An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Twenty-Four

T he Celeste ball isn’t what I expected.

Gone is the gold filigree and dripping decadence of the Valentine’s Day Ball. There are no blood cards or sparkling cocktails or lovers passionately entwined on the couches. Instead, this place has a sort of subdued old-money charm that is even more intimidating. Art is displayed around the room: huge paintings hung on the wall, marble sculptures on pedestals, and ancient-looking books displayed behind glass.

Sebastian and I enter to the soft sounds of a solitary harpist, not loud enough to overwhelm the quiet murmur of conversation. Which means it’s easy to notice that it stops as we enter the room.

I cling to Sebastian’s arm as he walks with his eyes straight ahead and his expression as impassionate as stone. My heart is pounding in my ears and only seems to beat faster when I think of how Sebastian and every other vampire in the room must be aware of it. I dig my fingers into his bicep without meaning to. He places one of his hands over mine, a feather-light graze of his fingertips along my knuckles. I’m surprised how much it eases my nerves. I think back on what Ellen said about how rarely he attends events and wonder, for the first time, if he might be nervous too.

Sebastian leads us to a circle of conversation at the foot of a marble statue. Some of the others nod at us—or rather, at Sebastian—politely, but otherwise there’s no attempt to bring us in. Sebastian doesn’t try to introduce me, either.

I can barely follow the flow of conversation, but I’m content to stand quietly and let my eyes roam over the room. I eye the harpist in the corner, and then the couples twirling around the dance floor. There are only a few of them, far less than at the busy Valentine’s Day ball. It makes me remember, with a jolt, that dance I shared with Alexander. I feel a guilty sort of nostalgia over it. How different would my life have been if I had known he offered to be my patron? I’ve never danced with Sebastian.

I wait for a lull in the conversation before tugging on his sleeve to get his attention.

“Shall we dance?” I ask, smiling up at him.

He shifts, eyes sliding away from mine. “I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid.”

My smile fades, and I suppress a sigh. “Alright.”

Back to listening to a conversation I can barely understand. I can tell from Sebastian’s intent expression that he’s following it, but he doesn’t try to step in. He just stands here and listens in silence… which makes me wonder why he brought me here. He doesn’t want to dance, nor even to introduce me. Am I just here to look pretty on his arm?

Stick to the contract , I remind myself. I don’t know why I keep expecting anything more than that.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, and when I return, my eyes catch on a group of humans situated around one table. I drift that way instead of heading back to Sebastian and the others.

“—Hasn’t painted a thing since he’s been turned,” one man is saying. “Honestly, what a disappointment for the Vulpe Court.”

I follow the table’s eyes to a vampire who sits alone under one of the paintings. He glances at me, and I have a quick impression of sad blue eyes in a striking face before I look away.

“Ahh, someone new,” one woman says, drawing my attention back to the humans. The others turn to me as well, their conversation halting. “You must be Lord Sebastian’s valentine.”

I swallow self-consciousness as I extend a hand. “I am. Amelia Burton.”

“Farah Badawi.” The brown-skinned woman is older than most valentines I’ve met, though still undoubtedly beautiful, with piercing dark eyes and thick brown waves of hair. “I’d say I’ve heard a lot about you, but I haven’t. Everyone’s been curious about who finally captured Lord Sebastian de Celeste’s cold heart.”

“I wouldn’t say I have his heart,” I say, releasing her hand. And then, remembering I’m trying to channel confidence, I add, “Yet.”

“Are you sure about that? Because he’s staring at you across the room right now like some lovestruck teenager,” she says with a smirk.

I blush and resist the urge to look as I take a seat. I can’t tell whether she’s messing with me.

As the rest of the table starts giving introductions, nerves overwhelm me again. Farah is a museum curator; another woman introduces herself as having a PhD in vampire history, which I didn’t even know was a thing. I recognize another man as a well-known writer of vampire biographies. They are all scholars and otherwise accomplished individuals, as I guess I should’ve expected from the Celeste valentines. By the time the spotlight falls on me, I feel thoroughly inadequate.

“My name is Amelia Burton,” I say, fingers twisting together in my lap. “I’m… a writer.” It tastes like a lie on my tongue, even though it isn’t.

“Oh, what have you published?” the biographer asks.

I flush. “Nothing yet.” And that makes me aware that even with my nearly infinite free time in the estate, I haven’t managed to write anything other than my silly blog.

“Well, I’m certain you have plenty of material now,” he says.

“I… hm? What do you mean?”

“Well, you are living with Lord Sebastian, after all. I have no doubt that his life provides fascinating subject matter.” He leans forward. “I must admit I’m jealous. He’s declined me for an interview. Twice .” A fact he sounds positively affronted about.

I hesitate, unsure how to tell them that I know next to nothing about the man I’m living with.

“Well, he’s a private person,” I say.

“I’ll say,” the man huffs. “I’ve barely managed to get more than a couple of words out of him at a time. And that’s when he even deigns to grace us with his presence.”

“Oh, hush,” Farah scolds. “He’s a two-hundred-year-old war hero. Of course he has better things to do than talk to you.”

That prompts a guilty smattering of laughter that I don’t join in. Instead, I bite back an urge to defend Sebastian. It’s true that he can be cold and distant, but I’ve never thought of it as being because of any sense of superiority. Instead it’s… well…

My eyes find him across the room. I watch as he stands in the circle of vampires with his arms folded over his chest, silent even as the conversation flows around him. I study his expression, and think, unbidden, of my shock when Ellen called me confident . How it felt like she didn’t see me at all, but only made assumptions.

I’ve made plenty of assumptions when it comes to Sebastian as well. I tend to think I understand what goes on beneath his mask… but what if I’m as off-base as Ellen? What if it isn’t an aversion to me that holds him back, or an iciness that makes him reserved. What if he’s just…

Just what, exactly? I think of Ellen’s statement that he barely leaves the estate, corroborated by the conversation among the valentines here, and a new theory finally comes to me. What if Sebastian is… shy?

“As I said,” I tell the other valentines, my eyes still lingering on Sebastian, “he’s a private man.”

The conversation moves on while I reflect on my new theory about Sebastian. It feels like a shift in world view. I’ve thought, this entire time, that he was being cold on purpose. I’ve been so puzzled by his behavior, but if he is just introverted—perhaps even anxious—it explains some of it. It’s hard for me to imagine him as shy beneath that stern expression and flawless face, but I suppose the same was true of how Ellen saw me.

Knowing this doesn’t excuse his behavior toward me. I still deserve better treatment and communication. But it helps me understand him better.

“—Anonymous Confessions of a Valentine,” Farah says, and I’m drawn back to the conversation.

“What?” I ask, a knee-jerk reaction, assuming I didn’t hear correctly.

“Oh, have you read it as well?” she asks, holding up her phone.

“Who hasn’t ?” the biographer asked, rolling his eyes as he sips his scotch. “Even Jonah Montgomery was gossiping about it at the last Camelia party.”

I think of that beautiful, haughty man stretched across Viktoria’s lap at the Valentine’s Day Ball reading my blog and feel light-headed.

“Of course he did,” someone else interjects. “He’s chronically addicted to sensationalism. Which is all that drivel is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote it himself for a publicity stunt.”

Oh, God. My stomach is dropping to the floor. I try to think of an excuse to leave this conversation, but I’m terrified it will only make me look suspicious. I already admitted I’m a writer…

“I don’t believe Jonah can string together that many sentences. Especially since I would not call it drivel,” Farah says, frowning. “I quite liked it, actually. It was… honest. Raw. People of our line of work so rarely get to tell our stories.” She shoots a cutting look at the biographer. “They’re usually more interested in romanticizing vampires’ stories.”

“I believe in capturing beauty,” he says, shrugging.

“Even if that beauty is a lie?”

“Well…”

As the conversation drifts off into a debate about realism versus escapism, I excuse myself from the table. They barely seem to notice me leaving. I walk over to Sebastian, noticing that he has an almost pained expression on his face, and thinking again about my newfound hypothesis about his social anxiety.

“Excuse me?” I lay a hand on Sebastian’s arm, and everyone in the circle turns to look at me, even though I’m trying to be unobtrusive. I put on my most winning smile and look up into Sebastian’s eyes. “Pardon the interruption, but… someone mentioned this place has the most beautiful library, and I was wondering if you might take me to see it?”

Some of the tension in Sebastian’s shoulders relaxes, only visible because I’m looking for it. “Of course,” he says, and excuses himself from the conversation. As I expected, nobody seems surprised or offended that I might want to see the library. At a Celeste party, it’s the perfect excuse for us to wander away from the crowd.

“I apologize,” Sebastian says as he leads me out of the ballroom and down a hallway.

I glance up at him. “For what?”

“I was afraid you would be bored at an event like this,” he says, his eyes still ahead. “But it is the only sort of thing I am invited to, other than the Valentine’s Day Ball.”

I almost laugh. “Sebastian, I didn’t pull you away because I was bored. I pulled you away because you looked like you were in physical pain trying to carry on that conversation.”

He blinks, finally looking down at me. “…Oh,” he says. “Well. Yes. They were eager to reminisce about the war, which is not a topic I’m fond of.”

“And you are not particularly fond of conversation in general.”

He pauses. “I am rather rusty at it, I admit.”

He sounds almost embarrassed. It’s enough to make me squeeze his arm in solidarity. “Well, I have it on good authority that you are fond of libraries.”

He cracks a rare smile, but it flickers out just as quickly as it appears. “You don’t have to remove yourself from the party for me. I know the estate is not exactly rife with social opportunities, and I want you to—”

“Sebastian.” I squeeze his arm and cut him off before he can wind himself up any further. I wait for him to look at me, and then I give him a genuine smile. “There is no one here I would rather spend time with than you.” We come to a stop outside of the huge double doors that must lead to the library, and I lean in on my tiptoes and mock whisper, “And it just so happens that I really do want to see the library.”

Sebastian’s library at the estate was already a shock. I think I’m at least somewhat prepared for what I’ll see as Sebastian pushes open the heavy wooden double doors to reveal this one. And yet—my breath still catches in my throat as I step inside. There are multiple stories to this room, each with its own small balcony. A winding staircase leads up to the top. On each level, polished wooden bookshelves reach so high that I would need a ladder to reach the top. And they have one—one of those rolling ladders that I thought only existed in movies.

And the books . There are more of them than I thought existed. I see ancient leather-bound tomes, and fresh-looking new editions; titles in different languages, different alphabets I don’t recognize. An overwhelming amount of knowledge.

I spin in a slow circle, my eyes wide as I try to take in all of it at once. It’s dizzying, looking at the sheer amount of books. I have a rabid impulse to just start grabbing them and flee, countered by the paralyzing knowledge that I could spend the rest of my life here and still not have time to read them all.

“Wow,” I breathe.

“Indeed.” Sebastian’s voice draws my attention to him. I catch him staring at my face before his eyes shift—almost guiltily—away.

Shy , I remind myself. Not ashamed of me, not revolted by me, just… shy. I reach out to touch his hand. He jerks, eyes darting back to me, but doesn’t pull away from my touch.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“Yes. Whenever I get a chance, I slip away from the crowd to come here.”

I smile. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” I twine my fingers with his, his skin cold against me. “I hardly know where to look. Will you show me some of your favorites?”

He glances down at our entangled fingers and back up at my face. His jaw works for a moment. “I doubt you’ll find my favorites to be of interest.”

“Try me.”

Holding my hand, he leads me into the tall shelves.

Truthfully, the books he shows me are not ones I would have paid attention to on my own, but it is fascinating to listen to him talk about them. He shows me outdated medical textbooks in Latin, Greek poetry, volumes and volumes of leatherbound books about the Victorian Language of Flowers. I have never heard him talk so much at once, and his voice has me swooning. So does the sight of him handling the books. The featherlight touch of his long fingers as he cradles the old texts, the way he slides his thumb lovingly along the spine before he places a book back on the shelf.

“Are these all vampire authors?” I ask only when his words trail off, because I have no desire to interrupt him.

“Mostly mortals, actually,” he says. “The majority of vampire knowledge is stored in the Solomon Court’s vaults, away from the public eye. It’s… an important point on which our courts have always disagreed. Had they absorbed us in the last war, as they tried to, I suspect we would have lost a great deal of this knowledge.”

I hesitate. He’s never spoken about the war before; that conversation earlier must have put it in his mind. Part of me is desperately curious, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to pry into his past. “You value human perspectives so much?”

“Oh, yes. I have always found mortals to be superior writers. Something about their awareness of time, of death, drives them to be better creators. Perhaps the sense of time running out.” He glances at the shelves and runs the tip of one finger along the spines. “Some would disagree, of course. But I have always been most interested in preserving human work. Especially the histories.”

“Huh.” I tilt my head. “I would’ve thought a human view of history would seem short-sighted to your kind.”

“Perhaps that’s what gives it value,” he says. “Vampires always view events from the outside, thinking themselves above it all. There’s such a sense of hubris about it…” He glances at me and stops. “Pardon me. I’m ranting.”

I smile, run my thumb over his hand. “I like listening to you talk.”

He clears his throat and hesitates before asking, “But… what about you? You’re a writer as well, are you not?”

I blink, startled. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about my writing.”

He averts his eyes. “Ah… no. I suppose not. But Ellen mentioned it.”

“Oh. Well…” Now I’m flushing. “I’ve always called myself a writer, but honestly I haven’t written in a long time.” Aside from the blog. But that’s such a silly thing, and not something I want to mention to Sebastian at all, especially now that I know other valentines are talking about it. I should probably go home and delete it the second I get a chance.

“Why not?”

“I…” I wind a strand of hair around my finger, trying to think of a decent answer. “I was just… too busy, I suppose. I know it’s a stupid excuse, but when I was with my ex, between working and chores, I just…” I trail off, embarrassed at trying to explain how I let my passion fall to the wayside for a failed relationship.

“It’s not,” he says. When I stop, I note that flicker of awkwardness in him again, but he continues. “It’s not a poor excuse. I think, with humans having lifespans as limited as they are, it is an incredible endeavor to take the time to write at all. Even with all of my endless hours, I myself have no talent for it, only a talent for preserving it. So I… I admire it. Greatly.”

A shy smile creeps onto my face. “You haven’t even read my writing,” I say. “It could be awful. It could be like… like all those sordid vampire romances I won’t name.”

“And as widely derided as they may be, those books captured the hearts and imaginations of millions,” he counters. “They are a testament to the power of fiction. I would respect you for it.”

A slow heat begins in my belly, floods up into my chest, warms my face. When I look at Sebastian, I see that his eyes are locked on mine. I feel, for perhaps the first time, that he is looking at me and truly seeing me. Seeing me in a way that even Declan didn’t over our years together. Dec never cared about my writing, never asked a single question about what I might want to work on if I had the chance.

I realize, too, how close Sebastian and I are standing. Our hands are still clasped. His eyes drop to my lips, and he doesn’t look away even when he catches me looking.

My heartbeat quickens. Is it ridiculous that I’m thinking about this? I’ve been telling myself that tonight is all about our contract, that I’m just fulfilling my duties… but valentines have unofficial duties, too, if you believe the gossip. And I’ve been sorely slacking on that side of the job.

Before I can second-guess myself, I press up on my tiptoes, slowly lean in, and press my lips against his. It is a shock to realize that despite our previous intimacy, this is the first time we’ve kissed. When I imagined kissing vampires, I did not quite think about the details: the chill of his skin, the bump of fangs behind his lips.

The kiss is chaste at first, but it feels wildly intimate. The tenderness in his touch, the reverent quiet of the library, the moment we just shared, something makes this feel different. It makes it feel real , and my thoughts are too muddled for me to tell myself otherwise. Sebastian lifts the hand that isn’t clasping mine to grasp the back of my neck, and I tilt my head, opening my mouth against his as he deepens the kiss.

I wrap my arms around his neck. His grip on my waist tightens in response. It’s been so long since I’ve had any sort of intimacy. Even that all-too-brief encounter in the library was months ago now, and I am hungry for it. I press myself closer and let out a needy little sound against his lips.

But as he begins to slide a hand under my dress, I grab his wrist, and he stops.

“I apologize,” he says. “I shouldn’t have…”

He trails off as I lower myself to my knees on the floorboards in front of him. I drink in the way his eyes change, his pupils blowing wide, as I slowly undo his belt buckle.

“I think it’s unfair,” I say, “that you gave me an orgasm and I’ve hardly been allowed to touch you.”

He swallows. “You’re under no obligation—”

“Unfair to me, I mean.” I pull his belt free, set it aside, and undo the button of his trousers. “I want this, Sebastian.” I drag the zipper down and pull his pants down to his ankles. He remains staring at me, his expression almost desperate. “So… may I?” I pause, fingers dipping into the waistband of his black briefs, and look up at him. I bite my bottom lip. “Please?”

He nods, at a loss for words, his eyes never leaving my face.

I pull his briefs down and gasp as his already hard length springs free. It is… impressive . I wrap my fist around him and slide it up and down, marveling at the weight of him in my palm. It’s almost unfair, how perfect he is.

“You have a beautiful cock,” I whisper. I remove my hand from him and lean in to drag the flat of my tongue up the bottom of his shaft slowly, slowly, all the way from base to tip.

Sebastian lets out a low, almost pained groan. I glance up to see his head leaning back against the shelves, his eyes shut and his lips parted. It gives me such a thrill to see how I affect him.

I love giving blow jobs, though with Declan it became more of a chore than anything. He was always silent, usually wouldn’t even warn me when he was about to finish in my mouth. No fun at all. I can already tell that Sebastian is going to be much more receptive to my efforts, and it makes excitement zip through my body.

I lick him again, dragging it out even further this time. Then I get a wicked idea.

“Grab one of those books,” I say.

He opens his eyes, faintly dazed. “Huh?”

I run my tongue over my lips. “I want you to read to me while I suck your cock, Sebastian.”

He stares at me for a moment. Then he fumbles on the shelf behind him and grabs a book. He glances down at me while I wait, my lips hovering just beyond his tip. Then he opens the book and starts to read.

In goddamn Latin. Of course. But… it’s actually pretty hot, hearing the way the foreign words glide off his tongue. And it reminds me a little of the readings at church when I was growing up, making this feel extra naughty.

I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and take him into my mouth.

“ Fuck ,” Sebastian moans, the stream of Latin cutting off. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him curse before, and hearing that filthy word from his perfect lips, because of me , sends heat rippling all the way through my body. But I still stop moving as he stops reading. He stares at me, then seems to remember, and begins to read again.

I take him into my mouth and hum in appreciation as I slide my lips down his shaft, taking him deeper. He’s so thick, I can barely fit my mouth around him, but I welcome the challenge. I bob up and down on his length while he reads to me, his voice breathy and rough and occasionally punctuated by a groan.

He’s struggling to maintain control. I want to make him lose it. I push myself until I choke, flooding my mouth with thick saliva.

“Amelia,” he gasps. His hand grasps at my hair and then lets go.

I pull my mouth off him and let my breath ghost across the head of his cock.

“You can grab my hair,” I murmur, looking up at him. “Be a little rough with me if you want.” I smile. “I like it.” And then I suction my lips around his cock again. His fingers grab a fistful of my hair without needing further encouragement.

But he’s still holding back, I can tell. Treating me like a delicate thing. I increase my pace, suck him deeper, push myself until I gag again. I keep going until his cock is wet and messy and he can’t read a full sentence anymore.

“Fuck,” he whispers again, and tosses the book aside. His hips jolt forward, driving himself deeper. I open as wide as I can and stay still, letting him set the pace now. And he does, driving into me in shallow but frantic thrusts. “God, that mouth of yours, I—” He cuts off in an incoherent groan and his grip on my hair tightens. “I’m going to cum.”

I moan my agreement around his length and reach up to grip his thighs, digging my nails into his skin. He groans one last time, pushing my head down, and then I feel him pulse and spill warmth into my mouth. I suck it all down, every last drop, and wait for his grip on my head to go limp before I pull free.

I lick my lips, staring up at him. Our eyes meet, and I see wonder on his face. He helps me to my feet and kisses me. Slow and sensual as his tongue slides against mine, tasting himself. He runs his fingers through my messy hair, smooths my rumpled dress over my hips.

For a few minutes, everything seems perfect. But then he breaks the kiss, glances at the door, and says, “We should go.”

I blink. “Back to the party?” I wipe my lips, realizing that my lipstick must be a mess. “Sure, I can just go to the bathroom and clean up…”

He gives me a shocked look. “God, no, not back to the party. We should go back to the estate.”

“…Oh.” I glance at the door and then back at him. “I feel like we just got here. You barely even introduced me to anyone.”

“Well, I can’t now,” he says, as if it should be obvious.

Heat creeps up my face, and I step back to let him re-dress himself. I become aware of the stiffness in my legs, the discomfort where my knees rested on the floorboards. It was fun in the moment, but now I feel dirty. Ashamed.

“We can’t be the only ones who have disappeared from the party for a quick blow job before,” I say, trying to be lighthearted, but my voice comes out tight.

“Yes, perhaps, but never me ,” he says.

My stomach drops. “Right,” I say. The thought that he might be ashamed of me makes me want to shrivel up and die, but I plaster on a smile and let him lead me out of the library and through a back door, away from the sounds of music and conversation.