Chapter Thirty - Seven #2
A thought occurs to me—one that's both self-serving and genuinely helpful. "You know," I say casually, "if you're interested in gaining more experience, I'd be happy to offer my services."
She chokes on her mead. "What?"
"As a teacher," I clarify, unable to keep the mischief from my voice. "I could give you lessons. How to please a man. How to be pleased by one. All the tricks and techniques I've learned over my very long and very enjoyable life."
She stares at me, clearly unsure whether I'm joking. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely," I say, leaning back on my elbows. "Think of it as a public service. I'd be helping you, and you'd be helping me maintain my skills."
"Your skills," she repeats skeptically.
"They require regular practice," I insist solemnly. "It's very important work."
A surprised laugh escapes her. "You're ridiculous."
"So you keep saying," I agree. "But the offer stands. No pressure, no expectations. Just pleasure and education."
She shakes her head, but I notice she doesn't outright refuse. "I'll... think about it."
"Fair enough," I concede, satisfied to have planted the seed. "In the meantime, how about we start with something a little less intimidating?"
"Like what?" she asks warily.
I stand, offering her my hand. "Dancing. I happen to be an excellent teacher."
She looks skeptical but takes my hand, allowing me to pull her to her feet. "There's no music."
I snap my fingers, and soft jazz begins to play, seemingly from nowhere. "Problem solved."
"Show-off," she mutters, but she's smiling.
I guide her hand to my shoulder, place mine at her waist, and begin to lead her in a simple step.
"Dancing is just like sex," I inform her, enjoying her immediate flustered reaction. "It's all about rhythm, communication, and paying attention to your partner's body."
"Is everything about sex with you?" she asks, trying to maintain her composure as she follows my lead.
"Not everything," I admit. "But all the best things usually are."
She rolls her eyes, but she's relaxing into the dance, her movements becoming more fluid.
"You're a natural," I tell her, and I mean it. There's a grace to her that she herself doesn't seem aware of.
"I took lessons as a kid," she admits. "My aunt insisted. Said it would teach me poise."
"Smart woman," I comment, spinning her gently.
She comes back into my arms with more confidence, her body closer to mine now. "She had her moments."
We dance in silence for a minute, and I find myself genuinely enjoying it—the simple pleasure of movement, of connection without expectation.
"Asher," she says after a while, her voice softer. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything," I tell her. "Whether I answer truthfully is another matter entirely."
She smiles at that. "Why did you bid on me? At the auction."
I consider deflecting with a joke, but something about the moment calls for honesty. "At first, just to annoy Malachi," I admit. "He rarely shows interest in the women at the Ritual, so when he did..."
"You couldn't resist antagonizing him," she finishes.
"Exactly," I nod. "But then..." I trail off, searching for the right words.
"Then?" she prompts.
"Then I saw something in you," I say simply. "Something different. Something interesting."
"My power," she guesses.
"Not just that," I shake my head. "Though that's certainly part of it. But there's more to you than power, Sage. You have... depth. Stillness. Most people are so busy trying to be seen that they never really see. You observe. You understand."
She looks surprised by my assessment. "I do?"
"You do," I confirm. "It's... refreshing."
A comfortable silence falls between us as we continue to dance, the steps becoming more natural, more fluid.
"So," I say eventually, unable to resist. "About those lessons..."
She laughs, the sound light and unguarded. "You're incorrigible."
"One of my better qualities," I agree cheerfully. "Think about it, though. No strings, no complications. Just enjoyment and education."
She shakes her head, but I notice she's still smiling. "I'll consider it."
"You know," I say casually, spinning her gently, "now that you're no longer a virgin, there's so much to learn. Consider me a master willing to share my knowledge."
She freezes, her eyes widening. "Wait—how do you know that?"
I smirk slightly, leaning in conspiratorially. "Oh, I can tell."
Her cheeks flush beautifully, but she narrows her eyes skeptically. "Really?"
"Absolutely," I assure her solemnly. "It's practically written all over your face."
She rolls her eyes, though a soft smile lingers on her lips. "You're ridiculous."
"And charming," I add helpfully.
"And humble," she deadpans, making me chuckle.
"That's all I ask," I say magnanimously, spinning her one final time as the music fades.
She comes to a stop facing me, closer than before, her eyes holding mine with unexpected directness.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"For the dance?" I ask, still holding her hand.
"For treating me like a person," she clarifies. "Not a possession or a puzzle or a weapon. Just... me."
Something shifts in my chest—an unfamiliar tightness that I'm not entirely comfortable with. "Don't get used to it," I warn her, keeping my tone light. "My reputation, remember?"
She smiles, seeing through me. "Of course."
Then, surprising me completely, she rises on her tiptoes and presses a brief, soft kiss to my cheek.
"What was that for?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"For being exactly what I needed today," she says simply.
Before I can respond, she steps back, smoothing down her dress. "I should go. There are some books in the library I want to check."
I bow with exaggerated flourish. "Until next time, librarian."
She pauses at the door, looking back at me with a small smile. "I might take you up on those lessons someday."
And then she's gone, leaving me staring after her with an uncharacteristic loss for words.
I sink back onto the cushions, refilling my glass of mead.
Well, that was unexpected.
I've spent centuries perfecting the art of keeping people at a distance—using charm, humor, and sex as shields against genuine connection. It's safer that way. Easier.
And yet, somehow, this quiet librarian with her thoughtful eyes and careful words has managed to slip past my defenses without even trying.
How very inconvenient.
I drain my glass, letting the warmth of the mead chase away the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability.
This is going to complicate things considerably.
But then again, I've never been one to shy away from complications.
Especially when they come in such intriguing packages.