Epilogue
EPILOGUE
A soft moan came from the elaborate four-poster canopied bed in the center of the grand bedchamber. Moments later, it was followed by a low, masculine growl and the gentle, fluttering giggle of a female. There was a faint rustle and the air was permeated with an aura that would make even the most experienced courtesan blush.
“Your Grace…” Phoebe sighed softly, her hips raising to meet the languid stroke of Charles’ rather deft fingers along her wet center. Her fingers dug reflexively into the bunched muscles of his shoulders. “That feels so… good…”
It had been a week since her abduction at the hands of Lord Scumthorpe, as she preferred to refer to the man, and despite the mourning period, she and Charles were perfectly happy to ensconce themselves in Wentworth Park. Once in a while, Minerva or Daphne would send word over to promenade with them, but more often than not, Phoebe would kindly decline them, until Charles decided to simply hold a family dinner at their residence to fulfill the sisters’ need to see each other.
“I should…really…start to get ready… now… ” The words were expressed rather breathlessly, the last being dragged out into a moan.
Truly, she and her husband had become insatiable for each other ever since they managed to break down the final wall that stood between them. Now, not even clothes were spared as they reveled in each other’s presence.
She squirmed a little, only to hear Charles’ low chuckle reverberate from his chest to her lower abdomen as he pressed kisses down her body. Despite her earlier protestations, her thighs spread wide open, accommodating him as he slid his body down along hers.
A delighted gasp tore from her lips at the first rasp of his tongue along her aching core. She soon learned that it was not just her husband’s hands that were particularly skilled—his tongue was, too. Wickedly so.
And he did so enjoy tormenting her most deliciously, as if he took great pleasure in pushing her to greater, toe-curling heights each and every time.
Her hands speared into his hair as he lavished kisses upon her slick flesh, devouring her as if he was a man starved and she was the banquet spread before him.
“Oh, Charles… oh my god… ” she gasped, feeling his finger enter her. The combination of his tongue, lips, and teeth moving in concert with his hands soon had her moaning and writhing beneath him.
She caught the flash of his wicked, wicked smile as he rose up from between her legs. “I think you are right,” he laughed hoarsely. “We really should be preparing for your family’s arrival now.”
Her eyes fluttered open in disbelief.
Is he jesting? Phoebe thought in alarm. He cannot just do that to me and leave me roiling in arousal like that! It is much too cruel!
She reached out and pulled him back to her and deftly maneuvered him so that he was flat on his back and she was straddling him. There was a look of surprise on his face, and then, pure, undiluted desire.
It stopped her breath short—until she recalled what he had just done to her.
Two can play that game , she thought to herself with a mischievous smile. She moved along his body, dragging her wet core along the length of his manhood before she poised her entrance over the blunt head of his hardness.
“That was very cruel of you, my love,” she murmured.
His hoarse laughter was cut short when she slowly slid him into her, effectively sheathing him and capturing all his words into a single, pleasured male groan, the sound so thoroughly masculine and Charles that it sent frissons of desire straight into her already aching core.
She ground against him, slipping him in and out of her until both their moans mingled heavily in the morning air. When his hand encompassed a heaving breast, she tossed her head back and hissed through her teeth, reveling in the absolute joy of their union.
She rode him wildly, with fierce abandon, exulting in the pleasure she was giving him and taking for herself. When she gasped, he took the opportunity to flip her over until she was the only one lying on the bed again.
But Phoebe did not care—all that mattered to him was this complete and utter melding of their souls, so much so that she did not know where she ended and where he began.
Charles snapped his hips into hers several more times, until they both finally came apart—her with a great, keening cry, and him, a roar of triumphant release. Warmth spread into her lower belly as he leaned his forehead against her own sweat-lined brow, laughing hoarsely as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
“You have bewitched me long enough, my beautiful wife,” he told her. “I am afraid that we truly should be heading off to bathe now.”
Phoebe looked at him and pouted coquettishly. “But what if I want to just stay here?”
His eyes darkened and she felt him hardening again inside her.
“Then, I am afraid that we will have to apologize to your family for being such awful hosts,” he said simply. “After all, your every wish is my desire.”
Phoebe let out a giggle as he dove into her, assaulting her with kisses. Her arms came around him once more.
It was a long, long time before they ever made it to the bath.
The End?