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The Order marriage ceremony isn’t an orgy. It’s not even sex in a traditional sense, although it definitely takes the phrase “you may kiss the bride” to an extreme that would scandalize most other religious groups beyond repair. Except that now, the way Roman is talking about it, the way he’s watching me, I’m starting to wonder if I misunderstood something. I need to double check the rules…
He doesn’t directly answer my question. “I might suggest a few practice runs first. To make sure everything looks…authentic.”
My breath catches and he raises an eyebrow as if to say “see?”
But it’s not fear that has me holding my breath. It’s anticipation. I close my eyes for half a second, forcing myself to think. To breathe again, before I force false confidence into my voice. “Is that all?”
He fully laughs now, like he can see right through my bluff. “That’s all.”
The part of me that’s, well, good, knows I should tell him to go to hell. That, “practicing” is a flimsy as fuck excuse, and if we wanted to fuck we could just do that. But there’s also a part of me that wonders if he has half a point. It wouldn’t make much sense for secret lovers to look like they’ve never even kissed. And I suppose, if I can work up the nerve to ask for a marriage, I should be able to admit what else I want.
“Here?” I ask breathlessly. “Starting now?”
“It’s a public ceremony,” he repeats.
Not really an answer, but based on how close he’s standing I feel like he’s not opposed to the idea. I’m amazed to discover I’m not either.
My eyes dart to the opening between shelves that leads to the rest of the library. I’ve never seen anyone else up here, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is a public building. There are undoubtedly other people nearby. On this floor, certainly, and someonecouldwalk in on us at any moment.
And something about that makes fucking my enemy turned secret fiancé so much hotter.
“Fine,” I say, and it comes out breathy and uncertain.
His eyes flare, somehow showing equal heat and surprise.He thought I was going to say no.So why ask at all?
“I need a better answer than that, Juliette,” he says. “If you don’t want to, just say no.”
The use of my full name banishes all questions from my mind. For once he’s not joking or teasing or asking some roundabout thing that would make the fae in an old fairytale proud.
“Yes,” I say, still breathless, but with more conviction. “Yes, I want to.”
He exhales sharply, and a jolt of excitement travels through my system as he shifts closer, like that was all the confirmation he was waiting for.
I tilt my head up, expecting that it will be like a movie, and Roman will bend and claim my mouth. Suddenly, I’m starving and desperate for that kiss, but he doesn’t satiate my need. Instead, he presses into me and I can feel him hard against my side as he uses his free hand to push my hair away from my ear and whispers low so I can feel his voice everywhere. “I need you to be quiet, for me.”
I nod as he reaches down, sliding a hand up my nearly bare thigh and tracing fingers along the edge of my panties. My tights provide the thinnest barrier—enough to drive me crazy with wanting him closer, but not enough that he can’t feel exactly how wet I already am just from this alone.
I whimper, just the smallest noise.
He smiles at that. “Good girl, Etta.”
“Good girl,” has always seemed like an insult to me. Like he’s calling me a teacher’s pet or a goodie-two-shoes. Except now, it doesn’t sound like that at all. It sounds beyond a term of endearment. As much a declaration as a term of endearment. Praise and a prayer.
I lean forward, moaning a little as he moves his hand up to cup my core, stroking fingers back and forth enough to drive me insane. This is so incredibly unlike me. Or rather, unlike the persona I have portrayed publicly for so long that it has become my default.
“More,” I say, desperate for him to actually touch me for real.
But instead of giving me what I crave, he slows his fingers, moving back a fraction of an inch. “Before my self control goes to shit, are you on birth control?”
My brain comes to a screeching halt, half because of how he phrased that question. I love the idea of him losing control. I want to see that, more than I’d care to admit. Maybe not in this library, but where? When?
But then, I process the rest of his question. “Uh…what?”
Part of me is wondering what the hell is wrong with me right now that I’m the one not thinking about that. Me. The one who thinks about everything. Me, who makes pro con lists and actually uses the cross compare feature on amazon and is in a long term relationship with my label maker. This is catastrophic on so many levels.
The other part of me is wondering why he’s even asking.
Birth control of any kind is a human necessity. I would need it to have sex with someone not pledged…but Roman shouldn’t have that problem. Every guy in our prep school knows the rune for contraception, it’s like a right of passage.
