Page 11 of A Taste for the Peculiar

The undercurrent of their words makes Avirin want to whimper. “No…but I need to feed from you. Your energy. You have to be…” She wets her lips. “Stimulated.”

His gaze follows her tongue. “I assure you, you will be fully sated when you leave here.”

She can’t begin to wonder what that means, but something inside her can’t leave well enough alone. She has that scrabbling need to understand, to push back against Lord Riften’s certainty, to slip her fingers around the reins he holds. “If this lesson is focused on my pleasure, that won’t —”

His eyes flash. “If your suitors experience no pleasure watching you, then they have no taste, and even less right to become your husband.”

The two of them are only inches apart now. Her eyes fall to his mouth, leaving her feeling warm and half-sprung. Lord Riften remembers themself, dropping their hand from her chin and putting space between the two of them once more.

“The men you are after love nothing more than having their ego stroked.” Lord Riften adjusts their cuffs. “How better to convince them than to make them believe they are the best amoureux you’ve ever had?”

Avirin blows out a puff of air. “It would be difficult not to place first when they’re the only one who’s entered the race.”

“All the more reason for this lesson. You will learn how you look when you’re enjoying yourself, so that you might perform for your husband.” Lord Riften waves that thought away with a roll of their eyes. “More importantly, you will come to know what you like, so you can direct him in how to please you.”

A laugh startles out of her. She’s certain her pleasure will be the least of her husband’s priorities, but Lord Riften doesn’t join in, so she douses her humor and busies herself setting aside her reticule.

Lord Riften’s focus follows her. “Have you touched yourself, Lady Avirin?”

There goes that ache between her legs again. When Avirin nods stiltedly, Lord Riften wanders closer.

“And what do you like?” Their voice curls with curiosity, winding the spring inside Avirin tighter. “What do you imagine?”

She can’t say it. It’s hard enough to admit to herself that she’s staring at the burning star of all her fantasies. Since she became acquainted with Lord Riften, her debaucherous thoughts have taken new shape. Now, Lord Riften’s face hovers over all of them, a thunder cloud threatening to burst into a summer downpour that drenches everything. She pictures them throwing rocks at her window and fluttering up to her sill, slipping inside with that smirk in the dark. Her mouth waters when his wings spread behind him, casting both of them in shadow as he makes space for himself between her legs, and says —

“Look at you,” Lord Riften breathes.

Avirin’s thoughts jerk back to the study. It’s just like her dreams, the lord watching her with awe she’s never seen before. Their hand returns to her jaw, raising gooseflesh onto her skin — from their touch, or just the way they look at her?

“Even when they’re all black,” he whispers, “I can still see…”

Oh no, her eyes. She’s forgotten to contain them. She shrinks from his touch, trying to force her eyes back into a human shape, but Lord Riften shakes their head.

“Please don’t hide them.” They keep her face tilted up toward them. “Not from me.”

Her lip quivers. She isn’t sure how to give up the struggle for control. She isn’t sure she wants to. But when Lord Riften’s warm fingers brush the column of her neck, she shudders and feels the black seep across her eyes again.

“Beautiful. You’ve got so much going on inside your head, don’t you?” His thumb brushes the hollow under one eye. “I can see it better when your eyes are like this. Bare. Uncovered.” Lord Riften turns her toward the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. “You need to see that. You need to watch yourself. You need to learn exactly how captivating you are.”

With only candlelight, it takes a moment to make out her reflection. At first, Avirin looks nearly the same as she always does — round face too puffy, lilac dress pulled tight across her hips and arms. Yet with Lord Riften hovering over her shoulder, she sees something different. Her skin glows in the warm light, sensual shadows lounging in the valleys of her body. When she meets her own black gaze, it’s so intense that her breath catches.

“Do you see it?” Lord Riften asks. With a hand on her waist, they guide her back against their chest, leaning into the shelf behind them. “Now, I’m going to direct you. You’re going to touch yourself exactly the way I tell you to.” Their breath teases the tendrils of hair against her ear. “Do you understand?”

A keening sound builds in her throat.

Lord Riften tugs on the fingertips of one of her gloves before he drapes the limp fabric over his shoulder. “Lift your skirt.”

She does as she’s told. Every inch exposes her, her calves to her knees to her thighs until her modesty is barely preserved by the hem of the dress. She should feel ashamed for showing herself to someone who has no intention of marrying her, for wearing her sin right on her face, yet her eyes lock on Lord Riften’s in the mirror.

She lifts her skirt over her hips.

He curses into her neck, his own gaze dipping between the thick swell of her thighs. His fingers trail the marks stretching down them, and her hunger flares, burning away the good sense she should cling to. She wants to show them more of her. She wants to watch them take her in. She wants them to drink in every part of her.

Lord Riften gathers her skirt in one of his hands. “Trail your fingers down your body.”

Her hand jumps to her clavicle.

“Slowly,” Lord Riften breathes.