Chapter 46 #2
With his thumb and forefinger, he bent her chin up to his mouth and kissed her thoroughly, right there on the dancefloor for all to see.
He spoke the words into her mouth: “I love you.”
Epilogue
“N,
Your story is one that no one else can tell.
Not the way that you do. You were born for this.
I can feel it in every word you pen. Something special is waiting for you.
They can try, but no one can take away what’s already meant for you.
Don’t forget that what you have is special. And it’s all yours. Take courage.
Yours,
V.”
“You should write your memoirs.”
He looked at her quizzically, as he untied her corset for bed. His long fingers were even more capable than any ladies’ maid as he loosened each ribboned cord with gentle pulls of his loving, dexterous fingers that made her impatient for him to touch her everywhere else.
“You could dictate them to me, and I could record them,” She elaborated on a loosed breath.
He moved the long column of her hair as he loosened the garment and it fell in a heap at her feet.
A chemise of fine linen and lace lay beneath.
He removed the straps to plant little beseeching kisses at her shoulders, arms, and back before letting the garment join its counterparts on the carpet.
Taking her hand, he helped her step out of the pile of formal dinner attire.
She stood before him in only her drawers.
He leaned against the bed of their honeymoon suite in an elegant ship ported in the south of France after several weeks in Paris.
Both hands grasped her by the hips as she stood between his thighs, resting her arms on his capable shoulders.
He shook his head, looking up at her familiar, lovely face and hazel eyes. “Who would read the musings of a recalcitrant rake, anyways?”
She rested her arms around his neck, one finger tracing the fine golden stubble of a few days’ growth of beard.
She hadn’t known that a couple days spent behind closed doors, with little sleep and his face could grow this accumulation of facial hair that made him more gilded by the hour.
She moved her hand back and forth, admiring how the stubble was smooth in one direction and scratchy the next.
She brought one of her breasts closer to his face, so that he could graze the soft skin with his swarthy face.
It sent quiet shouts of thrill through her as he closed his eyes at the contact, his breathing uneven and his throat bobbing.
Distractedly she answered him, “God, Fitz, scores of women. You have no idea.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said, distractedly, gifting her sensitive skin with small, attentive licks.
“I think you’re too hard on yourself. You may not have an easy time with the written word, but you’ve always had a sharp tongue.”
In an impressively fluid motion, he’d picked her up in his arms, and rotated her so that she lay on the bed, and he hovered over her braced on his impressive forearms.
“Shall I display my sharp tongue right now?”
He took one of her nipples into his mouth, planting lavish kisses and flicks that caused her to arch her back. One of her legs came around his hips and firm buttocks to pull him closer.
“Be serious, Fitz,” she said near his ear.
He looked up at her, a brow raised. He trailed a finger from the edge of her collarbone down her chest to her navel to squeeze her hip. She dug her fingers into his hair.
His jaw ticked as he spoke, “I’m afraid I’m much more of a realist than you are and have the advantage of experiencing the disappointment of everyone around me, including myself.”
She wrapped both legs firmly around him, draping an arm around his neck.
“But the difference is, in the past, you were alone. You aren’t anymore. I meant what I said, you dictate your stories to me, and I write them. I will only try to shape them if you ask for my help.”
His eyes narrowed on her; his head dipped close to her shoulder. “What about your own stories? What about…. Adelaide?” It was a serious conversation topic, but he gave his focus to the soft slope of her shoulder, leaving attentive kisses that felt more like bites.
“We agreed, I’ll write more stories. Adelaide and Lord Swindle aren’t finished yet. I’ll leave clues and then reveal my identity when the time is right. But your work wouldn’t stand in the way of that. When you’re ready to write, I will record whatever you wish. They’ll not just be your stories,
but they’ll be ours.”
“Ours. Now that I like the sound of,” he said.
His eyes were like blue flames just before he closed them, taking her mouth in his in a sweeping kiss that almost made her forget what they’d been talking about, almost made her lose the power of speech altogether.
He pulled away from the kiss abruptly to plant more kisses down the length of her body.
“I want you to have something to be proud of.”
Her voice was as soft as her fingers skimming his hair, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.
“Proud?” came a low rumble at the lowest border of her abdomen. Her stomach fluttered with expectancy, now knowing his aim, what he planned to do to her next.
“I feel this surge of pride when you look at me,” he kissed her inner thigh, “when you kiss me,” then the next, “when I introduce you as my wife.”
He gripped her hips as he brought her close to his lips.
“Oh, Fitz.”
“I don’t need other accomplishments.”
“You do have a great many of those I’m proud to be the recipient of.”
She felt him grin against the core of her even as his lips and tongue worked to unfasten her from her thoughts and bring her to release.
“I fear that you will, one day. You will grow envious and want accomplishments of your own to even the score.”
He rested his beautiful head on her thigh and paused to look up at her.
“I don’t know why you insist on talking right now, but is that how you think? I have the publishing house, which we agreed to share responsibility for. At some point, I’ll have to take up my seat in parliament. At any rate, I’m not keeping any score. I will always cheer for your success.”
She ruffled his hair that had grown long enough to curl past his nape without his valet to trim it for him.
He returned to her core and drew little stars and entire galaxies inside of her with his mouth.
He must have done, for she saw them behind her eyelids.
She felt them climbing up her body, carrying her outside of it, as her breathing hitched and her muscles tightened around his loving invasion.
As she rode the hectic release that skittered through her, he seated himself at her entrance.
“Come closer,” she said as she clutched him nearer with her thighs, notching him inside as he ground out her name like a plea. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips, as he buried himself to the hilt.
He leaned behind him to hold up his discarded cravat with a raised brow.
Noelle, sweaty, red-cheeked, still holding him inside her, nodded exuberantly. She extended her wrists.
“My turn this time.”