“You won’t ever know who he was, and I think that’s some of the appeal of it. It’s a night of fun, no consequences for tomorrow because you won’t even know his name,” she said with a laugh. “Are you more attracted to women? I just assumed you were into men because of the way you flirt with Iban. If you like women too, I can tell Headmaster Thorne. There are a few female Vessels who prefer female company.”
“No, it’s not that. But witches hate the Vessels, so why would they allow Vessels to touch them?” I asked, thinking about how I’d desperately wanted to avoid the forbidden aspect. How I’d feared the judgment if I’d allowed a Vessel to touch me intimately.
It seemed more witches were willing to allow it than I’d expected, just under the cover of darkness and the secrecy of the Reaping.
“Spoken like a woman who has never had hate sex,” she laughed, standing and helping me unbutton my shirt. I didn’t protest the odd intimacy of it or the fact that it left my bra open to her view when she finished. It felt like taking care of me, like the closest thing I’d ever had to friendship when she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
It made me feel younger than I was, than I’d ever been allowed to be.
I thought of Gray’s hands on me, of his mouth devouring me as if he couldn’t decide if he hated me or wanted to live with his face between my legs.
I suspected this concept of hate sex had merit.
“Not quite sex,” I said as the realization hit me.
Della grinned, understanding lighting her face. We both knew that someone had touched me with less than good intentions, that he’d taken more than I should have allowed.
That I’d liked it.
“No one but us has to know. I’ll help you get ready, and your secret is safe with me if you choose to put on the lace. There’s no guarantee he’ll take what you’ve offered, but either way, that secret is yours to keep,” she said, stepping away as I pulled my shirt off and tossed it to the hamper in the corner. My skirt and socks followed as I shoved them down my legs, leaving me in my bra and underwear as I reached for the silk nightgown.
As tempting as it was to give another Vessel what Gray thought was his, it would undo years of preparation. Years of my father’s insistence that keeping myself untouched would drive a Vessel to the point of obsession.
Especially if I bled the first time.
I froze, the fabric scrunching in my hand as it clenched into a fist. “Do the Vessels often reject offers?” I asked, dread rising in my throat. I tried to swallow around it, feeling like grave dirt filled my lungs suddenly.
“Not in my experience,” she said, studying my face too closely.
All Vessels fed on the Reaping. That much I knew. If there were no pair bonds—if Gray was not the one who came to me that night—would he be with another? Even just the thought of him feeding from someone else made me want to tear out his throat.
Shit.
I wasn’t supposed to care about that. He wasn’t mine, and he never would be.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I dropped the silken nightgown, my hand hovering over the lace one for a moment as I considered. The petty, vindictive part of me wanted to let whoever it was who came through my door take it all. I wanted to give what had been meant to be Gray’s away, showing him how little he mattered.
The witches may never know, but I had no doubt Gray would be able to smell me on another male. He’d know exactly what I’d done, and it would serve him fucking right.
I swallowed, shoving that part of me down, and picked up the silk gown.
“Maybe next time,” Della said, smiling kindly. “The first time is overwhelming. I think that was the right choice for tonight.”
I tugged on the fabric, pulling it overhead and letting it settle on my curves. It hugged every line and groove in my body, fitting like a second skin as if it was made for me.
“There will be plenty of time for me to partake in the other pleasures,” I said, shoving down the part of me that cared.
“Bra and underwear off,” she said, her lips twisting and nose scrunching. “Those are the rules. Regardless of which clothes…”
“That’s disgusting,” I muttered, but I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra.
My breasts dropped without the support, the fabric clinging to them and leaving nothing to the imagination in the silk that was semi-transparent. Shimmying my underwear down my legs, I tossed them to the side and moved to the center of the room when I was ready.
“You have two options. I can either secure you to the bed or the hook,” she said, pointing above my head. Sure enough, hanging from the ceiling was the tiniest of hooks I hadn’t noticed.