Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Roses make me think of flowers in general, which remind me of gardens, which remind me of Aven.
Though Sélie and I have grown comfortable identifying flora over the years for business purposes, it is Aven who has a natural gift with growing and cultivating green things.
The gardens at home—the source of most of our raw products—are entirely her doing.
There must be a garden on the grounds here, or at least something in the greenhouse, which I would like to see, but just when I’m about to head outside, the afternoon rolls in gray and rainy.
I sigh. I don’t mind the weather, but I’d rather not get soaked.
Grumpy, restless, I head back up to my room to write a letter to Sélie.
If I can’t see her yet—by my choice, to keep her safe—this is the next best thing.
Sélie, I’m close to finishing up what I’m doing away from you, I write her, ending with: I hope to see you in person soon. I am safe, and doing fine, except I miss you tremendously. I think of you every day and night. I adored each and every one of your drawings. Take care of yourself, love.
It’s brief, but more encouraging than last time.
I don’t mention anything substantial in the letter—because it sounds strange, unbelievable, even to me, living through it, and I think the less I say, the safer she is from Elisavet’s clutches and the Court of Death, only minutes away from her, from our cottage.
Yet maybe, in some way, she’ll read between the lines and understand I’m more hopeful than last time at least. That I may be able to actually pull this off.
Then Mrs. Minthy is here to ready me for my dance. I rush her through the bath, and when Jinny offers to do my hair, I wave her away thankfully.
“I’ll wear it down tonight,” I say, eager to get downstairs.
Not only to have my letter delivered and have Mr. Brown check on my sister once more, but, of course, to see Orrin.
But when I go into the ballroom, he isn’t there yet.
I put on the slippers and slide down onto the floor to stretch as the sky outside opens up for another round of rain.
It drips down the windows like tears. I shiver, uneasily.
When Mr. Brown comes in, I slump, disappointed it’s not Orrin.
“He’s not here. He went to see Elisavet.” How grateful he must feel to Orrin, for keeping him from making a trade with her. But why would Orrin go back so soon? He did mention stopping by there when we were at the party—but why keep it from me?
My senses are tingling. Something is different about this time.
“Do you know why?” My voice wobbles, startled. What if Orrin took our conversation as an opportunity to go do something spontaneous—to try and kill Elisavet? Something that might get him, or my sister, killed? Maybe both of them. “I thought he was occupied with business—personal business, I mean.”
“Earlier, yes.”
I stand up, nausea rippling through me. He promised to watch me dance tonight, and he indicated we’d make a new plan. Together. What if he changed his mind?
I believe if Elisavet is destroyed, that she’d release the souls she’s taken. Killing her would be a way to reverse the trade.
“I’m worried too, you know. He saved me from trading my soul a long time ago.” Mr. Brown goes on, rushing out the words as if the faster he says them, the less vulnerable he’ll feel. “He saved my life. I don’t want anything to happen to him. I’ve seen the good behind him just as you have.”
I open and shut my mouth.
As if embarrassed, he looks away. “You can wait here or go back up. I’ll let him know you were waiting when he returns.”
He doesn’t say if he returns, which is reassuring. But I make out the undertone of fear anyway.
“Mr. Brown, wait,” I start, slow, something he’s not saying making me uneasy. “What did you mean by ‘you don’t want anything bad to happen to him’? Do you mean he might have gone there tonight, in the hopes of trying to kill her now?”
The man gives me a short nod, reluctant. “Yes. And…”
“What?” I cry.
“It’s not only the risk of trying to kill her.
It could be dangerous if he actually succeeds.
According to him, destroying her could destroy other souls right along with her.
But don’t worry about your sister. He was certain that she’d be the safest, with other newly changed ones.
The ones who’ve been with Elisavet the longest would most likely be the ones destroyed.
” He’s looking at me like he doesn’t want to look at me.
“They’ve been tied to her longer. Are almost a part of her at this point. ”
“You mean Orrin?” The meaning sweeps over me and I’m afraid I might fall over.
With nothing more helpful than an awkward pat on the shoulder and a verbal reassurance that things will probably be alright, Mr. Brown leaves me, my stomach all in knots.
Back in my room, the time passes too slowly, the thoughts crawling in and out of my brain, festering, the anxiety sickening me.
I cannot distract myself with books nor dancing.
I watch out the window, leaning over the cool, wet sill, hoping to catch the sound of horses coming, then I realize Orrin mustn’t have taken the horses, since Mr. Brown is still here.
He must have just shown up there, materializing at the cave, with magic.
I still wait, I still listen, for hours. It feels like centuries.
When a knock comes on my door, I rise, hurrying toward the sound. Relief coursing through my blood like a current. I throw the door open, senses all aflutter, because I already know. It’s Orrin.
“I didn’t know if you’d be back,” I whisper as I stare up at him, suddenly self-conscious of my concern. Was I wrong to be so afraid?
“I’m fine.”
“We were worried.” Something in my voice breaks. I didn’t know until this moment how much. I almost want to cry…which makes me wish I could hide.
“Corliss.” He draws in a breath, as though it hurts to speak my name, like he’s wounded. There’s something in his voice as he gazes at me. Something hot and sharp and immediate. It breaks through the barrier and I fall into him.
Orrin meets me halfway, sweeping me into his arms. He kisses me like a starving man, like he isn’t just kissing me but tasting me, like my touch gives him life.
Gathering me closer, he tips back my head, to nibble his way along the column of my neck the way he did in the sitting room, gripping my hair in one hand so that I sigh with delight.
When I do, he tugs, getting slightly rougher.
The chills run down my skin, the heat floods low in my belly.
He pulls away to close the door before drawing me into his embrace once again.
I tear him back to my mouth and kiss him until my lips bruise.
I can taste the wine on his tongue, the need teasing me so that I let out a gasp of want.
Orrin slows down then, frustratingly slow.
He reaches around, gently unbuttoning my green dress.
Kissing each inch of skin he exposes in the process.
I almost stop breathing as he spins me so his deft fingers work the laces of my corset.
Something about the intimacy of him releasing me from the corset has me dizzy with anticipation.
He tosses the garment on the floor and nestles his face into my neck from behind.
“Hurry,” I demand.
A low laugh as he tugs off my chemise and drawers, peels off my stockings, tosses my garters aside.
Then he turns me slowly, naked. Drinks up every inch of me with those bottomless eyes.
First my face, then on down, taking it leisurely all the way to my toes.
His breath catches in his throat and his eyes darken even further, if that’s possible.
“Beautiful,” he says in a husky whisper.
“Please, Orrin…” I strain out, remembering once again his words. I’m going to make you cry for it.
A wicked smile, like he’s remembering too. I thread my fingers into his long hair, pulling him forward, kissing him again. Again. Again. Tongues tangling, and his bite grazing my bottom lip.
Then we’re in my bed, red curtains pooled around us, and his hands trace the skin of my neck, down to my chest. He rubs the pad of one finger against my breast, circling my nipple, making it pebble under his touch.
I gasp again as he drags his tongue against me. “Corliss…” He buries his face into my breasts, sucking at me, grazing my skin with his teeth. I writhe beneath him.
His hands are everywhere. They run along my skin, in me, his hands become me. Bucking my hips, I cry out low as he reaches for the heat of me, rubs against the center of me so softly I push against him. I need more.
He pauses, letting me catch my breath, touching the autumn leaf on my shoulder. “What’s this one mean?”
I look up at him, lust making my voice thick. “For my aunt.”
He traces the flowers, the vines on my arm. “These?”
“For myself.”
Then he moves downward, pausing at the roses trailing over my left hip, lush and ruby-red with leaves green, open and curled. “And these?” He licks the outline of each flower until my toes are as curled as the leaves.
With a shudder, I say, “A lover. Tanna.” Her black hair tumbling down, her mouth, her hands, the way she showed me how to hold this leg, or that hand, or that pose.
The way she’d smile if I got it right. The way she said good-bye when I couldn’t be what she wanted.
But all I hold now is a memory, like it was another life. In a way, it feels like it was.
Trailing his fingers down my legs, he glances at my feet, at the sweet pea on one, the paintbrush on the other. “And these?”
“My parents.”
As he touches my ankle, for some reason, a throaty laugh escapes him. “An anchor. Who is this for?”
“Another lover, Wil. We can talk about the rest later. Now come back here, let me undress you. I need to touch you. To feel you.”
But he searches my face, without words making sure, asking me to be certain.
I meet his eyes, nod. Yes. Keep going.
And somehow, the magic takes over. I let each one of my senses work with the other, to take him all in: the rich, moody scent; the wine lingering on his breath; his heartbeat, quick; his mood—want and desire for me; then sort of hidden below all that, a pulse, like energy, like the snap of a flame, warm and fierce, and alive.
I pause, sit upright and let out a low breath of awe.
“What? What’s that face you’re making?”
“I’m not sure. I noticed something. I thought I saw something, like in my mind’s eye. Let me try again.”
He closes his eyes. Waits.
I start over, this time trying from his head down: the dark, long hair of his, smelling of herbal soap and wilderness and, I realize, hints of me.
Note his long black lashes, his handsome face.
The white of his shirt, just the top few buttons undone.
His warm skin peeking out, inked with several tattoos, his heart thumping below his chest. And there, there it is again, that feeling of energy, and fullness, like gold light, radiating against me.
It’s small. But strong. I blink, sit back more.
“I…” I start, catching my breath. “Felt something. What is it?”
His eyes are deep, he’s almost panting from the intense connection we shared. “I think you felt my soul.”
“Oh.” I let out a breath, of wonder. Of something else I can’t name.
I lean up and kiss his throat, nip at it gently. I barely have time to explore his body or even glance at his own art-covered skin before he lets out a rasp of a breath, lifting me up, scooting me back farther onto the bed, naked, laid out in front of him.
“Not yet.” Orrin nestles himself between my legs, leans in and kisses my thighs. I fist my hands into the sheets, and pray he’ll keep going. In the candlelight, in my red-curtained bed, his dark head between my white thighs makes me wish I was a painter, that I could immortalize this moment.
He centers himself with a satisfied sigh, tasting me in slow licks, unhurried and patient, as though he has all the time in the world to pleasure me in this way.
I go from aroused to almost boneless with desire, feeling him tentatively swirling his tongue.
He continues on and on—looking up every now and then to grin wickedly at me—until I think I’ll go mad from the need to let go.
“Orrin,” I pant, on the verge of exploding. “Please. I need you…I can’t.”
“You can’t?” He sucks now, and I cry out, legs shaking from the pleasure. He pauses long enough to torment me, drawing out each second. “I think you can.”
My release is hard, and I freeze, tighten up, call out his name as it undulates down each limb, shaking me in pulsing waves that seem to go on forever.
Vision black, I lie there, limp, knees falling together as the pleasure echoes for minutes.
Vaguely, I realize he’s taken off his clothes, golden body sliding against me.
He parts my weak legs, and I stop him with a shake of my head.
“Not yet.” I reach between us to stroke the thick heat of him. “I want to touch you first. You’re beautiful too, you know.”
He throws back his head in pleasure as I slide my hand up and down his velvet skin, jutting toward me.
I stare at the beauty of him, his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips, still wet with me.
I touch his chest with one hand and keep my other on the rhythmic motion until he shoves it away, tugs me by the hips.
My protest that I wanted to taste him too goes unheard. He’s ready—we both are.
Caressing me, rubbing me with the hard length of him, he spreads me open as he glides back and forth a bit, not even going inside yet. I whimper, clench my hands into the blankets, and demand that he enter me, words harsh. “Now.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he responds with a dark smirk.
Then Orrin pushes in, slow, his face contorted with pleasure.
I look up at him, and he down at me, and the rest of the world falls away.
He steadies himself, his forehead against mine, and it takes everything in me not to unravel immediately, not only at the shock of rapture from him inside me, but at the vulnerable display of his own.
He is patient, letting me adjust, stroking me from the center outward until I explode for the second time.
But still, he is not satiated, and in a way, neither am I.
We stare into each other’s eyes, lost. Found.
Minutes blur, and once again, I am gone.