Page 53 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Avirin nods. “But I have not told you why I chose that word. It was not only because it was simple. Because it was there.”

Pye’s brow furrows. She sets the sketchbook aside, and when she steps closer, a thundercloud rumbles between them. Something electric lifts goosebumps on Pye’s arms, heightened when Avirin meets his gaze.

“I chose that word because it reminded me of you.”

She lifts a hand toward his jaw, and instinctively, his mouth drags a kiss against her palm.

“Warm,” she murmurs. “Sweet. Leaving remnants on everything it touches.” Her thumb follows the freckles across his yellow skin. “You made me feel safe even then. During our first lesson, and every moment thereafter.”

It steals his breath. He leans his face into her touch, but there is something larger brewing behind her gaze.

“I have spent so long performing for an audience,” she murmurs. “The ton has never wanted me, but I never questioned if I wanted it.” Her thoughts flash across her face like lightning inside a cloud, illuminated for the first time. “I do not desire to be on that stage. I do not want to wear that mask any longer.”

Pye thrums with energy. This is the first time Avirin has spoken so openly, unconstrained by doubt or expectation. Never has she been so certain. So unapologetic. So in control of her own fate.

“You want me to be happy,” she whispers. “To be intentional. To take whichever lovers I choose. Is that right?” Her voice is calm, but it is threaded with unmistakable conviction.

Pye’s heart thuds. “More than anything.”

When she licks her lips, her pupils spread to fully engulf her eyes. She does not blink the black away. She does not lower her gaze. “Then come to my room.” She lifts on her toes, and Pye leans in to meet her kiss, but she never gives it to them. She merely brushes the edge of their mouth and presses a brass key into his palm.

Pye bites back a whine.

Her lips curl at the corners. “Let me show you how happy you’ve made me.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Pye

Avirin leaves Pye in the studio clutching the key. It takes all he has not to pull her back in, to lie her across the table, to watch her lips part when he sinks inside her for the first time…

But there will be time enough for that. Tonight, he follows Avirin’s command, as he will follow her for as long as she will have him.

His wings flutter as he moves toward his room to strip out of the most cumbersome articles of his day clothes. It is a meditation. Soon, there will be nothing between him and Avirin. No clothing. No pretense. Nothing but skin.

Pye shuts their eyes, body threatening to give into that hot snap of want. They must resist it. They must keep their thoughts in order. They must give everything to Avirin in the best way they know how.

With a steadying breath, Pye moves to the armoire and withdraws a small vial before they finally leave the room.

In some far corner of the house, the noises of the card game continue. Pye barely hears them as he walks the darkened corridor toward Avirin’s room. He has followed this path many times. In the early days when Avirin would not leave her chambers. In the late night when he could not sleep. In the first light of dawn when he woke from a dream of her. With each step, his stride grows more certain until he reaches her bedroom door.

His fingertips brush the carved frame. This place is holy, and he does not take the invitation lightly. He meant what he told her the first day. Being offered a place in Avirin’s world is sacred, and he is a mere mortal following a goddess to her altar. He intends to worship her properly.

He slides the key into the lock and eases the door open.

There isn’t a candle in sight, but the moon is full and bright, spilling over the chaise lounge and onto the floor. Avirin’s room is much the same as when Pye arranged it, but now, it is covered in her — a stack of books on her bedside table, a robe draped over her folding screen, her scent hanging in the air. Avirin has made this place her own. She is comfortable here, in this house, with him. His chest cinches at the thought, but it is forgotten when Avirin turns from the empty fireplace to face him.

She is a vision in her muslin chemise. Pye can’t tear his eyes from her, following the dark waves of her hair where they dip into the wide neckline. She watches him, too, her black gaze roaming without shame. They have no need for secrecy any longer. This is their home. She is his wife, and he is her husband. At long last, that thought stirs only molten desire.

For a moment, Avirin’s face flickers with uncertainty, but then her chin lifts. There is a glint in her eye, and Pye wants to give chase to it, like a hound after a fox.

“Close the door,” she murmurs.

Pye runs his tongue over his lips. Maybe that will give him a taste of her essence in this room. Maybe that will keep him from falling to his knees, crawling to her and burying his face between her legs.

Pye does as she commands, forcing themself to remain upright and reaching for the door behind them.

The key turns in the lock. It is a sound so pointed and final that Pye has to lean back against it. The two of them watch each other. They both know what she’s brought him here for. There is something unmistakably arousing about that — being called here to serve his wife, allowed inside for the first time to attend to her pleasure.