Epilogue #2
“That dress is too nice to ruin, love,” I murmur against her shoulder, kissing a line along her collarbone.
“Then don’t ruin it,” she murmurs back, squirming against me, her thigh pressing against me, feeling how hard I am.
“Take it off, sweetheart.” I brush her hair back from her other shoulder, kiss that, too. “Please.”
“But the reservation.” She wraps her arms around my neck. “I know how much you wanted to celebrate, and you’ve worked so hard, and I’m so pr—”
“This is how I want to celebrate.” I tilt her face to mine, gaze down at her. “Just the two of us.” I stroke her jaw gently. “Remember when you won that trophy last year, what you said to me?”
She suppresses a laugh, rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t bring that up. So embarrassing.”
“I didn’t think it was embarrassing.” My voice is low and warm. “I loved it. Say it.”
“I’m not saying it.” She shakes her head. “I had far too much champagne that time.”
And because she’s just as proud and stubborn as the day I saw her, I say it for her.
“Nothing in this world feels as good as being with you.”
She shudders and tries to pull away, cheeks flushed a deep pink. “I did not say that.”
“Desdemona.” I catch her hand, kiss her knuckles, gaze at her from beneath lowered eyelids. “Take off your dress.”
She doesn’t melt into obedience: she huffs and tosses her hair and rolls her eyes.
And then she takes off her dress.
Turns out I’m not that tired after all—but then, I’m never too tired to fall into bed with Desdemona.
Since I made her take off the dress, which counts as a victory for me, she has to counterattack by pushing me back onto the bed.
I drag her down with me, squeezing her hips, her ass.
I pluck her bra off one-handed, smirking, and she rolls her eyes once more.
She pulls impatiently at the buttons of my shirt, and ends up giving up with my shirt pushed halfway down my arms, rubbing herself impatiently against me.
I laugh and flip us around because I like her on her back, pinned and defiant.
I like seeing her hair spread like spilt sunlight on the deep blue blanket, and I like it when her back arches off the bed and when her thighs shake just as she’s about to come on my tongue.
And since making her come counts as another victory for me, somehow, she has to get back on top, balancing herself with one hand on the wooden headboard, riding my cock with her head thrown back and sweat rolling like tiny crystal pearls down her neck, between her breasts.
When my breath grows hitched and rasping and I start breathing her name like a prayer, she gazes down at me with hooded eyes, and she smiles ever so slightly, that same triumphant smile as when she popped that ridiculous confetti cannon.
So I have no choice but to surge up, catching her off-guard, and put her on her back once more, and drive myself into her hard, with my hands pinning her hips down so she can’t squirm, can’t escape.
And since Desdemona, deep down, enjoys my victories as much as her own, she fists her hands into the blanket, and cries of pleasure come singing out of her throat, and her back arches off the bed, a mathematically perfect arch.
She comes just before I do, and our orgasms, this time, are neither loss nor victory, but a white flag waving, a total surrender.
Take me for your captive, you terrible, gorgeous woman, my body says to hers, even as she claws me as close to her as she can, even as she moans my name in my ear, and spasms uncontrollably around me, squeezing every drop I have to give her.
Afterwards, we lie naked in bed with the bottle of champagne.
It’s been three years since I smoked my last cigarette, but champagne and Desdemona lying on my chest with her pretty tits glistening with sweat, sparkly silver confetti stuck to her hips and ass and shoulders like a mermaid’s scales, is one hell of a consolation prize.
Outside, night has fallen, but you can still hear birdsong, which feels a little fucking magical, and since there are no clouds in the sky, you can see tiny pinpricks of stars.
“We’ve definitely missed our reservation,” Desdemona says, following my gaze out to the dark sky.
“Guess we’re gonna have to wait another three hundred years, then.”
She laughs. “I’m never planning a surprise for you ever again.”
“Why?” I push her hair behind her ear, admiring the way it catches and drags on her sweaty cheek. “I thought it went exceptionally well.”
“I wanted you to know how proud I am of what you’ve achieved,” she says with a sigh. “You didn’t get any of the things you wanted to celebrate finishing.”
“No, love.” I wrap her into my arms and roll her gently underneath me, scattering more confetti—something tells me we’ll be picking bits of it out of our hair and clothes for weeks to come.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I gaze down at her.
The uneven flush in her cheeks, the sparkle of amusement and joy in her brown eyes.
“I got everything I ever wanted. Trust me.”
She laughs again, but her flush is deepening. “Sleep deprivation is making you so sentimental.”
“Sentiments are making me sentimental.” I kiss her cheeks softly, tenderly, as if my kisses could ever be enough to spill even one drop of the love that’s overflowing in my chest. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I murmur, kissing her forehead, then her lips. “For a perfect night.”
Her eyes grow soft, and she catches her breath, and opens her mouth—
Her phone starts ringing. We both glance up at the bedside table, where it’s propped on top of a pile of books. She frowns, grabs it, glances at the screen, and groans.
“Oh no,” she says. “It’s William.” She drops her head. “What now!” She looks back up, expression suddenly clearing. “I’m not picking up.”
I smile. “No?”
She nods, mutes her phone, and tosses it aside.
“Whatever mess they’ve gotten themselves in, they can deal with it.
” Rearing up, she straddles my waist. She’s still sweaty, still a little wet, confetti sticking to her inner thighs, her shoulders.
A gorgeous fucking mess. My lazy cock, oblivious to how tired and satisfied I’m supposed to be, stirs.
Desdemona smirks. “We’re not quite done celebrating yet, are we? ”
I swallow hard, looking up at her, her messy hair, the tiny pink kiss mark I accidentally left on her neck, her stiffening nipples. My voice comes out gravelly. “Nowhere near done.”
Just as I reach up to kiss her, I’m interrupted by a second ringtone.
My phone, this time.
We freeze, stare at each other. With a hiss of exertion, I reach down to grab my trousers off the floor to pluck my phone out of the pocket. I glance at the screen and drop back with a sigh.
“Austen.”
“Absolutely not.”
She takes my phone out of my hand, mutes it, and tosses it back to the floor on top of my trousers.
I raise an eyebrow. “They might be in trouble.”
“Almost definitely,” she says. “If the situation is dire, they can always call Uncle Luca.” She smirks, shrugs. “Or just go to hell.”
“Same difference, really.” I pull her down to me. “What’s that you were saying, anyway? Something about celebrating?”
Her eyes darken ever so slightly. She bites into her bottom lip. “Yes. I was trying to show you how…” She rolls her hips against my belly, smearing wet heat over my tensed muscles. “Proud I am of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Ahh—yes.” I wrap my fingers around her waist, guiding her down, guiding her where I need her, right now, again. “Astrophysics is not easy, you know.”
She shakes her head. Long strands of her hair slide down her shoulder, sway back and forth, hiding and revealing her nipples in turn. “You’ve worked so, so hard.”
“Yeah.” I can barely speak now, my fingers dug hard into her skin, my cock straining, every muscle tensed as I wait for her to guide me inside her, to take me in deep. “Y—yeah, ahh, love. Please…”
She smirks down at me, and I can tell that this counts as another victory, and—ah, what the hell. Why should she not win? She suits victory so well. And besides…
Does it matter if she wins when all her victories feel like mine?