I couldn’t think of anything to say, other than, “Am I still the cruelest woman you’ve ever met?”
In lieu of answering, he let out a laugh that rumbled against the hollow of my throat. “There are so many places I want to put that traitorous mouth of yours,” he murmured against my neck. “But unfortunately for you, it’s my turn.”
Before I could register his words, he flipped us over, and I yelped in surprise as my back collided with the couch. The look in his eyes was positively predatory as he leaned over me.
“Tell me,” he murmured as he parted my lips with his thumb, “do you despise me still?”
“Yes,” I breathed, but the word held no vitriol.
He laughed softly, his breath ghosting across my face. “Keep telling me lies, Farrow.” He smirked as if he knew they tasted bitter. “We can pretend a little longer, if you like.”
And without waiting for my reply, he surged forward to slant his lips over mine, tracing the seam of my bottom lip with his tongue. His fingers tangled in my damp hair as his lips explored my throat and collarbones, but he made no move to touch me anywhere else. This was torture. Dimly, I wondered if this wasn’t all part of his master plan to distract me until I forgot about the ritual entirely. If so, he had a higher chance of succeeding than I cared to admit. His hands left my hair to explore the curves of my hips and thighs, sliding beneath my waist to squeeze my backside. I arched against him, silently begging for more.
Please, touch me.
When I couldn’t stand another moment of his torture, I spoke the phrase aloud, and at last, he relented, dipping his fingers beneath my waistband and sliding them against the bundle of nerves at my center, teasing me with a touch that was far too light for my liking.
“Bastard,” I muttered, and his low laugh rumbled through me.
He pulled back long enough to watch my expression as he slipped one, and then two fingers into my heated core. My face betrayed every emotion as his palm ground against my clit, his fingers curling against my inner walls. I panted against his lips as I rode his hand, barreling closer to the edge.
He swore as I moaned shamelessly, his eyes raking over me before darting back to my face to watch me unravel for him. “That’s it, Farrow,” he breathed.
I cried his name as I tipped over the edge, my entire body trembling and my cunt clenching around his fingers. He watched with pupils blown wide as I shuddered through the aftershocks, my hands gripping his shoulders to anchor myself through the waves of pleasure.
“Casimir,” I breathed, and he surged up to crush his lips to mine.
As I came down from my climax, I blinked through a foggy haze. Indeed, Casimir’s plan for distracting me wasmuchmore effective than I gave him credit for. I’d let him bring me to climax, not once, but twice in the last twelve hours. There was no point in denying that we’d crossed a line from whence we could not return. In the back of my mind, I knew there would be consequences—but right now, I didn’t want to examine the ramifications of what we’d just done. Was it so bad, really, to want to bask in the afterglow just a little while longer?
I watched in silent astonishment as he withdrew his fingers from my cunt and slid them between his lips, tasting me on his tongue, his dark eyes still locked onto mine. The gesture had me molten with desire again, and I dragged his face back to mine so that I could kiss him again.
34
The sun slanted low in the sky when Casimir dropped me off in front of Ash Hall with a promise to return at a quarter to eight to escort me to the ballroom. Gwen’s frantic energy infected me the moment I walked into our room. She was nearly in tears as she tried to salvage the disheveled remains of our room. Torn clothing, scraps of paper and books, broken trinkets, and spilled soil from Gwen’s plants littered every surface of our room.
“Someone ransacked our place last night,” she said, looking forlorn as she examined her hopelessly shredded duvet. “I don’t know why anyone would do such a thing. I’ve already reported it to our resident assistant.”
Guilt hollowed out my stomach, leaving a queasy unease in its wake. I couldn’t tell Gwen who had raided our room and why, so I tried to reassure her as best I could, and together we cleaned up the majority of the mess. As Gwen took in my wild hair and clothes—the same ones I’d been wearing yesterday—her lips tugged into a conspiratorial smile.
“Well, well,” she purred, momentarily forgetting her distress over the destruction of our room.
My stomach sank. I knew that look.
“What were you and Casimir up to last night? Not studying, I hope?”
“Gwen,” I warned. Predictably, I felt my cheeks burn a telltale scarlet.
Gwen’s expression was full of glee, and she continued her interrogation as she applied an elaborate makeup look, complete with stick-on rhinestones that accentuated her large hazel eyes. “You two must be nearly ready to graduate with all the studying you’ve been doing lately,” she added, fighting back a snicker.
I glowered at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of confirming her very obvious suspicions about my activities with Casimir last night. Not when she had that smug smirk plastered across her face.
“Come on, Arden,” she whined. “Please?”
“Fine.” I sighed resignedly. “We may have done abitmore than studying.”
Her eyes darted to my neck, and I immediately drew my hand up to cover my throat, feeling self-conscious.
“What?”