32. Rosalie #2
He carries me through corridors with confident familiarity, ignoring the startled glances from servants and household guards who hastily avert their eyes.
Each step carries us closer to privacy, away from prying eyes and noble expectations.
When we reach his bedchamber doors, he pushes them open without releasing his hold on me.
His room holds the scent of sandalwood and old books. The massive bed dominates the space, piled high with dark silks and pillows. He lays me down with exaggerated gentleness, following me before I can sit up again.
Our clothing becomes a frantic obstacle to overcome.
Buttons pop loose beneath my fingers, laces pull tight then give way with small tearing sounds.
His shirt parts to reveal lean muscle carved from decades of warfare training, dark skin dusted with a faint trail that disappears beneath his trousers.
My own dress falls away in pieces, silk pooling around my waist before Caelric strips it completely away.
"I love you." He murmurs the words against the skin just below my ear before trailing kisses downward along my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts, across the flat plane of my stomach. Each touch carries reverence, each kiss feels like a promise finally spoken aloud.
When his mouth finds the sensitive juncture between my thighs, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.
He doesn't linger—though his breath ghosts across me with enough heat to make my hips lift instinctively—instead continuing his exploration downward until he's kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his hands gripping my hips with firm possessiveness.
"Promise you'll never leave me again." I push myself upright, my voice hardened by weeks of hurt and longing.
His indigo eyes lift to meet mine, shadowed by the dim light filtering through the windows. "I promise."
Satisfaction courses through me, equal parts triumph and relief. I climb over him where he kneels, my knees settling on either side of his hips. My hand wraps around his cock, already stiff and leaking, and I guide him to me without hesitation.
The first stretch hits sharp and sweet, forcing a ragged breath from my throat as I lower myself onto him.
He's thick, filling me completely, stretching muscles that haven't known him in weeks.
Once fully seated, I pause, letting the sensation of him inside me wash through every nerve. Then I begin to move.
My rhythm starts slow and deliberate. Each lift of my hips draws a soft groan from Caelric's lips, each downward plunge brings my own pleasure closer to the surface.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, finding purchase against solid muscle as I quicken the pace.
The friction builds delicious heat low in my belly, coiling tighter with every stroke.
"Rosalie—" My name breaks from his lips in a hoarse whisper as his hands clamp onto my hips, guiding me with increasing urgency.
I lose track of which ragged breathing belongs to whom, lost in the glorious stretch and glide of our bodies joining. My hair falls around us like a curtain, chestnut strands sticking to sweaty skin. Every nerve feels alive, every sensation amplified by weeks of separation.
Suddenly he moves, twisting us both until I'm flat on my back and he's above me, his hips still driving into mine. The change in angle hits deeper, drawing a sharp cry from me that echoes through the stone chamber.
He braces himself on palms planted beside my head, his movements becoming swift and relentless. The slap of skin on skin marks time, each thrust pushing me higher toward something I've been starved for all these empty nights.
"Look at me." His command emerges raw and broken.
My hazel eyes open, locking onto his indigo gaze.
In that shared glance lies everything we've withheld—all the fear, the anger, the longing, the desperate love that refused to die despite our best efforts to kill it.
He's right there with me, not hiding behind noble composure or diplomatic distance, but completely and undeniably present.
"I love you," I whisper again, just as breathless. "Don't you ever forget it."
He answers by driving into me harder, faster, until the world fractures into blinding white pleasure.
The final thrust punches through every lingering thought, every fear we've allowed to separate us.
My hips lift instinctively, meeting him stroke for stroke as pleasure crests into a white-hot wave that sweeps consciousness away.
Sharp cries break from both our throats, blending together in the shadowed room.
For endless moments, there's only this—the slick heat of our bodies joined, the frantic rhythm of his hips against mine, the desperate clutch of his fingers digging into my skin.
My vision blurs at the edges, my consciousness narrowing to the sensation of him pulsing deep inside me.
My inner muscles convulse around him, squeezing, milking every last drop of the release that leaves us both trembling.
He collapses against me, his weight a welcome anchor holding me to earth as the world slowly swims back into focus.
We don't move for long minutes, both of us gasping against the other's skin. The clean scent of his sweat mingles with sandalwood, filling my lungs with every ragged breath. His heart hammers against my chest, matching my own frantic rhythm.
"You're everything," he murmurs against the damp skin of my throat.
I don't need words to answer, my fingers tracing patterns across the ridges of his spine still slick with exertion. Outside, afternoon light filters through the heavy curtains, painting stripes of pale gold across rumpled sheets and discarded clothing.
"And you're mine."