“Oh my stars, oh my stars!” I mutter, too embarrassed for words.
“It wasn’t,” he says. “You squirted. It’s different. It’s what happens when someone who’s really fantastically skilled ateating pussy makes you come so fucking hard, you squirt right in their face.”
He licks his lips to emphasize his words.
“It’s not …” I start.
“Nope.” He kisses the end of my nose and then he’s scampering from the bed, swaggering towards the door. “Can’t wait to tell those fucking losers. Gonna be so fucking jealous,” he says.
I watch his very naked self disappear from my room and lie for several minutes, marooned on my mattress.
It was a particularly earth-shaking orgasm, and I feel utterly shattered, too boneless to move.
Beaufort appears in the doorway. “He made you squirt?”
“Ahhh jeez, he’s going to be skipping around broadcasting that for days, isn’t he?”
“Probably.” He steps into the room. He’s wearing just sweat pants, his hands deep in his pockets, his hair still messy from sleep. “I take it you’re feeling better, then?”
“Much better.” I roll onto my side, propping up my head with my elbow.
“Let me check.” He strolls over to the bed and sits on the edge, instructing me to roll over onto my back. Hovering his hand above my stomach, he lets his shadows crawl across my skin, closing his eyes as he does. He remains this way for several minutes and I take the opportunity to examine his handsome face. I think by now I must know every curve and every line of it and yet there’s always something new – the way his eyelashes fan across his cheeks and the faintest sprinkle of freckles – barely discernible – across the bridge of his nose.
“It’s much better,” he tells me, “but not completely healed.”
“Are you just saying that to keep me here and stop me from chasing after Fox?” I ask him earnestly.
“No, sweetheart. I’m telling you the truth. It’ll only be a day or more longer and then you’ll be back to full health. Hopefully by then,” he mutters under his breath, “either Fox will have returned or we’ll have formulated some kind of plan.” He leans over me and kisses my forehead. “Try to rest some more.”
I close my eyes and am just drifting back to sleep when an awareness starts to creep back into my mind, and I feel that gnawing ache in my chest.
I snap up to sit.
Fox.
I may not be well enough to go after him yet, but I can’t be lying around in bed. I need to be working on that plan.
I’m showered and dressed in a matter of minutes, skipping down the stairs and racing towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Thorne asks from the kitchen doorway.
“I’m going to find Clare,” I tell him. “I’m going to see if she found anything else out last night.”
I’ve got my hand on the doorknob when there’s a firm knock from the other side. I halt and peer towards Thorne, who comes strolling towards me.
He ushers me away from the door – despite my unimpressed scowl – and opens it for me. His body visibly relaxes as he finds my two friends, Clare and Fly, waiting on the other side. They’re both dressed in their uniforms which is strange. It’s the day after the trial and we’re always given that day off.
I scoot under Thorne’s arm – trying not to feel offended at the way his body tenses – and stand in front of him.
“I was just coming to find you two,” I tell them.
“Then you’ve heard?” Clare says.
There are bags under her eyes, and I wonder how much of the night she spent reading those books from the library.
I shake my head. “Heard what?” I say.
“We’ve all been told to gather in the Great Hall in our uniforms.”
