After untangling herself from my bulky sweater, she crawls across the bed and wraps her arms around my neck. Her breath is featherlight against the shell of my ear as she whispers, “Ilovethem. Thank you.” Then she presses a kiss to my cheek.
My heart swells to the point I think it might squeeze out of my rib cage and drift into the autumn night.
Keeping one arm around my neck, she reaches out and snags up the red ribbon from where she dropped it onto the bed. “Can I keep this too?”
A laugh rumbles out of me. “I suppose.”
Her lips pull into a smile, making her freckles crinkle. After wiggling into my lap, she turns so her back is facing me, then holds up the ribbon. “Will you tie it into my hair? Make a bow like you did around the box.” She dangles the ribbon in the air, letting it hang from her fingers until I take it from her.
“I’m not very good,” I mumble, already wondering how I’m going to get this thin ribbon around her braid with my big fingers.
“As long as you do it,” she says lightly, “it’ll be perfect.”
Yup, there my heart goes again, feeling like it wants to explode.
As I start to wrap the red ribbon around the end of her braid, I wonder how I got here. How’d I go from being annoyed at the prospect of having to babysit a troublesome fire witch to having her in my lap, to knowing what her lips feel like against mine, to wanting to feel her pussy stretch around my cock?
I banish that last thought quickly; she must be sore from earlier this evening, and I already covered her in my cum, to the point where we both had to bathe. She needs to rest.
Narrowing my eyes in focus, I somehow am able to get my clumsy fingers to wrap the ribbon into a quaint bow at the end of her pretty red braid. I sit back to check my work, then mumble, “It’s done.”
Lyra pulls her braid around to check my work. Her fingers brush along the ribbon, and she turns her eyes up to meet mine. “Can I stay with you tonight?” she whispers.
The rain has slowed, but it still patters softly outside and against the thatched roof. The bedroom window is open just a crack, keeping us cool and carrying in the delicious scent of fall and woodsmoke from the Samhain bonfire.
I hadn’t considered for even a moment sending her out into the rain, making her walk back to the castle in my oversize sweater. I’d have to be the biggest ass in Wysteria.
Lifting a hand, I trace my thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone, mapping out her freckles in my mind. “Of course,” I whisper.
Her eyes glisten. And then she kisses me.
LYRA IS BEAUTIFUL WHEN SHE sleeps. Her mouth is open slightly, and she breathes deep and even. The furrow that often mars her brow is gone, leaving her forehead perfectly smooth.
She lies next to me, one hand draped across my bare chest, the other curled up under her chin. She looks so delicate in sleep, so soft. So gentle.
Yet I know she can be anything but.
We’ve been working together for half a semester, and already I’ve seen subtle changes in her—focus and concentration, the effort she puts forth to control her fire, the determination I so often see etched across her face.
Yet right now, all I see is peace.
Slowly, I use one finger to brush a soft, bouncy curl from her cheek. She shifts a bit in sleep, breathing changing, and for a moment, I fear I’ve woken her. But then she settlesright back in, one hand still lying on my chest, right where my heart beats.
I know this is dangerous, that we—I—shouldn’t be doing this. Lyra is already skating on thin ice with Headmistress Moonhart, and if anyone so much as suspects something untoward is going on between us, it could result in her losing her place here. As for me, I could easily lose my job, my home, all the quiet peace I’ve built here on the outskirts of the academy.
But... would that be so bad?a small voice asks me.
My gaze lifts from Lyra and lands on the doorway leading into the sitting room, where the letter Milo sent me is held inside the drawer in a side table.
After bumping into him in Wysteria the other day, I put quill to parchment and filled out the application he’d sent over. And though I still don’t have high hopes of hearing back from the Columbine Conservatory, the thought that I might be able to do something more, learn something more, has my chest squeezing in nervous anticipation.
If I were to get the job, it would mean leaving here. Leavingher.
My eyes flick down to her, curled beside me, breathing softly, skin like cream in the silver moonlight cutting through a gap in my curtains.
If I left here, what would that mean for us?
Oh, there’s anusnow?
