“That friend of yours has been hunting for his fork for an awful long time.” Cynthia bent down. “I hope he hasn’t passed out down there.”
“I’m sure… he’s fine…” I gasped.
Right there… please… keep going…
Cynthia lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Morrie pulled away, scrambling out from under the table with his fork in his hand. My whole body shuddered with need.Damn you, I was right there…
My fingers itched to slide between my legs and finish the job. All it would take was a single touch and I’d be over the edge. I squeezed my legs together, but that only made me more desperate.
“Your hair is all rumpled,” Lydia scolded Morrie. “Really now, you should let the servants run after stray forks.”
I wanted to correct her on the use of servants, but my body buzzed too much. I knew if I opened my mouth, I might scream with frustration. Across the table, Morrie grinned at me and raised his glass.
You wanker. You did this on purpose.
I scoffed my dinner as fast as I could, drowned three glasses of wine in quick succession, and waited with my nails digging into my palms for an appropriate time to leave the table. On either side of me, neither Heathcliff nor Morrie seemed fazed by the fact dinner was dragging on for seven centuries. By the time Cynthia stood up to give a rundown of the events for the following day. I was close to swooning.
“I’m feeling a little faint,” I managed to choke out, as the wait staff emerged with platters of cakes and slowly moved around the room. “I think it was all that vigorous dancing today. Thank you for your company tonight, everyone, but I think I’ll go up to my room and lie down.”
“Please, Mina, you should stay,” Cynthia cooed. “After dessert, some of the graduate students will be giving an amateur production of a story from theJuvenilia.”
Lydia frowned. “What’s theJuvenilia?”
“It’s a collection of stories, scenes, and novel fragments Jane Austen wrote between the ages of eleven and seventeen,” explained David. “They’re a unique glimpse into Jane’s literary origins and her unpredictable, snarky humor. When they lived at the Rectory, Jane and her family loved to perform plays and poems for the delight of their neighbors. Our resident expert, Professor Hathaway, is certain that similar dramatics would have been performed by the family and guests while Jane stayed at Baddesley Hall—”
“There’s no record of that,” Professor Carmichael cut in from the table behind us.
David continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “—therefore, it’s only fitting that we Janeites continue the tradition.”
“Sounds delightful.” Lydia accepted a second plate of dessert. “I shall most definitely attend. Goodnight, Mina. I hope you a feeling more up to dancing tomorrow, for you have a lot of practice to attend to.”
“Thanks, Lydia.” I waved goodbye to everyone at the table, and practically sprinted across the room.
As I climbed the staircase, Heathcliff and Morrie appeared at my sides. “Are you certain you don’t want to watch the amateur dramatics, gorgeous?”
“Not even remotely,” I replied, linking my arms in theirs. “How have you disentangled yourself from Lydia?”
“David is escorting her. I figure she can’t say anything too outrageous to that drip, although I heard a rumor that one of her other suitors intends to steal her away.”
We passed Gerald coming down the stairs, deep in discussion with Fishnet Girl. She glanced up as we went past, her eyes trailing after Heathcliff. Her tongue reached out to lick her scarlet lips. I almost expected it to be forked.
We ascended the grand staircase as quickly as was possible in my dress. Morrie flung open the door to their room and shoved me inside. Quoth already lounged on the bed, flipping through the TV channels, a bowl of blueberries beside him.
“Don’t you have an amateur dramatic performance to attend?” Quoth arched a perfect eyebrow.
I threw myself down on the bed, turned Quoth’s face toward mine, and devoured his lips. His tongue tasted tart, like the berries. My body ached with the need to be touched by him.
The bed creaked as the other two guys climbed on. Heathcliff’s strong arms stole around my middle, unlacing the delicate gown with deft strokes. Morrie pressed his chest to my back, his hands falling over my shoulders and under the neckline to cup my bare breasts.
“When you didn’t speak of this again, I thought…” Quoth’s words died away under my kisses.
“Don’t think,” I whispered back, kicking off my Docs and allowing Heathcliff to tug off my skeleton socks. “I’m not.”
I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to Quoth’s lips and to the urgent kisses and caresses of Heathcliff and Morrie. My mind whirred with questions. Should we do this? Was this what I really wanted? Would this bring us closer together? Would it break down Morrie’s walls and burst Heathcliff wide open and make Quoth see how beautiful he really was? Or would it be the end of the special thing we have?
Would it give me the strength to face all the things I was running from? Or was losing myself in them just another way of running?
No. Don’t think.I focused on my breath heaving in my chest, on Morrie’s teeth scraping against my collarbone, on Heathcliff sliding the dress over my head, his lips closing around a nipple, rolling it and sucking it until I moaned and all thoughts and doubts fled my mind.
