A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(34)

“You need to find someone kinky here, and fast,” she says. “I think you’re hard up for it.”

She has no idea.

“I’m in agony to be in agony,” I admit. And then I narrow my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She twists her mouth. “It’s not my story to tell.”

I think about this a moment. “Does it make a difference that I really, really want to know?”

“It could, if it were up to me. Which it’s not.”

For a minute, there’s only the rising wind and the rain hurling itself against the house.

“Are you going to fuck Saint?” Rebecca finally asks, still quietly enough so that only I can hear, but frankly enough that I let out a surprised laugh. “Because you look like you want to fuck him.”

“I like you,” I tell her, grinning into my drink. “And I appreciate your candor.”

“I’m allergic to bullshit,” she says. “Now confess.”

“I want to fuck him,” I say, risking a more direct glance over at him. He must have worked today—either that or he felt the need to dress up for dinner. He’s in a mostly unwrinkled button-down and slacks, department store shoes on his feet, and it looks like he’s tried to smooth back his longish hair, but it keeps falling into his face anyway. He’s leaning forward and looking down into his whisky, and there’s a restlessness moving through him that reminds me of the winter storm outside.

“He might not be kinky,” Rebecca cautions.

“I’m not planning a wedding or anything. Just sex.”

“Can you even come from vanilla sex?”

Question of the century. “Well, I, um. I don’t know what makes me come during sex.”

Rebecca turns to me, head first, then the rest of her body. “You don’t know,” she repeats slowly. “What makes you come during sex.”

I scrunch up my face in embarrassment. “I’ve never done it.”

“Is this some heteronormative ‘never specifically had a penis specifically in your vagina’ thing? Or are you saying you really, truly haven’t had sex?”

“No sex,” I respond. My cheeks are on fire. “Nothing.”

“So the person who gave you those welts . . . ?”

“Just gave me the welts,” I confirm. “No orgasms involved. I mean, I got myself off later, alone, but not with her around.”

Rebecca looks stunned. “And how long have you been doing kink?”

“Formally since I was eighteen.”

“And you’re how old now?”

“Twenty-two. Look, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not anything like that—I’m not scared, it’s not a religion thing, I’ve been in love before. It just hasn’t felt right, that’s all.”

Rebecca thinks about this a moment. “Interesting,” she muses. “And now it does?”

I’m dying for whatever Domme insight she has. “Now it does. Does that make me strange?”

She looks back at Saint rolling his glass between his fingertips as the others laugh and talk around him.

“No,” she says heavily. “It may make you foolish. But it doesn’t make you strange.”

Which is when Delphine pops over, her cheeks rosy with booze and fire. “You two are being so secretive over here,” she scolds. “Come back to the fire, I have a game for us to play.”

Rebecca sighs a certain sigh I’ve come to identify as her Delphine Sigh. “I don’t want to play a game.”

Delphine gives Rebecca a pout, and I do believe if she were any younger she would be sticking her tongue out at Rebecca. As it is, she just grabs my hand and yanks me back toward the group, and Rebecca follows with another Sigh.





Chapter 11





“Let’s play Spin the Bottle!” Delphine declares once we’re back in the glow of the fire. Her voice has the fearless optimism that only comes from a lifetime of cosseted extroversion and a bottle of champagne mixed together.

“Are you insane?” Rebecca demands from behind us. “We aren’t children!”

“Of course we aren’t,” Delphine says in a voice that says well, obviously. “That’s the whole point.”

When I glance over at Auden, he’s looking at me, but he looks away as soon as he sees me looking at him.

Saint is still staring at his whisky glass like he’s wondering if he can drown in it.

“Delphine, be reasonable,” I say, although I’ve had just enough Scotch that kissing beautiful people by a fire sounds like heaven. “You and Auden will have to recuse yourselves and so will Becket. And without the engaged people or the priest, there are only three of us left, and that’s hardly enough for a game.”

Delphine turns to us, bottle in hand and eyes narrowed. “Who said anything about recusing?”

“Of course we can’t play, Delly,” Auden says. “Becket can’t either.”

She sets the bottle down on the low table between all the sofas and chairs, and then puts her hands on her hips. “And why, exactly, is that?”

Auden looks surprised, then swiftly protective. “I won’t kiss anyone but you. And our priest has his vows.”