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Him, sinking his teeth into that apricot. Him, drawing a string of black across his lower lashes. Him, in those ebony pants and silk robe.
The visions scorched me, so that I melted onto my hand. As I prodded myself faster, my thumb found the swollen kernel of nerves rising from my center and pressed against it.
Sparks burst from that place. A gravely cry jumped from my throat before I could catch it.
More uncivilized noises ruptured from my lips as I skimmed my clitoris until it pulsated. The tendrils compiled and expanded, all semblance of discretion fleeing my mind. Instead, mortification transformed into something more potent, more powerful.
All the pieces worked in tandem. My hips rocked against my fingers. Two digits plunged while the other grazed my nub. My mouth was no longer in control of itself.
I pictured his face above me. The shadows sketched his features as he watched me do this to myself, as he watched me go wild. I envisioned those eyes glossed in erotic green, those lashes lined in sinful black.
I thought of him touching me this way. I thought of his fingers flexing into that intimate spot, his hand spreading me, opening me for him.
My tempo became his tempo. My fingers became his fingers inside me, flexing hard and high between my folds.
I thought of his strong hands, their width and length, which transformed into another part of him, another appendage that could do all this.
All this, and more.
I thought of his expression slack with lust as he whipped his cock into my sensitive flesh. I thought of his crown punting against my clitoris. I thought of him teasing me, tempting me, taking me.
Most of all, I replayed his words. Every decadent thing he’d ever said rekindled. I fantasized about him whispering, that silken voice slipping into my ear.
My hand sped faster, plied deeper. Plaintive noises sprinted up my throat.
Have you had your fill? Or would you like more?
My spine snapped off the mattress. Abruptly, my walls convulsed, a profusion of heat surging from my body. Spots of light exploded in my vision. I twisted my face into the pillow, muffling my fractured cries as they struck the down.
It wasn’t enough. My teeth sank into the fabric, the uproar of my climax blasting into the cushion.
All the while, his words echoed. All the while, I unraveled like a spool of ribbon.
***
For once, I could not help Eliot. I could not torment him with my awful ballad lyrics to make him laugh, nor cheer him up with an offering of hard cider brought from Autumn. I could not beg Poet to alter his feelings and make Eliot happy, however much I wanted to.
The jester had delayed for five days before breaking my best friend’s heart.
We sat against the wall in the ruins. Silence overwhelmed the enclosure as a raven flitted between the crumbling monoliths.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then hazarded, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Eliot’s legs pitched in front of him, his wrists dangled off his knees, and the back of his skull rested against the jagged stone wall. Slowly, he shook his head while staring with red-rimmed eyes at the grass. “If you don’t mind,” he said quietly, “I’d like to be alone.”
I winced. I had never met this brittle version of my friend, and I had never lacked the means to console him, to alleviate his pain.
I heeded his request and crept from the ruins, doing my best to stonewall the pang. Part of me understood his unrequited affections. Yet another part of me felt something worse.
Something permanent.
***
In the underground hells, people lived in chains. Down there, instruments of punishment and torture designed by Winter were stored within wielding distance, in the event a prisoner became violent, or a convicted assassin withheld vital information. Whenever this happened, Spring had no qualms about using the tongs, pinchers, spikes, harnesses, and blades supplied to them by the continent’s most inventive and deadpan Season.
In Winter, doctors and scientists were members of an oftentimes desensitized culture, the majority ruthlessly glacial and rarely moved by displays of suffering. Despite Silvia and Doria’s refined nature, their grandnephew and appointed heir was reputed to be as icy and cruel as their subjects.
If this was true, what kind of ruler would the Winter Prince become? Coldhearted, unlike his reigning grandaunts? Only time would tell.
