Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
EARL
T he moment Raven storms out of the ballroom, hurt and anger etched into every inch of her expression, a ripple of satisfaction courses through me. Watching her simmer, watching her stew in frustration—it's a petty kind of victory, but a victory nonetheless. My gaze lingers on the door she disappeared through, but I force myself to stay rooted in place. Let her cool off. Or burn.
Either option suits me fine.
Annabelle is still beside me, laughing lightly at something one of the guests has said, but I barely hear her. Her presence, once mildly entertaining, has soured now that Raven is no longer watching. Even her laugh now grates on my nerves, each note a reminder that she doesn’t belong next to me or with me.
“Earl,” she says, her tone soft as she leans in closer. Her perfume is heady and floral, a stark contrast to the gentle of Raven’s scent. “You’ve barely been paying attention to me all night.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” My response is measured and polite, but there’s an edge to it that I don’t bother to conceal anymore.
Her brows knit for the briefest moment, and then she smiles—forced, brittle.
The clock ticks closer to midnight, and the countdown looms like an inevitable reckoning. I check my watch again, not bothering to hide my impatience. Annabelle notices, of course. She always does.
“You’re waiting for her, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice tinged with something akin to resignation. “You always only had eyes for her. Even when it wasn’t the same for her.”
I glance at her then, finally giving her my full attention. There’s a peculiar sadness in her expression, one that doesn’t quite match the venom of her words.
“You know she’s only using you, right?” Annabelle presses, her smile twisting into something cruel. “She’s always been like this—chasing money, chasing status. That’s all she’s ever cared about. She’d marry anyone who could give her that.”
Her words land like darts, sharp but ineffective. They don’t pierce. How can they when I already know all about my darling wife and her love for the good life? I smile coolly at Annabelle.
“Nice to see you, Annabelle,” I say, pressing a light kiss to her cheek before stepping away. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
The ballroom is alive with the buzz of anticipation as the final seconds before the great bell is run to signify the beginning of the dance. A roar of excitement fills the air, voices joining together. Outside fireworks light the sky. Inside it’s a scene of joy and unity, but my focus has shifted entirely. Raven isn’t here, and my chest feels empty.
I make my way down the stairs toward the garden. The chilly air bites at my skin as I step outside, the noise of the party muffled but still audible. It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s seated on a stone bench, her silhouette framed by the glow of fireworks exploding across the sky.
She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s staring at the bursts of color above, her face caught between awe and melancholy. It’s beautiful, really, the way the light dances across her features. I move closer, my footsteps silent against the stone path.
When she finally senses my presence, her head snaps toward me.
She stands abruptly, taking a step back. Her heel catches on the uneven cobblestones, and for a heart-stopping second, she teeters dangerously.
I’m there before she can hit the ground, my arm circling her waist as she falls forward. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her breath hitching as she steadies herself against me.
“Careful,” I murmur, my voice low.
Her cheeks flush, but she says nothing. The space between us feels impossibly charged, her body cold against mine. I should let go, step back, and put some distance between us. But I don’t. Not yet. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her chest rising and falling quickly, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s the cold or the tension that has her trembling.
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
Her head tilts up, those wide eyes locking with mine. She doesn’t answer, and instead, the flush in her cheeks deepens, whether from the chill or her temper, I can’t tell. But I can feel it—anger radiating off her in waves. It makes me smile.
“It’s freezing out here,” I continue, taking my jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s a bit foolish to be sitting in the cold? You’ll catch your death.”
Her eyes narrow, and this time, she doesn’t hold back. “Don’t you think it’s foolish,” she shoots back, her words clipped and biting, “to so openly flirt with another woman in front of your wife?”
I freeze. Wife. The word slips from her lips like an accusation, but it lodges itself somewhere deeper inside me. It’s the first time she’s called herself that, and damn it, I like the sound of it more than I should. I like the way it anchors her to me, a declaration, even in anger. My lips twitch upward despite myself.
I study her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly parted as though she’s waiting for me to strike back. And I realize, with a pang just how much I’ve missed this fire in her. Annabelle’s easy laughter, her finishing school charm—none of it holds a candle to Raven’s furious, messy, maddening presence. This, right here, is what I crave. What I’ve always craved.
“It’s the day of the great dance,” I murmur, my tone softer now, the weight of the night pressing against me. “Shouldn’t we dance instead of arguing?”
Before she can retort, I move closer, lowering my head until our faces are inches apart. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You were flirting with that bitch. How could—” she starts shakily.
But I don’t let her finish. I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers. It’s heat and desperation, a collision of all the things we haven’t said, and won’t admit. Her hands come up instinctively, palms pushing at my chest, but the effort is puny and lacking conviction. She doesn’t really want me to stop. I can feel it in the way her body yields to mine, and in the way her lips part beneath the pressure of my own.
Suddenly, her resistance falters entirely, and I feel her drowning in the kiss, the same way I do. My hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, warming her in the freezing air. Fireworks explode above us, the brilliant colors lighting up the sky.
Then the world falls away.
And it’s just us. No Annabelle. No party. Nothing. Just the unrelenting pull between us that neither of us can escape.
Her breath mingles with mine as her body trembles against me. Her hands, which moments ago were weakly pushing me away, now grip the fabric of my shirt as though she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Her resolve crumbles like sand under the tide as she melts into me.
My hand trails down her back, feeling the soft curves that I know as well as my own heartbeat. I shouldn’t. God knows I shouldn’t. But every rational thought evaporates as she presses closer, her lips moving with a fervor that drives me wild. The cold air bites at our skin, but it only fuels the fire between us.
My lips travel down the curve of her jaw, finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear that makes her gasp. Her head tilts back, exposing her throat to me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can’t help the low growl that escapes my throat. She shudders.
“I hate you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with longing.
“Shh,” I murmur, my lips grazing hers again.
I guide her toward a gazebo tucked into the shadows, away from prying eyes. She hesitates for a moment, glancing toward the distant lights of the ballroom.
“No,” she breathes, her voice barely audible. “We can’t … not here …”
But when I sit and pull her onto my lap, her protests dissolve into a sigh. She’s straddling me now, her dress riding up to expose the delicate lace of her stockings. My hands find her thighs, sliding up to her hips. I grip them firmly and pull her tight against me.
My hands slide beneath her skirt, finding the thin strip of fabric that separates me from her. I hook my fingers around it and pull it to one side.
“Someone will come. We shouldn’t,” she mutters frenziedly.
“Then stop me,” I whisper and slip a finger inside her tight wet pussy. Her response is a soft whimper and total surrender as she arches helplessly against me. With her head thrown back her hands clutch at my shoulders. I lean in, my lips brushing against the exposed curve of her throat as I suck the soft skin.
She moans and moves restlessly against me, chasing the sensation with an urgency that matches my own. My fingers thrust in and out of her drawing soft cries. She bites her lip to stop herself from crying out.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I murmur, my voice thick with adoration. “Completely mine. Don’t you dare forget it.”
Her eyes snap open at my words, her gaze locking with mine. There’s a fire there, a challenge that only fuels my desire. “In that case fucking act like it,” she snarls.
I don’t hesitate. My movements become brutal, almost primal.
Raven falls apart on top of me, trembling and unable to stop her cries. I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing every desperate, muffled sound. Her surrender is intoxicating, but it only feeds the fire raging inside me.
When she finally stills and becomes limp, her breath comes in shallow gasps against my lips. Gently, I lower her onto the bench, the rough wood a stark contrast to the softness of her skin. The faint light from one of the lantern-style lamps nearby spills out into the garden, casting her in a glow that makes her look almost otherworldly.
She has tempted me again, and I don’t resist. My hands move slowly, reverently, as I slide the fabric even higher, exposing the smooth curve of her thighs. I pause, letting the anticipation hang heavy between us. Her chest rises and falls, her lips part as if she can’t believe what we’re doing. She watches me, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown with desire.
“Earl … we’re behaving like animals,” she whispers hoarsely.
“I know,” I agree, and lower my head, my lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, the delicate curve of her shoulder. I need to taste every inch of her.
“Someone will come,” she warns nervously, as her fingers clutch together the edges of my jacket.
“It’s freezing out here. No one will come.”
She moans softly but doesn’t stop me when my hands travel lower. I push her dress all the way up so her stomach and hips and pussy are all exposed to me. Her legs part instinctively, and I take a moment to admire her, the way she looks at me with a mixture of vulnerability and trust. Her body is completely at my mercy, and the realization sends a rush of possessive pride through me.
Slowly, I slide my finger beneath the thin fabric of her thong. It’s completely soaked. She shivers, her desire tangible, and glances up to meet my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I tell her, my voice low and raw. I try to hold back, but the words just tumble out. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She looks at me hungrily, as though she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets me out of her sight. I lower my head, trailing kisses down her chest, stomach, her hips until my lips reach her fragrant pussy.
I don’t rush. I savor every second, every sensation, as I lower my head and taste her. The taste of her is intoxicating and impossibly addictive. My tongue finds every sensitive spot that makes her writhe beneath me. She cries out, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. Her thighs tremble violently, the soft quiver turning into an uncontrollable shake as her fingers dig into the rough edges of the bench.
She’s fighting to hold on, to maintain some shred of control, but it’s slipping through her grasp like sand. She can’t stop her body from responding to me in a way that’s primal, unguarded, and breathtakingly honest. Every stroke of my tongue draws a desperate, broken gasp from her lips, the sound echoing in the cool night air.
I press deeper, my tongue tracing every sensitive curve, savoring the way she arches into me, unable to stay still. Her hands bury themselves in my hair, tugging hard enough to make my scalp sting, but it only spurs me on. Her soft moans escalate into cries, raw and unrestrained, and I have to grip her hips firmly to stop her from writhing away. She’s utterly undone, her body is already spiraling into ecstasy.
“Earl … oh, dear God …” she gasps, her voice cracking as her nails rake across my scalp. The desperation in her tone, the way she clutches me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded—it drives me to the edge of my own restraint. She tastes incredible, sweet and heady, and I can’t get enough. I devour her like a man starved, each sound she makes fueling the hunger clawing at my chest.
Her back arches, her thighs squeezing my shoulders as she struggles against the overwhelming pleasure.
“Please … I can’t—” she chokes out, but her body tells a different story, moving against me with a frantic urgency. Until I feel the exact moment she falls apart completely. Her cry pierces the night as her body trembles violently, wave after wave of release crashing over her.
I lap at her sweet juices until she’s utterly spent and her hands fall limply at her sides. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, my lips lingering there, and when I look up, the sight of her completely unraveled is enough to steal what’s left of my composure.
I rise and pull her into my arms. Her body is warm, soft, and completely pliant against mine. The taste of her still lingering on my lips, is too much to resist.
“We can’t stay here,” I mutter, my voice thick with desire. “But I’m not done with you. Not even close.”
She looks at me then, her eyes glassy but resolute. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling but certain. “Okay.”
I help her straighten her dress and guide her back toward the ballroom, keeping to the shadows to avoid the curious eyes of the guests, but Annabelle must have been waiting for us because she calls out my name.
I turn around and she waves and starts walking towards us. Next to me, Raven stiffens.