Page 92 of Consort's Glory
“Luke.”
“Yes,” she answered, distracted by the fascinating line of his trapezius. Every muscle, every bit of his skin, every breath he took called to her. “He lived in town, but his mother was my grandma’s accountant, so he came over a lot. They didn’t follow the migration, so he was always around. We used to swim in the lake all the time. Catch frogs and things.” A painful twisting in her heart accompanied the sun-soaked memories.
Sometimes she missed Luke, and the sting of his mother’s command to stay away from her never really faded. “We were really close. When there were other kids around, he always made sure I could keep up with the games even though I wasn’t as strong or fast as them.”
She grinned into the darkness, her fingers falling away to explore the fascinating slopes of his bicep. “Once, when we were twelve, he picked me two full buckets of blackberries before anyone else could get to them. I was eating blackberries for weeks.”
Theodore’s hand spasmed on her back. “Do you like blackberries?”
“They’re my favorite fruit, yes.”
“Then I’ll get you more blackberries than you could dream of,” he declared, sniffing haughtily. “More than this Luke did.”
Margot snorted. “Do you even know what blackberries are?”
“I can find out.”
Warmth took wing in her belly, fluttering until she felt too giddy to contain her laughter. “You don’t have any reason to be jealous,” Margot assured him, pleased by it anyway, “we only kissed once. He was my first and last. Until you, of course.”
Theodore let out a low, pained whine. “You kissed him?”
“Once. Behind the woodshed.”
A warm hand clasped the nape of her neck. Theodore’s fingers tangled in her hair as he angled her head upward against the pillow. “I’m the only one who should get your kisses,” he groused. “Not some orcish boy named Luke.”
Margot’s pulse jumped. Would this constant, burning desire for him ever fade? “You can have my kisses,” she breathed, “if you want them.”
There was a small pause. Margot thought she could just make out the reflective backing of Theodore’s cat-slit pupils as they expanded in the dim glow from the street lights below the lavish apartment. “Can I?”
Her answer was soft but sure. “Yes. Whenever you want.”
And goddess, wasn’t it a delightful thing, knowing she could be kissed at any moment! It was enough to make her touch-starved soul drunk on giddiness. It was something a much younger, more hopeful Margot dreamed of, but something she’d left the day she entered the dark little room. To have that precious dream made real? It was a gift beyond price.
Margot felt him hovering close, his breath puffing against her cheek as he traced a line down the bridge of her nose with his lips. “Now?”
“Now’s good.”
The kiss was gentle, hardly a whisper against the corner of her mouth, a tantalizing tease that made her follow his retreat. “I think,” he rasped, pulling her over until she was nearly draped over his chest, “I would like you to kiss me this time, darling.”
Margot felt her neck heat up with embarrassment. It was harder to be bold when the reins were in her hands. “I’m not sure I’d be as good at it as you are.”
“You’ve had more practice than me, apparently,” he tartly replied.
She huffed. “It was one kiss!”
“It was your first kiss.”
“So?” Margot shook her head. “It’s not like you didn’t kiss anyone before me.”
There was no sharp reply to that. There was simply loaded silence as Margot stared into the vague shape of his face, comprehension dawning slowly.
“Wait…” Bracing palms on his chest, she sat up a little. Disbelief made her words slow when Margot asked, “You… I know you said you hadn’t done other stuff with people before, but you kissed someone before me, right?”
Theodore’s hands drifted to her bare hips. The blankets slid off her back as he pulled her completely on top of him, her legs straddling his waist and her hands sinking into the pillow beside his ears.
“No,” Theodore answered, utterly unashamed. “I’ve known you for twenty-five years, darling. Kissing anyone else when your soulmate lives in your head would have felt wrong.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Even his internal voice, when it filled up her mind a second later, was clear of self-consciousness or artifice when he informed her, I wouldn’t kiss anyone else when I knew you were mine.
“Oh, Theodore,” she groaned, “you are just so…” Sweet? Soft? So vulnerable it made her heart ache? How did she ever think this man meant her harm?
