Page 83 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“Pardon?”
“There’s a corseted, off-white gown. It’s hanging in my bedroom closet, the farthest against the wall, pushed against an old cauldron. Do me. Put me in it.”
He counted backward for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to tame the lust inspired by her words. He closed his eyes, focusing. The magic to transport her outfit from there to here was trickier than reaching for a costume in the attic, but younger Vickie had made him watch the music video enough times that he could call up the image of it easily. With a snap of his fingers, he swapped out her jean shorts, tank top, and sweater for the champagne-tinted dress.
Opening his eyes, he took her in.
She looked like she was going to her own wedding in that thing.
Our wedding.The thought popped into his head, unbidden, and he blanched.
Azrael had always told himself that he didn’t need to get married. That it was for old-fashioned folks like his parents, tangoing in their elegant living room and partaking in whatever activities he wanted to forget took place in what was now a very nice home gym.
But he would marry Vickie if he could. Soul-seal with her, marry her, carry her heart in his heart. Carve it there, even. Maybe not today or not even this year, but it was what he wanted, one day. He wanted every single thing with her.
The thought twisted painfully in his chest now that it was impossible to even fuck her the way he had once imagined that he could, skin to skin, and with his hands and mouth.
“Vickie,” he said, “I want to—”
She lifted a finger and shook her head, stopping him. “Az. Gloves.”
He nodded. Those he knew they had in the house, and a few snaps later he’d put her hair up and added elbow-length gloves.
She looked so good that it burned. Az slid the glove back onto his hand and brushed a finger across her cheek. Her loveliness was bright enough that he could almost feel her through the fabric.
Almostwas such agony now.
“I missed you,” Vickie said. It pained Azrael that he couldn’t kiss her face. In the yearning fashion of his Victorian forefathers—on his father’s side, at least; his mother’s family were Ashkenazi—Az raised Vickie’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the glove sheathing it.
The way her mouth parted and the hand in the other glove clenched, he knew she was as desperate as he was. Victoria’s cleavage heaved over the top of the corset, and Az longed to run his tongue down the curve of each breast, to palm them and feel the press of her skin on his lips.
Fuck.
“Azrael,” she whispered, and then he was taking her gloved hand in his, pulling her behind him into a drawing room, their drinks sweating, abandoned, side by side, on the table.
He couldn’t throw her on the sofa the way he wanted, not without dying. He could only sit down and gesture for her to sit next to him.
He opened his mouth to tell her everything, but she stopped him, a gloved finger to his lips, her pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Now that I’ve got you in formal dinner wear, can I try something a little scandalous?” If he thought her words might end him, her gloved touch threatened total annihilation. Shemoved his hands down, pulling them toward her waist. His hands gripped her sides, digging in to keep from moving them upward and touching her where it would kill him.
At the door, the house slid the lock shut, the echo of it reverberating through his thick, sluggish longing. He’d die if he touched her. But he might die if he didn’t touch her too.
“Yes. Touch me—with your gloves on.” The words fell from her mouth, and he wanted—no, needed—nothing more in the world. “Put your hands on me,” she whispered.
“I…” He faltered for a moment, biting his lip. “Fuck.”
“I was hoping to try to, yes. With gloves and with magic.” Her throat flushed, she nodded, the words still in her mouth. “If you want, that is. I’m going to need an enthusiasticyes, Azrael.”
“Fuck yes. Tell me what you need. Tell me how much you need it.” He wanted all of her, but he could do this. He would take whatever she would give him. If he couldn’t touch her, he at least needed her words, all her emotions.
“Yes. Please. Make me feel good. For fuck’s sake, don’t die, but make me feel something again. Let’s pretend we’re not cursed. Let’s pretend there’s not a good chance we’re the kind of tragic play where they both die at the end.”
Az’s chest was a hollowed-out drum where his heart used to beat, and the misery of not being able toactuallytouch her and have her again was searing. He pushed the pain away. He didn’t want it to be pretend, but he did want Vickie to have what she needed, even if it hurt. That was true. He focused on the truth that he could give her, and the more embarrassing one, that he would take whatever he could get, even if it hurt later. He could pretend for her, if that was what she needed. For now, at least.
“Close your eyes, Vickie. Close your eyes andpretend.”
CHAPTER 26Victoria
