“My turn,” he says with gravel in his voice.
He tears off my leggings and underwear and immediately starts with his tongue edging into me. He parts me with his hands—like petals unfolding beneath his touch. His hunger is sharp, as if he’s trying to worship and ruin me in the same breath.
His mouth finds me, tongue tracing slow, molten circles around my center, insatiable and precise. Pleasure coils behind my ribs like a rising tide.
“Noa,” I gasp, the words anchoring me to the moment even as everything else spirals away.
The master is now the student once again as I submit to him completely.
I break with fury—a tidal wave smashed against jagged rocks, the shock stealing my breath, my voice, my name. My world scatters into liquid and firelight.
He holds me there—anchoring, coaxing—until I drift back into bone and skin.
He moves to lie beside me. Steam still rises over us, wrapping us in our own veil of spent power.
“You really are going to be the death of me one day,” he chuckles, hand on his chest as he wills his breathing to slow.
I turn on my side, watching his profile as I smile. “Well, not such a bad way to die,” I tease.
He turns to look at me, his fingers brushing my lips, eyes full of emotion—uncertainty, awe, longing, the quiet fear of the unknown and perhaps of wanting something too much. “No,” he says softly. “It’s not.”
* * *
Later that night,Noa sits on the couch in my room at the Blue Dahlia, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the fire he coaxed to life in my fireplace. The flames flicker wildly, licking the stone hearth in a rhythm only he controls. The silence stretches between us, awkward, filled with things unsaid.
My roommates are still at the mess hall, which buys me time. Not much, but enough.
I watch him for a moment—shoulders tense, jaw tight—and I know what’s on his mind. It’s on mine too.
Big girl panties on,I tell myself.Okay.Here we go.
I clear my throat and speak before I can talk myself out of it. “Noa, what you saw today. What I did… in the Training Room.”
He glances at me, but says nothing. The fire crackles.
“I don’t just mean the match,” I continue. “I mean the door. After.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You mean when youfrozeit shut?”
I nod.
The silence that follows is strained—uncomfortably so.
“It was… incredible,” he says finally. “Most third-years can’t pull that off. Hell, not even most fourth-years. I’m impressed.” I exhale, relieved—but then he adds, quietly, “But?—”
I knew it was coming. And still I hoped that we could end the conversation where it was. A stupid hope.
“But thewayyou did it, Cel. Like it cost younothing.Like you weren’t even trying. That’s not something you justlearned, is it?” The accusation falls like ash from his tongue.
I look down at my hands, not knowing what to say.
He sits up straighter, his voice low but edged. “I asked you to be honest with me, remember? From the beginning. And I feel like I’m the only one keeping that promise.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“Elemental state manipulation is advanced magick, Cel,” he cuts in. “Dangerous if not completely controlled. I’m one of only a handful on campus who can do it. And I’ve trained for years. I’m not angry you did it. It’s astounding, the power you showed today. I’m angry that you felt like you had to hide it. Because you’ve clearly been able to do this for a long time. With no training. No help.”
I stand, the pressure too much, and walk to the window. The lake glows silver under the moonlight, calm and distant—so unlike what’s building inside me. I try to find the right words. “I was fourteen,” I say finally. “And I did have help. Gavrail taught me.”
