“I love you,” he whispered, and before she could respond in kind, he slowly thrusted his hips forward.
Pain threatened to eat away at her pleasure as nails briefly dug into his back and her mouth drew open at the unexpected fullness she felt- yet it never quite overtook the ecstasy that he had built within her. His sensual thrusts, his worshipping gaze, made it impossible to grow uncomfortable, and within seconds, that pain died completely, leaving nothing but perfect pleasure as they made love.
“Are you in pain, love?” Tristan asked, his lips stroking lazy kisses over her collarbone.
Ophelia hummed, stretched beneath him, and shook her head. There was an ache in her lower belly, but it was one she felt strangely happy for.
“Nothing a warm bath will not fix,” she murmured.
She felt Tristan smile against her skin, then he lifted his head up, revealing a most sated look of satisfaction.
“I wish we could stay here so I could bathe you myself,” he said, stroking a hand down her tangled her, “However it is a fairly long drive back to London, and we did promise Theo we would be back for dinner.”
Ophelia nodded against his shoulder as he shifted onto his side, loving the way he was caressing her body.
“Sad but true,” she sighed. “I suppose we must not worry my father. Not after everything that has happened.”
She rose to a seating position, but as she tried to get to her feet, Tristan gently pressed on her shoulder, grabbed her gown, and began to dress her. She smiled, surprised at how much she adored him dressing her.
“When can we come back here?” She asked as he moved her arms through her sleeves.
“Anytime you wish,” Tristan replied, “With or without me, though I would prefer that you at least take a guard with you.”
She took a long look around the cottage, the second floor still unexplored. Perhaps one day she would wish to come alone, but for now, she wanted Tristan by her side everywhere she went.
“Perhaps after Christmas has passed,” she noted as Tristan slipped her shoes back on her feet. “Would you come with me?”
“Always,” Tristan promised, then helped her to her feet.
She watched him dress, torn between the satisfaction of seeing his muscular body bare, and the sadness of watching it be covered. Immediately, she knew what she wanted to paint next,and the finished product would be for no one’s eyes but hers and Tristan’s.
“What is that smile for?” Tristan asked, buttoning his shirt.
Ophelia drew her eyes up to his face and found him with the most handsome of smirks.
“You will see,” she teased through her grin.
Tristan chuckled and drew his jacket on.
“Shall we go, my darling?” He asked, holding his hand out to her.
“I suppose we should,” she sighed, taking his hand. “After all, we have a wedding to attend.”
The End?
