CHAPTER 55
HELENA
◆
My husband locked the bedroom door.
I raised one eyebrow.
Gabriel froze with his hand on the key.
Then he unlocked it, opened it two inches, and placed the key on the table.
“Habit,” he said.
“Honest answer.”
“Do you want it closed?”
I crossed the room and pushed the door until only a narrow line of garden light remained.
“I want privacy,” I said. “Not a cage.”
His eyes darkened. “Understood.”
Music and laughter drifted faintly from outside. The bedroom smelled of flowers, sea air, and the champagne Sofia had sent up with a note threatening to publish our vows if we returned to the party too soon.
I removed the red flower from my hair.
Gabriel watched every pin come loose.
“You have been staring at me for hours,” I said.
“Insufficient.”
“You married me. You can stare tomorrow.”
“I married you so tomorrow would be included.”
The line should have been too much.
It was exactly enough.
I turned my back to him. “Unfasten me.”
His fingers found the silk-covered buttons along my spine. He opened them one at a time, slower than necessary, his knuckles brushing my skin.
The dress loosened.
His mouth touched the back of my neck.
A shiver moved through me.
“Wife,” he whispered.
The word held no surname.
No ownership.
Only astonishment.
I let the dress fall.
Beneath it I wore ivory lace, the silver key chain, and the rings we had exchanged in front of everyone we loved.
Gabriel turned me toward him.
His gaze traveled over my body with the same fierce attention he had once reserved for threats. This time nothing in it tried to remove me from danger.
It simply wanted me.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“Continue.”
His mouth curved.
He kissed me slowly, then deeper when I pulled him closer. I opened his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. The healed scar beneath his ribs caught the warm light.
I traced it.
“Still yours,” he said.
“Your scar?”
“My body. My life. The ridiculous monitor. All currently offered.”
“The monitor belongs to the state.”
“Cruel woman.”
“Husband.”
The word changed him.
He lifted me, carried me the short distance to the bed, and laid me down on top of the ivory coverlet. His mouth followed the line of the silver chain between my breasts.
He kissed the blank key.
Then he kissed lower.
I opened beneath him, breath catching as his tongue found me through the lace. He removed the underwear with hands that shook once, not from uncertainty, but from wanting too much.
“Gabriel.”
He looked up.
“My wife,” he said again.
Then his mouth returned to me.
Pleasure came in slow waves. He knew my body now, but he did not treat knowledge like a routine.
His tongue changed with every sound I made. His hands held my thighs without pinning them.
I reached for his hair and moved against his mouth.
He made a rough sound of approval.
The first climax tightened through me gently, then broke hard enough to pull his name from my throat.
He kissed the inside of my thigh while I recovered.
“Insufficient,” he murmured.
“Arrogant.”
“Married.”
He stood to remove the rest of his clothes.
The monitor flashed green at his ankle.
I laughed.
“Do not mock a convicted man on his wedding night.”
“It is in the vows. Fine print.”
He came over me, weight on his forearms, body warm and solid between my legs. His erection pressed against me.
I wrapped one leg around his hip.
“Inside me,” I said.
He entered slowly.
The stretch drew a sigh from both of us. He stopped when he was deep, forehead against mine.
“Helena.”
“I’m here.”
The answer mattered.
He began to move.
No hurry. No crisis waiting beyond the door.
Each thrust was deep and deliberate, his mouth close enough to catch every breath. I ran my hands over his back and felt the strength he no longer needed to perform.
“Harder,” I whispered.
He gave me harder.
The bed shifted beneath us. Pleasure climbed again, sharpened by the look in his eyes and the ring on his hand beside my head.
“You chose me,” he said.
“I did.”
“Again.”
I tightened around him. “I choose you.”
His control broke.
He drove deeper, one hand sliding beneath my hip to lift me into the angle that made the room blur. I came with my nails in his shoulders and his name against his mouth.
He followed, body shuddering over mine.
For a long time, he remained there, careful not to crush me, our breathing slowly returning to the same rhythm.
Outside, the band began another song.
“We missed cake,” I said.
“There is cake downstairs.”
“Sofia will eat the burnt sugar flowers.”
“I will defend them.”
“No violence at our wedding.”
“Then negotiation.”
He rolled to his side and drew me against him.
The bedroom door remained open two inches. Garden light made a thin gold line across the floor.
I rested my hand over his heart.
“Husband,” I said.
He smiled into my hair.
“Again.”
“No.”
“Cruel wife.”
“Hopeless husband.”
The monitor beeped midnight.
We laughed until the guests outside began applauding without knowing why.