A shy reference librarian, and a college student who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, meet in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over. What ensues between the...
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Having your party face down a group of cultists is thirsty work. My glass is empty, so I get up from the table to go to the kitchen for more iced blackberry tea.
Lydia follows me into the kitchen.
"Did you want a refill on your tea, too?" I ask her.
"Actually, I wanted to talk to you for a couple of minutes. Alone. I didn't have the nerve to say this at school. Um. I've never. Um. You and your um. You don't have an open relationship, do you?"
Um.
"That's never come up in conversation," I reply, truthfully. Now that she mentions it, I think it's strange that Magister and I have never actually talked about whether our relationship is an open one or a closed one. Then again, neither of us has been interested in anyone else since we first started seeing each other. "I don't think we do."
"Oh." She looks away. "Do you like me?"
Somehow, I don't think she's asking that in the casual sense of the word "like."
"Yes," I hear myself saying, also truthfully, wishing instantly that I hadn't admitted it out loud. Nothing good is going to come of this, I'm pretty sure.
"May I kiss you?"
Um.
"Yes?" I whisper.
And then her arms are around me, and she's standing on the tips of her toes to reach my mouth with hers, and she tastes sweet, sweet like blackberries and sugar, and before I can stop myself I have her gathered up in my arms, her soft pale hair wound tight in my fist, her pelvis crushed against mine; and she's moaning as I push her up against the kitchen wall, devouring her lips with my teeth and tongue. She clutches me tighter; I force her arms down and out, pinning them against the wall as I grind into her. "Yes," she gasps, "oh God I like that, that's what I want, I never, oh God don't let go," and she throws her head to the side, baring her neck, and I lean down to kiss it and graze it with my teeth before sinking them into her flesh, worrying at her until she cries out. Such soft skin, such need. I think I'm getting drunk on her.
Magister coughs.
Oh. Oh, dear.
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