Chapter 18
Charlie
I was told often in my life, once of age, that love was no different than a contract.
That my love would be carefully cultivated over time, that I would find things to appreciate in the husband chosen for me, and I’d ignore the rest. That the decisions made in the pursuit of…
love weren’t mine to make. Marriage could be happy if I was able to keep my tongue.
Perhaps, for many, love is a business. For women, more often, a part of life.
But the love I’ve found with Arthur is as bountiful as the roses he keeps in the gardens. It’s as vast and breathtaking as the galaxy we’re spinning in. It’s honest, and it’s true, and there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for the man who shares it with me.
I pull back enough to slip from Arthur’s body. He makes a soft, curious sound, but I guide him to turn onto his back, needing to see his eyes as forcefully as I need my next breath. He settles with his legs spread, and I ease over him, not knowing how to possibly explain all I feel .
The acceptance of my very being I’ve only ever had with him.
“I love you,” I tell him, my hand on his face, my breath drawn tight. “I love you wildly.”
His gaze softens, and he pulls me close, his lips meeting mine in a tender press. “Then love me as wildly as you dare.”
I nod jerkily, sucking in a breath as Arthur encourages me inside his body once more.
His legs are drawn upwards, the oil still glistening on his skin.
I hold the ivory cock as I press against him, marveling at the sight of him opening for me.
The way his body gives, wrapping the cock up tight, how it disappears piece by piece as Arthur lets out a sound that might be a groan.
I wrap my hand around his prick again, not wanting him to flag, not wanting this to be anything other than pleasurable for him in the end.
When he’s accepted all of what I have to give, I stall, my heart pounding rapidly, my skin flushed.
Sweat gleams on Arthur’s brow, his tone light. “Have I done it?”
“Yes,” I say, awed.
“Then by all means, husband mine. Show me the stars.”
With a stutter inside my chest and my eyes stinging, I pull back and thrust the gifted cock into Arthur’s body.
He grunts, a soft sound followed by another when I do it again.
I can’t feel the way the cock is entering him.
Not in the same way he’d be able to. But I can feel the reverberation of it jolting against me with every snap of my hips.
I have never in my life felt as connected to another. As utterly at home as I find a rhythm that has Arthur’s own cock bucking lightly in my fist. Ensuring his pleasure becomes my own. My bliss. My vow. My most prized possession.
“Charlie.” Arthur’s gaze is clouded, his cheeks red. I recognize the expression on his face.
“You enjoy it,” I say, not a question.
He exhales breathily, his hand slipping beneath his knee.
I move my fist firmly over his cock, trying to keep up the tempo that has his muscles clenching tight.
I ignore the bounce of my chest as I roll my hips, my absolute focus on Arthur and the way he’s swelling in my hand as the ivory strokes a place inside of him that’s new to the both of us.
“Charlie.” His tone this time is frantic, and he loses purchase on his knee, his entire body twisting before he erupts with a broken shout.
I have never seen anything more magnificent.
Never felt as if my being was truly inside another.
My own body throbs, desire heavy as Arthur unravels more beautifully than I’ve ever witnessed.
I pull the cock from his body, scrambling over him, taking his face in my hands, the mess between us spreading from his skin to my own.
“Art?” I ask when he doesn’t say a word.
He lets out a tiny laugh. And then another. My insides swell as his beaming grin finds me, his brown eyes so very bright.
“I quite think I like your new cock.” He laughs once more, a joyous sound. “Will you use it on me again?”
I kiss him. As hard as I dare. Arthur works to loosen the straps around my hips. He spins me the moment the cock drops to the bed, his dark gaze sending a delighted shiver down my spine.
“May I suck you, my love?”
I nod rapidly at the request, and Arthur scoots down my body.
I grab onto his hair as he settles between my legs, his mouth and tongue wet, the sensation divine as he drives me relentlessly toward orgasm.
It hits me like a cascade of sparks, warm and all-encompassing, my back arching up off the bed as I see my own version of a constellation.
Arthur keeps at it lazily until I give his hair a tug. The ivory cock rests beside us, Arthur’s head on my thigh now as we work to catch our breath. His fingers stroke over my hip, and I realize he’s tracing the indentation from the straps.
“It wasn’t uncomfortable,” I assure him.
“Even when you were moving?”
“Even then. It felt quite…heavy. In a good way. I liked it, Arthur. It felt as if it were mine.”
He kisses my thigh, turning his face up to look at me. “It is yours. It was remarkable.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. It took some adjusting, and I won’t lie and say there wasn’t a hint of pain. But it was entirely worth the end result. Not to mention the look on your face while you were inside of me.”
My cheeks heat as Arthur’s fingers trail over my stomach. The man himself lifts after a moment, crawling over my body to give me a slow kiss that steals my breath. His expression is one of mischief as he leans back, his thumb running over my bottom lip.
“Did you enjoy fucking your husband, Mr. Kane?”
My breath catches anew, and Arthur grins.
“Mm. Thought so.” He kisses me again. “Shall we clean up?”
With a nod, I let Arthur lead me from the bedchamber. We take care of our own cleanliness, as well as that of the fake cock, and then we head downstairs for a rather late breakfast.
Ella is the only one in the kitchen, preparing a dough for bread baking.
Arthur greets her warmly. “Morning, Ella. Don’t worry yourself over us. ”
She smiles bemusedly as Arthur heads for a small tray of tarts and biscuits nearby. He grabs it, as well as a jar of jam and a knife, before meeting me at the table.
We eat our breakfast as the house staff moves about, tending to their duties. A blush returns to my cheeks every time I look at Arthur and remember our morning together. His broad body at my disposal. The sound of his delight. My name rolling off his lips as he spilled onto his stomach.
He catches me watching him and sends me a wink.
We take a walk around the gardens late morning. The roses are no longer blooming, the last having wilted over a week ago. A scattering of petals lie below the sprawling bushes, the color that of dried blood. I press one with the toe of my boot.
Arthur seems to sense my indrawn mood, his voice softly questioning. “Charlie?”
“Is a rose without petals still a rose? Or is it only a bush?”
He hums, his hand clasped with my own. “It’s still a rose, surely. Otherwise we wouldn’t wait for it to bloom every summer.”
“And if it never blooms again?”
Gentle fingers lift my chin, Arthur’s eyes finding mine. “If it never blooms, does it not still have its thorns? Is it not still a rose at its roots? What is it that’s troubling you, Charlie dear?”
“I wish to cut my hair.”
Arthur draws in a quiet breath, his lips lifting into a smile. “Then come. I know a perfectly good pair of scissors.”
My heart paces rapidly as we return indoors.
Arthur goes to locate Bess as I take a seat upstairs in our chamber.
I roll the scissors over in my hand, the wig Arthur bought me a good month ago catching my eye.
It’s brown, like my own hair. A close match.
No one should be able to detect the difference should I need to wear it .
Arthur knocks once before entering, Bess right behind him. She gives me a warm smile as Arthur approaches the stool I’m sitting on, the mirror at my back.
“Are you ready?”
I blow out a soft breath before answering my husband. “I’ve been ready all my life.”
Arthur sits on the floor, his knees bent and his eyes on me, as Bess begins cutting my hair, having acquired the talent through a lifetime of cutting her brother’s.
I keep my gaze on Arthur as long strands of chestnut brown fall to the floor.
Bess takes her time, removing most of my hair before slowly shaping what’s left.
The absence of weight is…startling. I never realized quite how heavy a shroud of hair could be.
Bess’s hands run over my head a few times before she finally steps back. “All set, sir.”
“Bess,” I say quietly.
“Charlie.” The amendment is quick, Bess’s eyes wet with her smile.
I pull in a breath as Arthur stands, reaching for me. I accept his proffered palm, letting him guide me to my feet.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Stay here.”
I wait as Arthur walks to my wardrobe, pulling a light green waistcoat from inside, followed by a dapper wool coat with long tails.
He returns, the coat hanging off his arm as he buttons the waistcoat over my shirt, the bindings already in place underneath.
The coat goes on last, Arthur walking around behind me to slip it up my arms. There’s a smile on his face as he buttons the front, but his eyes look sad in a way I’ve rarely ever seen.
“Arthur?”
He shakes his head quickly, swallowing once. “It’s nothing, my love.”
“It is something,” I counter, my chest feeling tight. “Does it displease you seeing me so?”
“Charlie.”
His voice is soft, but I shake my own head.
“No, Arthur. Be honest with me. Always.”
He puffs out a breath, smoothing the fabric of my coat before his eyes meet mine, his hands settling on my shoulders.
“I am upset because you are breathtaking, and the world will never see it. They don’t understand it.
And I wish, more than anything, they could understand you, Charlie dear. I wish they could see what I see.”
“What do you see?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“I see the person I fell in love with looking more comfortable than ever before. I see him standing tall, his thorns ready for battle. I see my husband, the man I married, looking so handsome it hurts my chest. But, my love, it doesn’t matter what I see.
What’s important is how you feel. All I wish for is your happiness. I’m quite selfish that way.”
I let out a laugh, my eyes stinging.
Arthur’s hands slide up to my face. He cups me as if I’m precious to him. It’s easy to believe it’s true.
“Charlie, you will always be my heart, no matter how many times your name may change. No matter your body or age or the years we see pass. There is nothing in this universe that would stop me from loving you. Dare I say not even death.”
He leans close, lips pressing to my temple as my hands shake against his wrists.
“I didn’t fall in love with you for your petals, my dear heart. So let them fall. Summer is but a season, and I suspect it’s long since passed.”
My breath shudders as I look down at the floor between our feet. Strands of brown lay fallen, the last vestiges of the Charlotte I was scattered like dried flowers that never fit my vine. I press the toe of my boot against a curl, imagining it crumbling to dust.
When I bring my gaze upwards again, Arthur is watching me, waiting. Bess, I realize, has left the room, giving Arthur and me privacy I appreciate.
It’s not easy, turning toward the mirror.
It feels like an immeasurable trek. Miles and miles of distance crossed over landscape both harsh and foreign.
There’s fear that the end of the journey won’t be what I expect.
That, for all the ways I’ve come to be accepted in this home I never expected to have, I won’t be able to accept myself.
That I won’t see myself as I am. As who I’m supposed to be.
My gaze starts on the vanity. Mahogany wood, lovingly crafted and polished. A brush sits to the right. The scissors near it. In one drawer rests the ivory cock Arthur and I used just this morning.
How has it only been mere hours since then?
Further up is the frame of the mirror. My eyes stay there for a long moment, the vision of myself unfocused but waiting just up ahead. I close my eyes. Blackness. An inhale of breath. And finally, light once more.
There’s a profound beat that passes in which I don’t recognize myself.
A man stands before me, his short hair not quite reaching his ears.
His cheekbones are sharp, and his jaw soft.
But there’s steel in his gaze. A flattened chest. A slim figure covered impeccably in the height of men’s fashion.
A cravat expertly tied around his neck. A coat ending at his trousers, the tails of which nearly reach his boots.
It takes me a second to put a name to this man.
Charlie .
Arthur’s thumb wipes away the tear that rolls down my cheek. That one and the next. He stands behind me, my sword and my shield, every ounce a Kane, whether by blood or sheer determination.
Arthur presses a kiss to my wet cheek, his hands on my shoulders squeezing once. There’s a hitch in his voice he doesn’t try to disguise. “My husband. Look at you.”
I find Arthur’s hand, holding tight, seeing in the mirror two men who fell in love.
Love.
The most powerful weapon there is.
For no one, not even a god, can take it away.