Chapter 26 Shimmer
Shimmer
The lamp on my bedside table throws a warm glow across the room, making the wallpaper look softer, the corners less sharp.
I stand by the bed, my hands won’t stop trembling as I smooth them over my skirt, trying to quiet the storm inside me.
Marcel stands just inside the door, his eyes flicking between the lamp, the rug, and me.
We don’t speak. We just watch each other, the air heavy. When he finally crosses the room, his movements are slow. He reaches me like a man walking toward something fragile, something sacred.
“Clara.” My name cracks in his throat. “I know you’re not staying.
I know in a couple of days you’re leaving, walking into a life where you’ll take another man’s name.
If this night is the only one we’ll ever have…
” His breath hitches, the words are tearing free.
“I want everything you’re willing to give me.
I don’t care about the ache I’ll feel when you’re gone.
I just want to be close to you. Make you mine for just one night. ”
The room tilts around me, my heart pounding in my throat. I can’t hold the truth inside any longer. “I want that too,” I whisper, and the words feel like both confession and surrender.
I sit on the bed, remove my shoes. I meet his gaze and begin to pull the pins from my hair, placing each one on the nightstand. He reaches, stopping my hand. His fingers find the final pin and my hair falls. He smiles as runs his hands through my hair.
“Lie down, Firefly.”
I feel like a thousand live embers as I sink onto the mattress. He takes his boots off and joins me, pulling me against his chest. I hear his heartbeat and feel his chest lower as he exhales.
“Is this okay?”
I nod against him, his fingers lacing through my hair, his lips drop to my forehead. I tip my head up to meet his eyes. His simple smile gives me courage.
“I’m nervous.”
His thumb sweeps across my cheek. “No need to be nervous. When two people love each other, they figure things out.”
I grin, my eyes watching my fingers toying at the buttons of his shirt before they meet his again. “Make me yours, Marcel.”
That sweet, crooked smile spreads on his lips before he kisses me. I gather all of my courage and my hand moves to his cock. He sucks in a breath as I form my hand around his length through the fabric of his pants. His hips rock into my touch and I feel like I’ll never be the same.
“I want your dress gone, Clara. I need to see you.”
I nod and roll to my back as he sits on his heels at the end of the bed. A single hand runs from my ankle, up my dress to the top of my thigh, leaving a wake of fire on my skin. His eyes stay on me, dark and hungry.
I sit up, pulling at the sleeves of my dress until my arms are free and it drops to my waist. Lowering to the mattress again, he carefully tugs the fabric down my legs, leaving me in my stockings and bits of silk.
His eyes grow wide as his hands explore my skin. Each touch leaving me more breathless than the last. When he begins to reach for my garter, he pauses, his hands hovering. “Firefly,” he whispers, his voice trembling, “I don’t know how any of this works.”
His eyes roam over me—drinking in the shimmer of silk, the delicate lace clinging to flushed skin, the curve of stockings held in place by slender garters. There’s awe in his gaze, as though he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to touch.
I reach for his hand, guiding his fingers to the clasp at my thigh.
His breath stumbles against my neck as I help him ease it free.
A shy smile curves his lips as he moves to the next.
This time, his fingers find the release on their own.
One by one, each clasp undone, he rolls the stockings down my legs with aching care.
His palms glide along my bare skin, from ankle to thigh, a slow worship in the movement.
When he looks at me again, his eyes are soft and hazy.
“This is like unwrapping the most beautiful gift a man has ever been given,” he breathes, the words almost lost against the quiet between us.
I feel heat rise under my skin, from the weight of his reverence. He leans over me, bracing himself on one arm, the other tracing small circles along my hip. Then he stills, his forehead resting against mine.
“I need three things from you, Clara,” he whispers, the rough edge of his voice catching on my name.
“First, tell me to stop if I get too rough. Second, tell me what feels good—I need your words. Third…” His thumb brushes against the band of my ring.
“Take that goddamn ring off. Tonight, you’re mine, not his. ”
My breath catches, the room expanding around me. My hand rises slowly, trembling, and I slide the ring from my finger. It lands on the bedside table with a quiet click. When I look back at him, his eyes are focused solely on me, his lips parted as though he can’t quite believe this is real.
“Marcel,” I whisper, my voice shaking but sure, “I’m yours.”
The lamplight flickers once, catching on the bare curve of his shoulder as Marcel stands and strips his shirt off.
He folds it carefully and sets it on the chair in the corner, as though he’s afraid of breaking the moment with carelessness.
My breath stumbles when he pushes his pants down.
He stands before me, flushed, hard, and trembling in a way that makes him seem both powerful and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
I’ve never seen a man undressed. My cheeks burn, but I can’t look away. His body is all lean muscles and sun-browned skin, carved by work, not vanity. I realize I’m staring and force myself to whisper, “Have you…done this before?”
His eyes flick to mine, then down. His head shakes quickly, the red rising higher in his cheeks. “No.”
His features soften, and he kneels on the bed.
His rough hands cup my cheeks, thumbs brushing away the nervous tears I didn’t realize had gathered in my eyes.
His hair falls loose over his forehead, his chest rising in sharp, uneven breaths, his gaze locked on mine like I’m both a miracle and temptation.
When he lowers his body over mine, the mattress dips and I feel his weight, the heat of him surrounding me, pressing me into the bed in a way that feels both protective and consuming.
My pulse pounds, racing into every limb.
Then he shifts—just slightly—and I feel him against me.
Hard. Heavy. Perfectly placed at the center of my body.
The shock of it steals my breath. I’ve imagined it all, but never like this—never with the bone-deep reality of him trembling as much as I am, his hips pausing as though he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. His forehead rests against mine, his lips parting, and I realize he’s holding back for me, waiting for me to give permission.
My thighs fall open, instinctive, my body begging for him to be closer before my voice can catch up. His cock nudges against me, a teasing slide that sends sparks rippling low in my belly.
“Clara,” he whispers, and the sound of my name—wrecked, pleading—only makes me want more. “I want to make you feel so good.”
I lift my hips the smallest fraction, an answer without words. The weight of him presses harder against me, and the air rushes from my lungs. He feels impossibly big, impossibly right, and every part of me aches with the need to take him in.
I cling to him, to the tremor in his arms as he braces above me, to the desperate reverence burning in his eyes. His lips crash back to mine as he begins to push inside, slow and cautious. Pain sparks sharp and unfamiliar, tearing a gasp from my throat. He freezes, his face twisted in panic.
“Clara—you’re bleeding. I’m hurting you.”
I cup his face, holding him steady, forcing him to see me. “It’s alright. Don’t stop, please, Marcel, don’t stop.”
His mouth falls to my neck, murmuring apologies against my skin as he eases forward again, inch by inch, careful as if I might break. The sting fades, swallowed by something deeper, a fire beneath my skin. I shift beneath him, opening, welcoming him, as he finally begins to move.
The slow thrust of his hips sends a shock of pleasure through me, and I can’t hold back the plea. “Deeper, Marcel. Please.”
He grips my thigh and lifts it, driving deeper, and my cry fills the space between us. His head drops to my shoulder, his breath ragged. “Christ, you’re perfect. So tight, so warm—I swear, Clara, I could die right here inside you and call it heaven.”
The rhythm builds, awkward and unsteady at first, then hungry, both of us learning each other in gasps and trembling touches.
My nails dig into his back, urging him closer, faster, needing more of him.
Every thrust drags me higher, until the world itself narrows to nothing but the feel of him moving inside me, the sound of his voice—half curse, half worship—telling me I was made for him.
The rhythm steadies, his body heavy and trembling against mine, dragging heat through me until my chest rises with sharp, shallow breaths. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes open, watching me as though he’s memorizing every touch, every gasp.
“Tell me,” he rasps, his voice splintering. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Full,” I whisper, tears pricking hot in my eyes. “Like you’re everywhere inside me. Like you’re claiming parts of me I didn’t know belonged to you.”
His moans fill the room, while his face rests against my cheek. His hips drive deeper, and my nails claw down his back. The ache shifts into a pulse of pleasure that builds and builds until I can’t keep still beneath him. My body tightens, trembling against his as a whimper falls from my lips.
“Don’t hold it back,” he gasps, his hand finding mine, lacing our fingers together tight. “I want all of it. I want to watch you come undone because of me. I want to know what you sound like when you come.”
The words tip me over. The rush hits fast, wild, rolling through me like fire and flood all at once.
My thighs clamp around his hips as my body clenches around him, and I cry out, helpless, wrecked.
The sight of it shatters his restraint—his thrusts grow harder, rougher, his breath torn into ragged sounds against my throat.
“God, Clara—” His voice breaks, raw and desperate. “You’re so tight, I can’t—” He chokes off, driving deep, as if to fuse us together.
“Mark me, Marcel,” I whisper fiercely, my lips at his ear. “Come so deep inside me that no one will ever replace you.”
He spills inside me with a guttural cry of my name, his whole body trembling as he empties himself, thrust after thrust until there’s nothing left but his weight collapsing against me.
He struggles for every breath as he wraps himself around me, “I’m yours. I’ll never belong to anyone but you.”
We cling together in the aftershocks, our tears mingling where our cheeks press, our chests rising in jagged unison. His lips brush the crown of my head as he whispers, “I love you, Firefly.”
“I’ll love you forever, Cowboy.”
And I know, as I hold him tighter, our souls will be tied forever.