to touch me,” I concede in a needy whimper, trying again to press my hips against his fingers. He forces me back further, using his thighs to restrain me.
“Beg me,” Obi says. My core clenches. My legs tremble.
I plead, telling him exactly what I want, then moaning as Obi obeys, curling his fingers and running them up to the bundle of nerves gathering below my stomach.
He softly, delicately, traces circles until I’m squirming against the wall. Reaching further down to dampen his fingers, he rises, continuing as I grip his shoulders to stop myself from collapsing, my fingers trembling against him.
“Harder, please,” I beg. The edges of my vision blur as I tense, a rush drawing close. I hold the floodgates back, locking away the torrent gathering inside me.
“Let it go,” Obi says, pressing against me more firmly and trailing kisses along my collarbone, cheeks, eyelids, and neck. Pressure builds up between my thighs.
Obi shifts his position, tracing circles with his thumb as he plunges. He quickly covers my mouth with his free hand. Piercing grey eyes reach into my soul as Obi drags my release from me. But that can’t be right, because Obi’s eyes are brown.
I stand, shaking, spent, and utterly, utterly satisfied. Sounds trickle back in again. Obi holds my body up as I adjust to the world outside our little alcove. I sigh, a warm glow shooting through my dizzy head.
Slowly peeling his body off mine, he takes a very small, very tentative step back.
My whole body trembles, my legs leaning against the wall to lift themselves as every piece of dust floating in the air, every breeze sweeping through the courtyard, and every wildflower that grows from the ground presses in against my hypersensitive skin.
Obi closes his eyes for a minute, before releasing a breath, and turning to leave.
“Wait,” I grab his arm. Sure, confident eyes meet mine. This isn’t the same Obi I met on the first day, high on Faerie fruit—he’s sober. “Why risk it?” I ask.
He glances at me for a minute. I shiver—a consequence of being so hot one minute and so exposed the next. I want to hear him tell me that he couldn’t resist, that he fancies me, that the dress worked on more than just Dae. I want him to say the sorts of things Dae whispers in my ear.
“Because screw him, that’s why.” Obi walks away.
I lean against the wall, breathing hard. Screw him? Oh, shit. Is that what I am to Obi? I think I just fucked up. I’ve never felt so dirty, so sad. I want to cover up all my skin and my lips and my hands. I want to find another untarnished alcove and hide in it.
At least Dae didn’t see.
I wait for my breathing to calm and tears to dry before stepping out into the courtyard again.
One meter ahead, eyes fixed on mine, Dae watches me without emotion. His throat bobs as he swallows something hard, grey eyes assessing me.
It’s fine, I tell myself, it’s completely, utterly fine.
I’m sure Dae has played with lots of people.
It’s fine.
I take a step towards him. “Haven’t you heard it’s creepy to watch?” Warm tingles still tremble through my legs as I try to laugh the event off, but my voice doesn’t sound very jokey. I inch past him.
He grabs my arm, not hard enough to bruise, but not gently. How could Dae’s thin fingers hurt so much more than Obi’s strong bulging ones? Up until that horrible comment, Obi may have been firm, but he was also gentle. Dae isn’t gentle or firm, just… tormenting.
Still holding me, Dae straightens my top and readjusts my dress before sweeping his fingers across my lips. The taste of half-sucked fruit leaves my mouth, and he wipes the wetness he’s gathered there on his trousers.
His face is cold, almost dead. “Bad move, Elysia. This is a game I really know how to win,” he says before releasing me and losing himself in the crowd.