Page 62 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“Oh…that won’t be necessary,” Alain said. When she raised an eyebrow, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Not long after I became a wizard, I underwent a procedure involving a rather complex infertility spell that’s part Soudremancy, part Transmutation. I’ll admit, it was quite painful—”
She threw him a pointed look.
“Though not as painful as childbirth, of course!” He laughed nervously. “I’d say the majority of wizards have taken advantage of this procedure, as the majority of wizards would rather not have children.”
“The Covenants definitely didn’t mention that.”
“Er, no, they wouldn’t. The procedure is voluntary, but it’s not exactly a topic that comes up in polite conversation.”
“This procedure is effective?”
He nodded. “Completely. And irreversible.”
“Huh…”
As she drank more of her whiskey-tea concoction, Mavery pondered how, over the years, she’d run the gamut of contraceptives: herbs brewed into bitter teas, sheaths made from questionable animal parts, the tried-but-seldom-true method of consulting lunar charts.
Never had she heard of an infertility spell.
It had to be yet another privilege the wizarding community kept to itself, but it was a fortunate one nonetheless.
“I take it you never wanted children,” she said.
Alain shook his head. “Like most wizards, I wanted to focus fully on scholarly pursuits. Besides, I can barely handle first-years. Could you imagine me trying to care for a child?” he said with a nervous laugh. “That, er, won’t be an issue for you, I hope…”
She put her tea aside, then cupped his face between her hands. “Not in the slightest. I’m glad that’s yet another thing we agree on.” She smiled wryly. “You know, I may be on my courses, but there are other things we could do.”
“Oh?” His eyes widened. “What did you have in mind?”
She shrugged off her blanket, tossed it to the floor, then straddled him.
Grasping his shoulders, she pushed him deeper into the sofa until she was peering down at him.
In reply, his hands came to rest on her hips.
When she pressed her mouth to his again, her desire was more wanton.
She wasted no time before sweeping her tongue across his lips, parting them, delving into his mouth.
From how his tongue passionately stroked against hers, to how his fingers pressed firmly into her skin, it was clear that his desire hadn’t quelled.
The longer they continued, the more she felt his arousal stiffen beneath her.
She lowered a hand, palmed the stiff fabric of his trousers.
He moaned into her mouth, which she took as an invitation.
But when her fingers tugged at his waistband, he turned his head, breaking the kiss.
“You don’t…have to,” he gasped. He took a deep breath. “I won’t be able to reciprocate, so—”
“So? I still want to, unless that’s not something you’d enjoy.”
“Oh, no, I definitely would. It’s just…” He sighed. “Sorry, this is a novel concept to me.”
She leaned back, sinking onto his lap. “What do you mean?”
He fidgeted with the hem of her blouse as he avoided meeting her eye. “In my experience, what I wanted always came secondary. On occasion…it was never even a consideration.”
Her fingers brushed his cheek while her heart ached for him. He continued to look away, as if embarrassed by his confession, and her heart wrenched even more. Though she couldn’t rectify the past, she could see to his desires in the present—and in the future.
“I promise, pleasuring you will be a pleasure in and of itself.” She lowered her lips to his ear and whispered, “So, tell me what you want.”
For a moment, the only sound was his heavy breathing, coupled with his pounding heartbeat.
“I want you…” He hesitated, wet his lips. “I need you to touch me.” Though it came out as a whisper, she was close enough that his voice reverberated through her.
She readjusted her position to watch his face as she slipped her hands between their bodies again.
Desire had darkened his eyes to the deepest black, and his gaze remained fixed on hers as she slowly unbuttoned his trousers.
His lips parted as she loosened the final button, freeing his erection.
She trailed her fingers down his length, relishing the smooth skin and the firmness that lay beneath it.
With a gasp, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
She curled her fingers around him, and a low groan resonated from his throat.
The sound was undeniably his voice, but so heavy, so sensual, that a wave of warm arousal rippled through her own body.
“Like this?” she whispered as her fingers returned upward.
A nod was all he could manage; words now seemed beyond him.
With the pad of her thumb, she drew small, slow circles against his tip.
A ragged gasp urged her to keep going. Meanwhile, his hands slipped beneath the hem of her blouse.
She shivered as his fingers skimmed her bare skin, sighed as he cupped her breasts, moaned as he stroked her firm nipples.
They continued this intimate exploration of skin against skin, saying through touch what words alone could not convey.
Their breaths converged, their sighs echoed through the room before culminating in a visceral moan as her touch brought him over the edge.
His body shuddered as he pulled her close, buried his face in the crook of her neck.
Though he didn’t speak, the hot tears against her skin told her that he’d experienced not just a release but catharsis.
Later that night, as she drifted off to sleep—no longer alone on the sofa but in his bed, wrapped in his arms—she thought of how none of this felt temporary. How she was no longer trying to build a new life for herself.
At last, she’d found something permanent.