Epilogue
Their wedding trip had been full of fun and laughter, in between sexual romps in various rooms in assorted homes belonging to the dukedom, and even the carriage once.
Evie was so happy to be back in Rutland, she squealed and hugged every servant. They had lined up to formally greet the duke’s bride and had applauded when she stepped out of the carriage. As she hugged each one, they followed her down the line until she was surrounded.
Xander stood on the second step and mock pouted. “I never got this sort of greeting. She’s my bride, not yours.”
They all ignored him until she’d checked in with every servant to see how they were doing.
Mrs. Betters whipped Evie’s mob cap from behind her back and offered it to the new duchess. “What shall I do with this?”
Xander snorted.
Evie said, “Burn it. Those are most uncomfortable; however do you all wear them?”
“Oh no.” He stepped forward and snatched it, tucking it into his waistcoat, where his cravat already lived, bulging the pocket. “I want that for posterity, thank you.”
She looked at him doubtfully, and he winked at her. Oh. She could see role play in their future, one late night in the library. She hoped her drab brown dress was still about somewhere.
Xander had warned her he was going to excuse himself and venture on to the pub before the horses were put up, so she was unsurprised when his voice rumbled, “Why don’t you all have tea in the kitchen and everyone can share their adventures?”
The servants were only a little surprised given his familiarity with them to date, and Evie started inside, calling, “Yes, please.”
Two hours later, she heard the carriage on the drive. She’d requested a cold platter of meat pie, cheese, and bread in the library, and sent everyone to bed early.
Dressed in only the mob cap and her bridal chemise, she knelt on a cushion near his desk to await him. She’d had the candles dimmed in the hall and left the door open so light from the open library door would direct him to her.
He was whistling under his breath as he entered. The song cut off mid-breath as he stumbled to a halt to stare at her. Banks, the pub manager—no, owner now—likely had plied him with ale.
Perhaps tipsy Xander would be as much fun as sober Xander. Pushing to find out, she asked, “How may I serve you, Your Grace?”
A grin spread across his face, and he drawled, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite downstairs maid. Ah, but what are you doing here so late at night? It seems you might be up to mischief.”
“No trouble, sir. I wasn’t certain my duties were finished for the day. In fact—” She crawled under his desk, making it a point to shake her bottom. “—I think this area could use some dusting.”
“I can think of something that could use some polishing, little maid.” But he hadn’t moved.
“Can I reach it from under here?” Tipsy Xander apparently needed things spelled out for him, she thought with a giggle.
He sat in his chair with a thud and scooted it forward a bit. Then shoved it back to undo the falls of his trousers before sliding his hips forward and slouching. Taking his cock out, he demanded, “Polish this knob, little maid.”
His guffaw of laughter made her roll her eyes, thankfully where he couldn’t see her, still under his desk. But she knew how to redirect his focus. He’d been teaching her more and more sexual positions and techniques throughout their wedding trip.
She leaned in, licked it from root to tip, and slid her mouth over it until her lips hit his hand at the base.
“Evie,” he groaned, reaching for her head. Encountering the cap, he tugged it off and sank his fingers into her hair.
She moaned around his cock and glided her mouth up and down faster.
“We may have to re-enact this fantasy again soon. Right now, I need you up and bent over my desk. I’ve spent far too many nights imagining spearing into you over the papers we’d discussed that day, making you writhe on my cock.”
Heat spread through her at the images his words provoked. As he shoved the chair back farther, she scrambled to obey.
She whipped the chemise off, letting it float to the desk where he’d tossed her mob cap. His hand pushed between her shoulders, leading her down.
“Grab the other side of the desk. This might be fast.” His voice above her was rough with need.
No sooner had she gripped the wood than he was sliding into her in one sharp, deep motion. Her moan was overlaid by his.
His hips began a rhythm, a slow withdrawal to almost the tip followed by a fast thrust burying himself inside her.
Her nipples chafed back and forth along the blotter, creating their own friction, and on those inward drives, his bollocks slapped that tiny bundle of nerves that sped her closer to orgasm.
He bent his knees a degree, and his cockhead rubbed that spot along the front wall of her channel that made her clench. “Yes, Xander, please, just like that.”
Three more repetitions took her all the way over, and she twisted on the desk, rubbing the tips of her breasts as her inner muscles spasmed in ecstasy.
Xander pounded into her twice more, yelling, “I love you, wife.”
And she responded in kind. “I love you, Your Grace.”