[ Gwen doesn’t know what to make of Embry Moore. There’s the picture Ash painted, when Gwen was crying over Peter the night they met, of a prince who would always have his heart; there’s Ani’s missive to the Hex Club and Pink Slip banning Embry from both (and, as far as Gwen’s aware, he’s the sole person on that ban list). She means to ask Ash or Greer more about him—or ask Silco about the reasons for the ban—but there’s some weird shyness that’s stopped her short.
Ash is intimidating in a way Gwen’s coming to understand (because it makes her wet, because there are parameters around it, because she can see some of his softness around Greer). Intimidating might not be the right word for Embry, but Gwen gets the distinct sense, from all three words they’ve exchanged, that he doesn’t like her. And she realizes, with girlish embarrassment, that in some fantasy version of meeting Embry she’d imagined he might like her the way Greer liked her, or Ash liked her, some instant affinity slotting into place.
That was naive. She’s not going to dwell on it, which means she gives Embry as much of a berth as is possible in this space that’s really not meant for five people. So she’s surprised when she looks up from her book and sees that it’s Embry, not Ash or Peter or Greer, approaching her with— ]
Oh. [ It’s all Gwen can manage, for a second, when confronted with the sight of her panties in Embry’s fist as the mistletoe’s chill slips down her spine, making her sit up straighter. She’s not dressed for the cold: she’s in a blue knit sweater and white skirt that skims her thighs, slouchy pink knee socks that match the color of the panties she’s very much not wearing.
She wonders if this is—a game? A scene? But Ash hadn’t talked to her about it, and Gwen doesn’t yet know where Embry fits into what they have.
Whatever work her brain is doing to contextualize this, her body knows what the mistletoe means (fingers retreating into her sleeves to try to warm up, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, nipples peaking with cold) and she can’t help the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks, the way her ears pink at the sight of the pretty lace edge wrapped around Embry’s knuckles. The last set of knuckles they were wrapped around, taken as a souvenir. ]
I gave them to Ash. [ In a manner of speaking. It’s a little humiliating that anyone else knows about that, but she’s trying to stay—composed? Until she can figure out what, exactly, Embry is doing here. Her head tilting, brows knit, ] If that’s what you’re asking?
no subject
Ash is intimidating in a way Gwen’s coming to understand (because it makes her wet, because there are parameters around it, because she can see some of his softness around Greer). Intimidating might not be the right word for Embry, but Gwen gets the distinct sense, from all three words they’ve exchanged, that he doesn’t like her. And she realizes, with girlish embarrassment, that in some fantasy version of meeting Embry she’d imagined he might like her the way Greer liked her, or Ash liked her, some instant affinity slotting into place.
That was naive. She’s not going to dwell on it, which means she gives Embry as much of a berth as is possible in this space that’s really not meant for five people. So she’s surprised when she looks up from her book and sees that it’s Embry, not Ash or Peter or Greer, approaching her with— ]
Oh. [ It’s all Gwen can manage, for a second, when confronted with the sight of her panties in Embry’s fist as the mistletoe’s chill slips down her spine, making her sit up straighter. She’s not dressed for the cold: she’s in a blue knit sweater and white skirt that skims her thighs, slouchy pink knee socks that match the color of the panties she’s very much not wearing.
She wonders if this is—a game? A scene? But Ash hadn’t talked to her about it, and Gwen doesn’t yet know where Embry fits into what they have.
Whatever work her brain is doing to contextualize this, her body knows what the mistletoe means (fingers retreating into her sleeves to try to warm up, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, nipples peaking with cold) and she can’t help the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks, the way her ears pink at the sight of the pretty lace edge wrapped around Embry’s knuckles. The last set of knuckles they were wrapped around, taken as a souvenir. ]
I gave them to Ash. [ In a manner of speaking. It’s a little humiliating that anyone else knows about that, but she’s trying to stay—composed? Until she can figure out what, exactly, Embry is doing here. Her head tilting, brows knit, ] If that’s what you’re asking?