I don’t know who the fuck Johannes and Timothy are or why she’s telling me this, but if I’m not mistaken, she’s said those names before, when she was drunk.
She lifts her palm and wiggles her fingers, leaning closer to me as she says, “Do you see the way he cups his testicles like that? It’s brilliant. Beautiful. I can use that.”
She walks over to the next alcove. I’m…stunned. She’s the only person in this entire room commenting on the public sex as if it were nothing but a painting on the wall. Most everyone else either has their hands in their trousers or under their skirts, or have coupled up on the furnishings.
Edwina is the weirdest woman I’ve ever met.
Belatedly, I follow her to the next display, keeping my eyes on her as much as possible, my hands tucked in my pockets to evoke some semblance of a casual air.
“He has the build of the reclusive baron,” she says, pointing at the fae male thrusting into his dark-haired partner whom he has pinned against the wall of the alcove. “And she’s nearly a spitting image of my governess from that book. Look at the way he fists her hair.”
Like she did with her palming-the-testicles gesture, she mimics the male’s hand, curled into his lover’s dark tresses.
She shakes her head, her face full of longing. “That would have made the scene in the catacombs so much better. Oh, but the placement of her hands is just as good!”
With her eyes locked on the couple, she turns her body toward mine, her motions stiff and almost mechanical, then steps in close. I suck in a sharp breath as one of her hands lands on the side of my waist. She furrows her brow, still looking at the couple, as she presses her body flush against mine. Then she mirrors the woman’s other hand, winding hers behind my neck and threading her fingers into the ends of my hair.
I’m so surprised by this sudden closeness, I freeze. The slam of my heart and the shiver that runs through me as her fingers claw gently against my scalp are the first pleasant sensations I’ve had since stepping inside this room.
She heaves a sigh. “It’s all wrong. I’m shorter than she is and you don’t have me hefted against a wall?—”
Her words cut off as her gaze finally leaves the couple to meet mine. She utters a stifled yelp, eyes growing round as she takes in our proximity, the placement of her hands. For the strangest moment, I get the urge to remove my hands from my pockets and bracket them around her waist, keeping her there against me. But the moment is too short, and she leaps away from me as if I scalded her.
“Sorry,” she squeaks out, hands covering her lips as her cheeks deepen to scarlet.
I clear my throat to tell her it was fine, that I didn’t mind being her test subject, when a satyr approaches her. His humanoid upper half is roped with muscle, every inch of his skin glistening as if coated in oil. His bottom half is covered in brown fur, his legs ending in hooves. He gives her a respectful nod and gestures toward an empty sofa. “Would you care to join me?”
My hands are out of my pockets at once, my fingers curled into fists. I’m a breath away from striding between them—but I stop myself. Who am I to intervene? I was wrong when I assumed Edwina was too prim and too human for the north wing. She’s enjoying it here, and she has every right to enjoy it more if that’s what she wants.
She glances from the satyr to the couch then back to the satyr. Her eyes sweep over him, admiring that impressive display of glistening muscle. I might find it attractive too were I not so fucking uncomfortable here. Her gaze drifts down to where the satyr’s fleshy torso gives way to furry hips, andthere her attention halts. Snagged on his rather impressive—and rather erect—member. “Oh, you’re…you’re ready to go. Now.”
“I’d love to have your mouth on me,” he says.
Her eyes flick back to his, and her rosy cheeks turn ashen. “Me? Mine?”
“Yes, lovely.”
She lowers her voice to an anxious mutter. “Should I? It…it would be research, I suppose. But…but, uhhhhhhhh?—”
I fear she’ll make that sound forever, so I give in to my urge to step between them. Facing Edwina, I say, “If you’re thinking this is a good way to earn a point in our bet, think again. Our terms require an exchange of intimacy behind the closed doors of our bedrooms. There are no closed doors in the north wing, Weenie, and our bedrooms are back at the dormitory.”
The relief on her face is clear. She leans to the side to address the satyr. “I’ll have to decline, but I do appreciate the offer.”
He gives her another gentlemanly nod, then saunters off to proposition his next option.
“He should be careful,” she says, voice low. “He could poke an eye out with that thing.”
Just like that, she has already recovered from the interaction and moves on to admire the erotic display in the next alcove, this one featuring a couple sharing a large wingback chair.
Edwina releases an excited gasp, tugging on my shirtsleeve. “Oh, look at the tender way she pays attention to her lover’s nipples! Isn’t that just gorgeous? What I wouldn’t give to have my pen and notebook.”
One of the women in the alcove opens her eyes to frown at how close Edwina has gotten in her visual study.
I pull her back with a light touch to her shoulder. “You know, this club may thrive on voyeurism, but your attention is a little too invasive.”
She finally notices the glare the woman is giving her and clasps her hands in an apologetic gesture. Yet her gaze only grows more intense as the couple returns to their lovemaking. Edwina’s voice lowers to a whisper, her words slow and wistful. “She flicked her velvety tongue over the hardened, rosy peak of her pert, teardrop-shaped breasts?—”
“Do not narrate,” I bite out. “Blooming hell, you’re embarrassing?—”
