Chapter 29 #3
When he’s completely spent, he turns back to me, falling prone before my nakedness, hitching my legs around his shoulders to rest his head against my stomach.
His breathing is ragged as I stroke his sweat-soaked hair.
My skin is overly sensitive under his coarse beard, and I love it.
The prince clings to me like I’m his hope of redemption, an object worthy of awe.
Here, in this building of relics and statues and shrines, Friedrich gives me all his worship.
“I knew I’d have to let you go eventually,” he rasps, still clutching me for dear life. “But I didn’t want it to be so soon.”
“Me either.” I swallow hard. For someone who hasn’t cried in nearly ten years, I’m doing a terrible job at holding back the tears today. More proof that it’s time for this to end before I get any more emotionally involved.
“Promise me you won’t settle.” I’m still running my fingers through his hair, trying to memorize the feeling of his weight over me, the smell of him that wraps with mine to make the perfect blend of floral and spice and wood underneath sweat and sex.
I want to burn this moment in my mind, the beauty and the pain.
“Promise me you’ll pick one of the women who will care for you and give you all the love and support you need.
Don’t just pick the one parliament wants you to choose. ”
He’s silent. I can feel his pulse beating against my lower stomach, and his breathing has slowed, but each inhale seems to cause him pain.
We stay on the carpet in front of the altar for a long time.
The sun has already set, and the only light comes from the eternal flame burning above the altar and the smattering of small votive candles before a statue of Mary.
I don’t know if it’s the weight of history in this ancient building or the burden of our decision and Friedrich’s future that makes the air feel heavy.
But as we lay entwined in one another, naked as God intended, more vulnerable and exposed than I’ve ever been in my life, I feel crushed under whatever invisible force hangs around us.
Like I’m in a vat of very dense liquid, and each movement comes with great struggle.
It’s a long moment before Friedrich moves, pressing a kiss just below my belly button before pushing himself to sitting.
Our eyes lock, and I try to memorize every shade of blue that fades and strikes through his heartbreakingly stunning eyes.
In the dim light, they are as blue as the winter ocean, dark and powerful.
He stands, breaking the current of electricity that always sparks when we catch each other’s gaze.
“Don’t move,” he rasps.
My limbs are still heavy, and I can only watch as he finds his clothes piled at the base of the sanctuary and dresses.
The prince disappears behind the altar and returns moments later with a damp white cloth.
His strokes are gentle and soothing along my abused sex and bruised thighs.
I look down and see the pure white stained with red and know that I am forever connected to him, with my heart, my soul, my very blood.
Willingly given, graciously received. The care and devotion he shows my body makes me ache. No one has ever cared for me like this.
Friedrich holds out a hand and pulls me to a sitting position, lifting my arms up to pull my sports bra in place.
I fight the urge to lean into his touch as he takes care to position my breasts just so beneath the constricting garment.
It’s surprisingly intimate, allowing him to dress me, and it only serves to break my heart even more.
The drag of his hands along my legs sends all kinds of pleasure messages up my spine as he bunches my leggings and slides them carefully from ankle to calf, up my bare thighs.
I lift my bum to allow him to pull my bottoms all the way up, and I hear his breath hitch as he grazes my rear.
He’s grinding his teeth as he sits back and grabs my socks, not seeming to care that I ran ten miles in them earlier.
He’s careful not to brush my feet as he puts them on me, remembering I hate being tickled.
The sight of the prince sitting at my feet, carefully lacing and tying my shoes, is almost too much, and I have to fight the affection trying to burst through the wall of all my reasonable thoughts.
At last, he helps me to stand, his hand in mine so familiar it hurts. I want to wrap my arms around him, to feel the comfort of his embrace, to hear his heart beat with my ear on his chest. But if I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to let go again.
“I’ll call you a car,” he says, speaking for the first time in what feels like hours.
“No, it’s fine, I—”
“Please, Aurelia.” He reaches up, almost touching my cheek, before he thinks better of it and snatches his hand away. “At least let one of the POs take you home.”
“Okay,” I concede.
We walk back to his cottage in silence. Fog has settled in, casting the world in a dreary haze. The haloes around the lamps lining the path cast an eerie glow on us. Friedrich and I walk so close together, but we both keep our arms still, afraid to allow even one small touch.
Frank already has his big, black SUV idling right outside the tree line that surrounds Friedrich’s home.
He nods to me from the driver’s seat but doesn’t get out.
Does he already know? The quick text Friedrich typed out before we left the chapel was too short to relay everything, I think.
But I’ve had the feeling before that both of Friedrich’s main protection officers can read a situation like a book. Maybe that’s part of their training.
Friedrich opens the passenger door for me, but doesn’t hold out his hand like he usually does when I get in. I have one foot on the running board when I turn back to him, just one more time.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I can barely keep my voice from wavering. “For everything.”
His thumb and finger grip my chin, keeping my face turned up to his and god, I want to fall back into him, to let him hold me one final time. “It is I who should be thanking you, Miss Sumner.”
He places a whisper of a kiss on my lips, so light I can almost convince myself I imagined it. Then, the prince steps back, gesturing for me to get in the vehicle. I feel hollow as I slip into the captain’s chair behind the front passenger seat, and the door slams shut beside me.
I catch Frank watching me in the rearview mirror as I fumble with my seatbelt.
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Sumner,” he says after I struggle a bit. “I’ll keep us safe.”
I let out a breath and sink back against my seat, the seatbelt snapping back into place behind me. “Thank you, Major Caldwell,” I mumble.
I manage one last glimpse at my prince in the side mirror as we drive off, Brenton waiting not far behind.
The prince watches us leave, arms by his side, back straight, and I can picture the firm set of his mouth.
It’s his military pose. I’ve seen him fall into it a few times when he’s trying to contain himself.
Frank turns a corner around another copse of trees, and he’s gone.