Page 111 of Tears of Ink

“It’s smart.” I send him a smile. “Now I feel pretty daft taking you to the hovels in Brighton.”

“I loved that.”

I smile, but the difference in our paths is glaring me smack in the face.

“How’s Al?”

I step towards a wall of shelving holding books and CD’s. I can even see some old vinyl—now, I definitely want to know what’s on them.

“Same.” A deep huff of breath escapes me. “I’m going to try to get back this weekend, just in case. We’ve still got the rest of this week and next before the ball.”

I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. Earlier this week I couldn’t wait for it to be over, but now I want August to stretch on forever.

“How’s it going? And don’t give me a one worded reply.”

“Fine?” I grin, but then I’m distracted by a shelf on the right. “What the hell?” My feet carry me forward, my heart giving a boom. He’s watching me I can tell. “Why have you got my sculptures here? These are the ones from Whitlocks.”

He shrugs and carries on rooting about for something to eat.

I pick up the ornament that’s caught my eye. Largely experimental, it was a mixture of plaster and cement plaster suspended on wire and then painted with bright shades of red and orange. When I’d made it, it had reminded me of the sun coming up over the pier at home.

“Have you bought these since you’ve known me?”

But I know he can’t have done. Damien said they were sold months ago. My eyes search Elijah who can no longer pretend to be busy. “Start talking.”

“I bought them a while back, before we met.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I mentioned them to Mother and decided to find out who you were to see if you’d be interested in working at Bowsley.” He nods at the piece in my hand. “I liked them, they were fun and fresh. I wanted them on my shelves and I knew I’d like whoever made them to do the installation.”

“So your mother never approached Gerard to ask for a recommendation?”

Eli has the sense to look shamefaced. “Well, sort of, but we knew who we wanted.”

“Is this that royal we again?”

“I.” His eyes are bold and bright. “I knew who I wanted.”

I look at the knickknack in my hand. “Really?”

Padding barefoot across the wooden floor, he comes and takes it out of my hand. “You don’t seem to realise how talented you are. Those glass flowers in the hallway at the house are beyond anything I expected.”

“Really?” I repeat. “They are just flowers.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks all kinds of cute. “Sure, just flowers made of glass.” He reaches a hand for my hip and pulls me in. I’m dressed in only one of his work shirts and doesn’t my body know it. His lips skim my throat and I tilt my neck to give him better access. “It’s why I can’t let my mother ruin everything for you. It’s why I’m here instead of spooning in that pink room of yours.”

My hands slide into his hair. My mouth hot on his. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms clinging around his neck. “Turns out I don’t have any food other than strawberries and cream,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Sounds like heaven.” My body scorches like dry tinder. Even though we’ve already been together since I knocked on his door, it’s not enough. I want more. I want to drown in him.

With a gentle bump, he places me on the island. It’s cool against my bare skin, but it does nothing to calm down the inferno inside my body. His fingers unbutton the shirt, his hands dipping inside the material, easing it back from my body. He pushes me back a little and spreads my knees, so he can slide between them. His lips trail kisses from my collarbone down the valley between my breasts. When he reaches my navel, he pushes me back until I’m bared on the marble. His mouth drifts lower, his teeth nibbling the inside of my thigh. I want him there, right there with his tongue currently trailing lazy circles on the tender skin of my inner thigh. I grasp at his hair and push him in the right direction. My breath catches in my throat as he strokes long firm licks along my lips and delves deep. His hands lift my ass and I splay my fingers against the marble as I groan and writhe under his mouth.

“Fuck, I love that,” the words escape; I’m unable to control them.

He burrows deeper, one finger pushing inside and then another, his mouth and tongue never stopping licking and sucking until I’m bucking my hips and pushing myself into his mouth.

“Scream my name.”

His mouth returns, his tongue delving in deep as his thumb presses at my other opening. Then as he pushes it in slowly, spinning me out some place in the universe where the stars and sun shine at the same time. I scream his name so loud it imprints into my heart.

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