Epilogue #2
She walked toward them, running her fingers gently over the full tables. When she reached the curtains, she pulled one back, and gasped as she took in the stark beauty of the gray sky, falling snow, and the white-crested waves of the ocean.
“Tristan?” She asked, turning her gaze back to him, “What is this place?”
Tristan stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and dropped a kiss on her neck.
“This is yours,” he replied, drawing the tip of his nose up her neck. “Your studio. Your alone place. It is whatever you wish it to be. Whenever you need a moment to get away from anyone or anything, this is where I hope you will go.”
Emotion welled in Ophelia’s throat as she turned in his arms. Tristan was not trying to bend her to his idea of perfection. It was he that was bending toward hers. She reached toward his face, delicately tracing the planes of his handsome features.
“Thank you,” she whispered, drawing her fingertips delicately over his chiseled lips. “For seeing me.”
His brows lifted as a smile formed on his lips.
“Thank you. For choosing me,” he whispered against her fingertips.
Tears pricked at Ophelia’s eyes as she leaned up on her toes and kissed him, her heart ebbing and full.
Her body shuddered with need as their kiss deepened, and her trembling fingertips slipped from Tristan’s face down to his cravat.
He made no move to stop her as she untied it, but instead drew the fur cloak away from her shoulders.
“I do not want to wait until tomorrow,” she rasped between kisses as her fingers worked to undo his buttons.
A deep, masculine groan poured from Tristan’s throat as his hands tightened on her waist.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice full of aching need.
It had been nearly two months since their last time together at the masquerade. Two months of fevered dreams and fantasies, and Ophelia had had enough of them. She wanted the real Tristan. She pulled away from his kiss, a sinful smirk on her lips as she pushed his jacket away from his shoulders.
“Please do not make me repeat myself, Lord Perfect, I have made my request.”
Tristan smirked, then tsked his tongue as he shook his head.
“Always have to things your way, don’t you?” He teased, letting his jacket drop to the floor.
“You will have to accept that,” Ophelia said with a saucy shrug.
“Gladly,” Tristan retorted, then grabbed her throat to pull her in for another deep, dizzying kiss.
Tristan removed Ophelia’s dress slowly, kissing over every newly expanse of bared flesh until she was pulsing with need.
With the fur cloak beneath them, Tristan slowly eased her down to the floor before the roaring fireplace, and worshipped her body.
He kissed along her throat, her clavicle, then down to her aching breasts.
She nearly cried with need as he drew her taut nipple into his mouth, and lavished them with attention until she whimpering and begging him to continue.
Somewhere during his tease Tristan removed his own clothing, and by the time he nestled his broad shoulders between her legs, he was as bare as she was.
“Oh, God, I have missed you,” he groaned, sealing his mouth over her sex.
Ophelia’s back arched and her hands fisted the fur beneath her as his tongue sent volts of pleasure throughout her body.
“I have missed you,” she confessed, her lashes fluttering as every skilled lick drove her closer to bliss, “I have missed you so much.”
“Show me,” his voice, thick with need, commanded from between her legs.
Her body obeyed instantly, driving itself over the precipice of pleasure with a quickness that left her quivering and delightfully dizzy. She screamed his name, dug her fingernails into his back, and pleaded for him not to stop as wave after wave of pleasure hit her.
Tristan kissed his way up her body as she trembled in the aftermath of her release until she felt his pulsing, rigid length rest against her pulsing mons.
“Are you sure?” He rasped a final time as she felt his tip line up against her wet entrance.
“Please,” was all she could muster as she dug her nails into his back.
“Open your eyes, Ophelia,” he whispered, grazing kissing along her cheeks, “I want to see you.”
With effort, Ophelia pushed through the haze of pleasure and opened her eyes, immediately locking in on Tristan’s dilated, dazed gaze. She quivered with the intensity she found there, and the tight grip on his back softened to a caress.
“I love you,” he whispered, and before she could respond in kind, he slowly thrusted his hips forward.
Pain threatened to eat away at her pleasure as nails briefly dug into his back and her mouth drew open at the unexpected fullness she felt- yet it never quite overtook the ecstasy that he had built within her.
His sensual thrusts, his worshipping gaze, made it impossible to grow uncomfortable, and within seconds, that pain died completely, leaving nothing but perfect pleasure as they made love.
“Are you in pain, love?” Tristan asked, his lips stroking lazy kisses over her collarbone.
Ophelia hummed, stretched beneath him, and shook her head. There was an ache in her lower belly, but it was one she felt strangely happy for.
“Nothing a warm bath will not fix,” she murmured.
She felt Tristan smile against her skin, then he lifted his head up, revealing a most sated look of satisfaction.
“I wish we could stay here so I could bathe you myself,” he said, stroking a hand down her tangled her, “However it is a fairly long drive back to London, and we did promise Theo we would be back for dinner.”
Ophelia nodded against his shoulder as he shifted onto his side, loving the way he was caressing her body.
“Sad but true,” she sighed. “I suppose we must not worry my father. Not after everything that has happened.”
She rose to a seating position, but as she tried to get to her feet, Tristan gently pressed on her shoulder, grabbed her gown, and began to dress her. She smiled, surprised at how much she adored him dressing her.
“When can we come back here?” She asked as he moved her arms through her sleeves.
“Anytime you wish,” Tristan replied, “With or without me, though I would prefer that you at least take a guard with you.”
She took a long look around the cottage, the second floor still unexplored. Perhaps one day she would wish to come alone, but for now, she wanted Tristan by her side everywhere she went.
“Perhaps after Christmas has passed,” she noted as Tristan slipped her shoes back on her feet. “Would you come with me?”
“Always,” Tristan promised, then helped her to her feet.
She watched him dress, torn between the satisfaction of seeing his muscular body bare, and the sadness of watching it be covered. Immediately, she knew what she wanted to paint next, and the finished product would be for no one’s eyes but hers and Tristan’s.
“What is that smile for?” Tristan asked, buttoning his shirt.
Ophelia drew her eyes up to his face and found him with the most handsome of smirks.
“You will see,” she teased through her grin.
Tristan chuckled and drew his jacket on.
“Shall we go, my darling?” He asked, holding his hand out to her.
“I suppose we should,” she sighed, taking his hand. “After all, we have a wedding to attend.”
The End?