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He kisses me as if he aches, long and slow and deep. His mouth opens against mine, and I reach up, taking his collar in my hands to pull him closer, to anchor myself to him. His tongue brushes past my open lips, teasing me, tasting me. I meet it shyly with mine, not sure what I’m doing.
One kiss melts into the next, into another. Hot, burning, insistent kisses, full of anguished desire. His arm curls around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His body is solid and warm and strong, so much stronger than I expected for a scholar like him.
With his free hand, he cradles my head, tipping it up to his like a flower to the sun. His thumb caresses my cheek and tugs at my bottom lip.
And just like that, our kisses change, become something hotter, hungrier,dirtier.
Zachary lifts me into his arms, and I grip his shoulders, steadying myself, squeezing his waist with my thighs. His mouth moves wetly from my lips to my cheek, to the corner of my jaw, to my neck. I’m warm and tight and aching between my legs, I arch against him without even meaning to, and my head rolls back against the books behind me.
“Theodora,” Zachary murmurs against my throat. His voice is rougher than I’ve ever heard it before, rough as if he’s been screaming for hours, rough as if he can barely speak. “My beautiful nemesis. My delicious, darling adversary. My Theodora.”
His mouth closes on the hollow of my throat, and he sucks on it until I let out a whimper. He presses me closer by my waist, his other hand propped against the bookshelf, and he traces a path of lingering kisses up my neck.
“I adore you,” he breathes in my ear, his lips against my hair. “I adore everything about you, and I want you, I want you laughing and victorious and happy, I want you kiss-drunk and wet and breathless with pleasure. I want you so much I could die from the hunger of it.”
His words send shivers through me that make my teeth chatter. My fingers are clenched so hard into his shoulders I’m sure I must have pierced through his jumper. I roll my hips into him, seeking the pleasure he’s promising.
In the darkness of the aisle, sheltered by the thick mahogany and the silent tomes, I feel free and feral, as if the shackles of being myself have fallen away.
Zachary shifts me against him and then sets me slowly to my feet. I stare up at him, and his face in the shadows is solemn, his eyes a dark glitter, a burning intensity rising from him like black flames.
“What—what are you doing?” I ask.
With infinite tenderness, he brushes my hair back, fixes my clothes and then his.
“I thought perhaps you wanted me to kiss you,” he says quite calmly. “And in any case, I desperately wanted to kiss you. I’ve desperately wanted to kiss you for a very long time. But I won’t pressure you into doing anything els—”
“You’re not pressuring me,” I say quickly.
“—and wedohave an exam first thing tomorrow morning.”
Zachary pulls me out of the aisle and back into the golden lights. I half-expected the desire coursing through me like liquid lightning to melt away once we left the shadows, but it doesn’t. If anything, the sight of Zach, with his smooth skin and his dark hair and his intense gaze and that tender, confident smile, sends a fresh wave of desire through me.
“Don’t be cross at me,” Zachary says. “There are a thousand things I would love to do to you, my Theodora, and I would do anything you ask. If you’d like me to pleasure you in the Spearcrest library, right against the works of the philosophers and poets we love, I will. I’ll kiss every part of you and make you feel so good your cries will make Keats shiver in his grave. I’ll do anything you desire, everything you’ve ever craved. You need only ask.”
“You know I won’t ask,” I snap at him, grabbing my bag as he gathers his things with unhurried movements.
“No,” he says, glancing up at me over his shoulder as he neatly tucks his things into his satchel. “I think you will.”
Chapter 30
Lucky Mouth
Theodora
ForthefinalApostlessession of the year, Mr Ambrose greets us in his office with a small feast and some presents.
The usually austere office is decorated with green garlands tied with red velvet bows, and there’s even a Christmas tree near the window, fully adorned in baubles and fairy lights.
There are only six of us remaining at this point. At first, we all stand in shock, exchanging confused glances. Mr Ambrose greets us with a smile.
“I’ve worked you all very hard indeed this term. I’ve been exigent, relentless, and at times, I’m sure, rather cantankerous. But we are one week away from Christmas, and God forbid I should ever be accused of Scroogery. So, please help yourselves to some mulled wine and food. I especially recommend the Christmas cookies—at least, I recommend you try them before they all inevitably make their way inside my belly.”
It’s odd seeing Mr Ambrose so jovial, and we’re all a bit awkward at first, swapping looks of uncertainty. The table, with its gleaming pastries and colourful cookies, makes my stomach squirm uncomfortably. My eating is never the best around exams, but combine exams with the orgiastic displays of food that seem to be the defining factor of Christmas, and it’s enough to make me want to crawl back inside my skin.
A shoulder presses against mine, and I find Zachary standing next to me with two small cups in hand. He hands me one with a little smile. “Will you at least have a few sips of mulled wine with me? Enough for a toast or two?”
I take the cup with a little smile. “Thank you. What shall we toast to?”
