He looks up over Claudia’s shoulder and gasps. “Oh, don’t look. He’s coming. Act like we weren’t just celebrating his loss.”
Claudia can’t hide her grin—or her nerves. Earlier, they were whisked onto the stage as soon as their kiss broke. She didn’t have time to utter a single word to him before Olivier’s introduction began.
“Hello, you two.” Cassius pulls up a chair and takes a seat. Claudia’s eyes move straight to his lips, half hoping to see a bite mark she left behind.
“Well, hello, dear also-ran,” Alistair teases. Claudia kicks him under the table, though she can’t help but laugh. Cassius, ever a good sport, laughs in concession, flashing his sharp canines as he throws his head back.
“I was bested. I accept it,” he says, flashing his palms before stretching his back against the chair. He runs his strong hand through his hair. Smiling at Alistair, he takes hold of Claudia’s shoulder and squeezes. “You should’ve seen her, Bones. Claudia was very,verygood.” His thumb makes small circles over her skin. On instinct, she leans into his touch, and her face blooms with heat.
A tense silence lays heavy on the table. Alistair’s eyes move rapidly between them. He slurps the last of his tea. It bubbles through the quiet.
“Bones, can I have a moment with the victor?” Cassius asks.
Alistair all but leaps from his seat. “Of course. I need to pour myself another cup anyway.” He tosses a wink over his shoulder at Claudia and walks up to the tea table with Angel. Seeing them side by side, Claudia realizes just how short Alistair is. He’s taller than her, but that’s no feat. He’s nearly two heads shorter than Angel, and he has half the bulk. Angel is probably the most muscular Mathematica student to ever live.
Once they’re alone, Cassius says, “Congratulations.”
Claudia takes a bite of lemon cake and barely chews it before saying, “Thank you very much.” Victors have no need for manners.“I must say, you’re being a surprisingly good sport about losing a debate for the first time.” She swallows hard, wiping icing from the corners of her mouth. “And losing to the silly star girl, no less.”
“There are more important things than winning.”
“Oh, are there? I suppose I wouldn’t know,” she taunts. “Like what?”
“Like your reward.”
Her playfulness is replaced by a suddenly serious gaze.
Cassius smiles. Beneath the table, his fingers curl around her knee. “Are you free this evening?”
She leans into her victory. Teasing him, she says, “For what, exactly? What all does my reward entail?”
His hand tightens on her knee, sliding up ever so slowly. “Well, there is a Musices recital tonight, so I’d like to start there. You’ll accompany me, and you’ll wear something white.”
“Is that the theme?”
“No. But it’s what I want to see.” He pauses for a second, softening his eyes, waiting to see how she takes this command—if she enjoys being tasked, or if it makes her want to slap him. Again.
Luckily for him, she likes it. She needs it. She wants to know more. What should she have on underneath? What perfume does he want to smell on her skin? She wants to meet every demand with acute precision so that she can reap the most delicious rewards.
Though, at the same time, and in complete contradiction, there’s a side of her bristling against the orders. Part of her wants to cross her arms and say no just to see what he’ll do. That same part of her—dark and lustful and buried so deep that it almost hurts to uproot and acknowledge—needs him to punish her when she disobeys.
“I’ll wear something white,” she says.
She’ll be good. For now.
“And you’ll wear your hair up.”
“And I’ll wear my hair up,” she echoes, her voice low and smooth.
He swallows and lets out a breath. With a tight nod, he says, “Afterward, there is a party that will no doubt be the best and strangest revelry you’ve ever seen. We’ll attend that together as well.”
The corner of her mouth raises in a half smile. “And then what?”
His smile matches hers. “You want more?”
She nods with a tiny whimper of “yes” caught behind her lips.
“Use your words,” Cassius says, leaning close and squeezing her knee.
