Fifteen Pye
FIFTEEN
Pye
Cascade kisses Avirin slowly. Their mouths melt together like wax, the sound of their breaths rising and falling above the party below.
Pye can’t tear his eyes away. Of all the things he and Avirin have done, they’ve never kissed.
Not quite. It seems so simple after everything else, but that doesn’t mean Pye wants it any less.
With every passing lesson, the desire for it grows so strong that he can hardly stand it.
He needs to know what little noises she makes, how their bodies slot together, exactly how her mouth tastes.
That overwhelming need is exactly why he can never find out. Because one kiss would not be enough. Because it would kill him to do it once and never again.
Cascade knows it, too. In the midst of her kiss, her eyes flutter open to catch Pye staring. She takes Avirin’s face into her hands and dives deeper, and Avirin makes a sound that strikes lightning in Pye’s stomach.
He still doesn’t move.
Cascade’s eyes narrow. He knows what she’s thinking. She said as much three nights ago when he asked if she would provide Avirin with this final lesson.
You’re asking me to bed the woman you’re in love with? You’re a fool.
Pye swallows. They’ve never said the word “love.” They didn’t deny it either, and that’s damning enough.
That’s why Cascade spent all evening trying to push Pye toward what they so desperately want, but they can’t cross that line.
It has to be Cascade to guide Avirin through this while Pye is fortunate enough to witness.
That has to be enough.
Finally, Cascade pulls away from Avirin, lips swollen and shiny. “A husband should undress you,” Cascade breathes and turns her gaze toward Pye. “Help me with it.”
She’s prodding again. Pye sets their jaw and steps forward to undo the closures on the back of Avirin’s dress. They take their time with it, reckless as that is, basking in the swath of Avirin’s skin that appears in the warm light.
Cascade lifts Avirin’s skirt to slip her hand beneath it, and the whine Avirin makes shoots straight to Pye’s cock. She leans back against him, and Cascade keeps teasing her with a husky hum. “Do you always get this wet from playing cards?”
Avirin can’t answer. Pye can’t breathe. With the bare skin of her back pressed to their chest, their fingers flex and curl in the fabric of her dress. They have to restrain themselves — but then Cascade lifts her hand over Avirin’s shoulder and holds out two glistening fingers.
Pye tenses. It’s an offer they shouldn’t take, but they’ve denied themself so much already. There will be more before this night is over. His eyes lock with Cascade’s, and he leans forward to take one of her fingers into his mouth.
It’s impossible not to groan at the taste of Avirin. He remembers it from the pleasure gardens and every night since when he’s dreamt of feasting between her legs. She tastes like pollen from the center of a flower, geodes thrumming with magic, earthy and potent and unmistakably her.
Cascade takes her second finger into her mouth, and Avirin watches them both with baited breath. With the candlelight behind her, Pye can make out her profile in exquisite detail. The curling tendrils of her hair. The slope of her nose. The full curve of her cheek.
When Cascade pulls away, Pye can’t help themself. They try to keep their distance, they do, but every part of Avirin calls to them. They trail their fingers down the opening in the back of her dress, following her spine to the small of her back.
She sucks in a breath. Pye can see it all: her lips parting, throat contracting, eyelashes fluttering. He wants to kiss her. He wants to feel her move under him. He wants the heat of her mouth, the softness of her tongue, the sound of her moans.
Her final piece of clothing falls away. Pye won’t let themself look at her bare body — not yet. “Is this still what you want?” they whisper.
Heat radiates from her when she nods. Pye turns away, collecting her clothing and draping it over the back of a chair.
He will need all of his strength to face her now.
He takes a steadying breath and turns back to her, but even that does nothing to prepare them for the sight that awaits them.
He has pictured her like this time and again, but the reality is more than he could ever conjure.
Avirin is draped in nothing but candlelight. Her body looks impossibly softer, the curves of her hips and stomach and thighs tempting Pye toward her. They can’t tear their gaze away. They want to run their hands over the bounty of her body, to grip her hips, to watch every ripple —
“Aren’t you a vision?” Cascade murmurs.
Both Pye and Avirin startle, foolishly forgetting they are not alone.
Cascade shoots Pye a look, but she moves toward Avirin and runs her fingers along her shoulders.
“My beautiful bride.” She takes Avirin’s chin in hand, and Avirin’s eyes go glassy with desire, but Cascade doesn’t kiss her.
She hovers an inch away to breathe her instructions against Avirin’s lips.
“I’ll have you in my bed.” Her nose brushes Avirin’s.
“I want you spread out on my sheets before I take you. Before I indulge.” She thumbs Avirin’s lower lip. “Can you do that for your husband?”
The scent of Avirin’s desire fills the room. Her head bobs dazedly. When Cascade releases her, Avirin stumbles back a step and sinks into the mattress.
Cascade looks at Pye and tilts her head after Avirin. “Ensure my wife is comfortable.”
Pye’s chest tightens. In another life, it could be real, a dark bedroom with Avirin stripped down to nothing and waiting for him. It’s torture, because it’s exactly what he wants.
When he approaches, her black eyes follow him.
He rests a knee against the bed, and Avirin moves back, both of them crawling until she lies flat beneath him.
His antennae twitch at her spread out among the pillows.
It’s dizzying being this close to her, to everything he wants, but Pye forces themself to move behind her.
They sit her upright, pressing her back to their chest as they recline against the headboard.
On either side of her hips, their legs cradle her curves, tattooed skin exposed when their dress hikes toward their waist.
Across the room, Cascade strips out of her clothing.
Her fingers move easily over the buttons, discarding the fabric in a pile before she moves toward the bed.
The leaves of her hair spread like a fiery crown, her body spotted with knots and whorls.
She is a feast for the eyes in her own right, and fresh arousal surges from Avirin when Cascade kneels between her open legs.
Cascade trails her fingers in a winding path up Avirin’s thigh, and with her other hand, she situates something against her pelvis.
Its flattened base slots into the grooves of her bark.
“It’s carved from my wood.” Her fist twists around the phallic appendage in a motion that makes Pye’s head swim. “It means I can feel everything we do.”
Pye recognizes that wooden cock. He remembers the feeling of it sinking inside him and stretching him open while Cascade whispered filthy torment in his ear. Now, it will do the same to Avirin.
Gods, he aches to know Avirin like this.
He aches to know her at all. To be her confidante.
To protect her every secret. To share whispers and confessions in the dark.
He wants to hold her in a thousand different ways — her hand in the gardens, her books in the streets, her face in the carriage rides home.
He wants every rainy afternoon. Every chilly night.
Every brilliant morning. He wants every single moment, thrilling and mundane, from the briefest glances to the longest years.
But he can’t have any of that. It is why he could not be the one to take her tonight. Why he cannot kiss her. Why he cannot tell her that he loves her. This ending is playing out before him, and even if Pye will be hers for the rest of their days, she will never be his.
Pye’s heart aches. He’s sick with it, this love that can never be requited. He buries his face in Avirin’s hair to memorize every detail of this final moment. This line he cannot cross. This heaven he cannot return to.