Three Pye
THREE
Pye
“You couldn’t have chosen an easier spot?” Avirin huffs. “I’ve already torn a hole in my gloves.”
“Apologies, dear lady.” With a theatrical bow, Pye guides her into the alcove by the hand. “I’ve prepared a picnic basket so you may regain your strength.”
A weathered stone bench sits long forgotten in the depths of the park. Bushes and trees grow wild here, but they provide the necessary shade from weather and prying eyes on the promenade.
Tossing her disheveled hair, Avirin reaches into her reticule. “Your payment, Lord Riften.”
Pye takes the coins in hand and shakes them like a pair of dice. “Is it not strange to continue using my title, given the lessons I am to provide you?”
Sweat glistens at the base of Avirin’s neck. She fans herself swiftly. “It is the proper way to refer to each other.” She repeats the words as if she has heard them before, but she looks unconvinced.
“If you insist on formalities, we should at least add a bit of flair.” Pye hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps ‘Lord of Luridness’ would do. ‘Lady of Ribaldry,’ ‘Lord of Misrule’…” He leans forward with a teasing smile. “Do any of those strike you?”
Avirin’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink beneath her scowl. “I believe ‘Lord of Botheration’ is most fitting.”
Pye’s smile grows. “And has the rumor mill begun to churn about our dance the other evening?”
The pink in her cheeks deepens. “I believe it has. My mother had a few questions for me on the carriage ride home, and she seemed pleased you were not in attendance at the following event.”
“And were you pleased?”
Avirin blinks, then swallows. “I — I am never pleased at those parties.”
Pye hides their smirk. A leaf clings to the unraveling curls of Avirin’s dark hair, and Pye delicately plucks it out. “We will have to be more tactful about our meetings. It will be important to maintain your reputation; the men whose eyes you aim to catch will certainly care about that.”
He extends the leaf toward her, twirling the stem absently. Avirin looks hesitant, as if he is making a far greater offering, and after a moment, she shakes her head.
Pye lets the leaf fall to the ground, and Avirin watches it spiral downward.
He steps closer. “For our first lesson…”
Avirin’s chest rises and falls beneath the bodice of her dress when Pye takes her gloved hand. If they move their fingers just so, they could brush the skin of her wrist through the tear in the fabric…
Instead, he presses his lips to her knuckles. “The art of flirtation.”
Avirin deflates. “Flirtation? I thought we would start with…”
Pye’s brow hikes.
Her flush spreads across her chest. “Something more…physical.”
Carefully, they release her. “Something like what?”
They watch her down the line of their nose, but she doesn’t quite meet their eyes. This close, her body is warm, radiating shame and uncertainty. Her fingers curl into her skirts, but no matter what she latches onto, she can’t seem to find an answer.
Once the silence stretches on, Pye steps back. “If you cannot speak the words, Lady Avirin, I cannot imagine you’re prepared for the act.”
“That’s not my —” She shakes her head in irritation. “Then how will I know how to please a husband?”
“Believe me…” He tugs his cravat loose. “The men you seek will enjoy themselves simply by being allowed to touch you. What we’re going to teach you is how to entice them, and how to find your own pleasure in it.”
Pye winds the fabric around their hand before they realize the way Avirin’s eyes cling to it. Her brown eyes are inquisitive, sensing a challenge that she intends to meet. “What does ‘it’ entail, exactly?”
Pye tastes salt when they run their tongue along their lips. It’s hotter in this alcove than expected. He dabs at his jaw and tucks the cravat into his pocket. “We begin with flirtation,” they redirect. “But before that —”
Avirin’s eyes roll. Very unladylike. Very adorable.
“Before that,” he admonishes, “we determine a word to be used between us. A code. If ever you wish to pause our lessons, if ever you’re uncomfortable, you use the word, and we will stop.”
Her mouth twitches into a skeptical smile. “Will our lessons be so impassioned, Lord Riften?”
He does not look away from her. “They will be thorough, Lady Avirin.”
Her throat bobs. Pye forces his gaze not to cling to the shape of her neck, flitting instead to her mouth when her voice cracks, “Honey.” She clears her throat, staring at the jar peeking out of the basket on the ground. “‘Honey’ will be the word.”
Pye smiles when the jar appears between two of his fingers held up between them. “Then ‘honey’ it shall be.”
Avirin glances incredulously between the basket and his hand. “Magic?”
“Only a little,” Pye winks. “Just enough for party tricks.” They gesture again, and an apple appears in their hand instead. “Would you like to try it?”
Avirin inspects the fruit before she reaches for it. Her teeth sink into the flesh, her eyes widening as she chews. “It’s delicious.”
“It’s a new strain I’ve been trying to grow. What flavors do you get from it?”
She mulls the bite over in her mouth. “Tart. Sweet. A perfect mixture…with an aftertaste like fresh lemon.”
Pye takes the apple from her hand. He presses his mouth to the pale interior, exactly where hers had been. Avirin follows his motions, but when she sees him looking, she tears her eyes away.
He chews her bite slowly. He’s not sure what he meant by it.
Perhaps to bother her. Perhaps to see how she reacts.
Pye deposits the apple back into the basket and lowers themself onto the cracked bench.
“Now, for the most important question.” They gesture for Avirin to join them.
“Are these lessons meant to attract a husband or your husband?”
Avirin sinks down beside them, worrying the hole in her glove. “I don’t know. Is there a difference?”
Pye’s brow knits. Avirin comes from the world of high society that Pye has long renounced.
She follows their expectations. She seeks to fit their molds.
She answered exactly as expected, so why does Pye feel a twinge of disappointment?
“There is a difference,” they murmur. “Are these lessons meant to find love, or to find anyone?”
Avirin chuckles, avoidant. “For a bachelor, you certainly know your way around matters of the heart.”
“One needn’t be married to understand love.
In fact, matrimony may be the thing that obscures love most.” Gods, he doesn’t mean to sound so gloomy.
The thought of marriage does entice him, but discussing Avirin’s dreary, hypothetical future makes Pye itch.
“In any case, my lifestyle is simply not suited for wedded bliss. I can’t imagine a union that would not feel more like shackles than an embrace. ”
A melancholy smile graces Avirin’s lips. “Unfortunately, I do not have the privilege of squandering any opportunity that presents itself, shackles or no.”
“You could.”
“I cannot.”
Her voice brooks no argument, so Pye bites their tongue.
There is no use explaining that there is a life outside the ton.
A more difficult life, yes, but one made that way by the society that governs them.
It is clear that Avirin has more trouble than not with the beau monde, but if she is intent on following the rules set out for her, then Pye can help her play the game.
His posture straightens. “Then for your purposes, flirtation is rather simple. If your intention is to cast a wide net and see what you catch, all you need to do is appear entertained. Stroke his ego. Let your man do most of the talking. Men love to speak about themselves.”
“Is it the same with women?”
Curiously, Pye’s eyes narrow. “You want to know about flirting with women?”
Avirin’s entire face goes red. “No, I meant — I don’t enjoy speaking about myself.”
Pye’s mouth tugs up at the corners. “The most interesting people never seem to.” He leans on one palm, trolling through his memories for instructions that will serve her among the upper class.
“If the man you’re speaking to makes a joke, laugh at it.
If he tells a riveting story, gasp and cover your mouth.
The quickest way to endear a man like that is to give him the reaction he’s seeking. ”
Avirin’s nose wrinkles. “So flirtation is acting? It’s lying?”
“Only when you can’t be particular about whose eye you capture.”
“And if I were looking for a love match?”
“Then our lessons would be very different.” He shouldn’t bother to expand. Avirin has made it clear she won’t be picky about her suitors, yet Pye can’t leave her in the dark. Something flutters in their chest. She should know there is more out there. “With the right person, flirtation feels like…”
When they trail off, she leans toward them. Her eyes are sharp and bright, mind spiraling through thoughts and questions that he’s hungry to know more of. Things he wants to ask her about. Things that entice him far more than the empty vessel she’s training herself to be.
With the right person, it feels like this.
“Asking questions,” Pye murmurs. “Broaching topics of interest, things you’ve noticed he spends time on.” He leans closer with a smile. “Those emerald earrings are lovely, Lady Avirin. Did you pick them out yourself?”
Avirin flushes and touches her ears. “Yes. I prefer —” Then her nose wrinkles, like his compliment was only meant to provide an example. “I see. Would tattoos be appropriate to discuss?”
A laugh escapes him. “I doubt that will be a common topic.”
Avirin stares at the ink peeking out beneath the cuffs of his sleeves. “But an intriguing one.”
Her gloved fingers brush the back of his wrist. His hair stands on end, but he does not move for fear that it will shatter this moment. The sun beats down between the branches, leaving the alcove swelteringly hot.
She slips the tip of her finger beneath the cuff of his sleeve. “What’s this one?”
Pye can’t think. They can hardly breathe. This is the thrill of flirtation: baited looks, gentle touches, frisson in the air. His fingers flex. “Touching a man’s hand like this would cause quite a stir in public.”
An incorrigible warning. He does not want her to pull away. He wants her to know exactly what the rules are, and he wants her to break them, to push past them, to step over the line in the sand.
She meets his eyes, fingers moving to the thin skin of his wrist. “How fortunate I have a teacher who is no stranger to scandal.”
Pye almost shivers. He turns his palm up, the barest motion beneath her hand, but the pad of his thumb teases the hole in her glove.
Her pulse jumps against his fingertips. She does not retract.
He leans closer, a lock of his hair brushing her temple. “Would you like me to scandalize you?”
Her breath cascades over his mouth. She inclines her head the barest inch, bringing their lips nearly together…
His eyes slip shut. Temptation pulls on his mind, his arms, his entire body until he is drifting down a long stream toward the intoxicating promise of her mouth…
“Oh my God!”
Hands close around his shoulders. He’s too dizzy to resist, slumping forward into the warm skin of Avirin’s neck. She fumbles with their weight, pushing them upright until Pye is leaning back against the tree trunk behind them.
When their eyelids finally flutter open, Avirin stands before them. One of her hands clamps over her mouth, and her eyes widen with shock — her black eyes, not brown like before. Now, her pupils have completely swollen until they are two dark wells overtaking the whites of her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammers.
Pye struggles to sit up straighter.
“I didn’t know — I didn’t think —” She shakes her head and gathers her skirts in her hands. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Pye’s throat is raw, but he holds up a limp hand. “Please…sit…a moment.”
Avirin’s face swarms with guilt. She does not return to her seat next to him, but she does linger at the edge of the alcove.
Pye takes a steadying breath. “Get…the food…from my basket.”
Hesitantly, Avirin moves back under the overhang. She falls to her knees beside the picnic basket, and when she finds a handful of raspberries, she returns to the bench again. With one glance at his wobbly limbs, she feeds him herself, placing berries on his tongue until he regains his strength.
He stares at her hands, thoughts still muddled. “Your gloves are stained.”
“I don’t care.” She leans closer to get a good look at Pye’s face. “Are you all right?”
Most of the dizziness has subsided. Pye leans forward to rest their elbows on their knees before they look at her. “You’re a succubus?”
Her lip trembles. Her eyes fade back to brown. “Please don’t speak of this to anyone. Please. I promise never to bother you again, but please don’t —”
His hand closes around hers, pressing the wet stain between their palms. “No one will hear anything from me.”
She makes a choked sound, fingers tightening around his.
He searches through the fog of his mind. “Is that the first time you’ve — fed?”
“Is that what that was?” Her voice is tight. “I’m sorry. This is all so new and strange.”
“Is that why you asked for these lessons?”
Her mouth turns down somberly. “I can’t do it. I can’t feed if that’s what it does.”
“There are ways to make it easier. Enjoyable.”
Avirin’s head whips toward him, a disbelieving scowl on her pretty face. “How do you know?”
“I have known succubi before. One or two, from the pleasure houses.”
A cloud of disappointment falls over Avirin’s face. “Only in the pleasure houses.”
She knows as well as he does that succubi women are not allowed to exist anywhere else.
It is surely a frightening prospect, being thrust into this new world when there is nowhere she can turn for guidance.
She will be left to her own devices, forced to flounder through these changes and pray she isn’t caught… unless Pye aids her.
“I will not speak to anyone about your secret,” he promises. “We will continue your lessons as planned, and most importantly, we will make sure you’re well-fed.”
Warily, she watches him. “Are you certain? That wasn’t —”
“I am, Lady Avirin. I assure you.”
Relief floods her face.
His tongue trails over his lips before he thinks better of it.
He still remembers the sweet taste of her breath, and he curses himself, leaning down toward the basket.
Pye needs to focus. They need to control themself.
Avirin needs someone to help her, not to be hard up at the very thought of her.
He offers her a handful of raspberries before he pops another into his mouth.
While he savors the tart flavor, he pretends it does not remind him of her at all.