Page 43 of The Fae Menagerie
Now, I wondered if my reason for living had shifted. I no longer fixated on spite. I now wanted to spend each day talking and laughing with Parker, instead.
Chapter
Fifteen
PARKER
I woketo the sound of the shower running. If I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend it was rain on the roof of my parents' mansion. I kept them squeezed shut while Doyle dressed. By the time I finally ventured out of bed, he had brushed his teeth and combed his hair. When I tried to walk past him to the bathroom, he blocked me and put his hand on the chair I used as a suitcase, rustling a new cloth bag hanging on the back. "Mother brought this for you." He tapped the hanger, a real metal hanger.
"Is she here?" I asked.
"No. She popped in and out. I'll read you her note at breakfast."
I nodded, not yet knowing what to say to him. I owed him an apology for running away after we kissed, and for ignoring him last night, and for all the wild thoughts racing in my head. I didn't know where to begin, and if I started, it would never end. I would apologize for falling for him if I wasn't careful.
There it was, the awful truth. Somewhere in all the attempts on my life and his, I'd started caring for my fae disaster. Sometime between kisses, my cock had decided Doyle was most definitely on the menu, and I was starving.
I still couldn't believe I'd kissed him. For the second time since, I hopped in the shower and tried to scrub the memory away. Same as last night, it didn't work. It only made me want him more. I turned the water cold, but it did no good. My cock was hard and aching. I gripped it in my fist, hoping to convince it to go down, but that felt far too good.
I whimpered as I stroked from base to tip. The cold water added to the icy guilt in my gut. Doyle didn't want me. When I'd offered him some relief, he'd refused. Now, here I was, getting off on thoughts of him. I imagined it was his hand stroking me, his thumb pressing against my slit and slicking precome all over my cock head. I cried out as I imagined his warm body behind me, one hand on my chest, holding me up while he took me apart with the other.
I bit down on my wrist to stifle a cry as I came. My cum was almost invisible against the white tile, and then it vanished down the drain.
Still, I felt I wore the evidence of my crime along with the new suit Doyle's mother had brought me.
The powder blue suit would look better on Doyle than on me, but I appreciated the thought. It was nice to have three sets of clothes to change into before the next washday. I had begun mixing and matching when I got a suit jacket or pair of pants dirty. I'd covered yesterday's suit in basilisk dust.
My cheeks burned as I sat across the table from Doyle.
"Take a pastry."
He held the box out to me, and I took the one with the darkest berry jam in the middle.
"Lift the pastry slowly to your mouth."
I couldn't resist a smirk as I did what he said. I even opened my mouth, and when he didn't slap the pastry away, took a bite. I didn't recognize the flavor, but it was delicious.
Doyle heaved a sigh of relief and grabbed one of the crispy, triangle-shaped pastries for himself.
I couldn't apologize while eating, and we both took a second pastry after the first. Finally, when I tried to sip my tea and found it still too hot, I ventured an attempt.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have run away like that."
Doyle met my gaze and shrugged. "It's probably best that you did."
"Best, because…" Sometimes, the way he spoke made me question everything he meant. Was it because he didn't want me, or because he did? Or something else?
"I'm glad the menagerie staff didn't find us like that. I don't want Aidan to think anything has changed between us." He sighed and pointed to his mother's letter. "Somehow, Mother knows."
I picked up the beautifully embroidered card, but the words didn't rearrange themselves the way the library books did. I shrugged and handed it to Doyle, who blushed.
By the time he finished reading, my cheeks must have been as dark as his. She'd mangled a quote from an old movie, and she wanted to watch our relationship bloom.
"Relationship?" I asked. "She thinks we're in a relationship?"
"You don't have to sound so disgusted by the idea." From Doyle's expression, I'd hurt his feelings.
"I'm not disgusted. I'm a failure, remember? You don't want a relationship with me. I'll never give you what you need to leave this place."
