It feels exquisite to be inside of her like this, particularly when I need not fear being overcome.
Instead, I can focus on how good it feels to be this close to her, the woman that I love.
“My darling,” I say, bringing my hands to her hips. “My beautiful love.”
I pull her down so that she can kiss me. Our faces are touching. I take from her a tender kiss. And then I guide her up and down until we are both panting.
On instinct I ask, “Do you like that I bear your name now? Does it please you?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”
“Because it makes clear to everyone that I’m yours?”
“Yes,” she repeats.
“Good,” I say. “I like it for the same reason. I like it to be known that I belong to you.”
“You are mine,” she says. And I can tell she is once more nearing her peak.
“Will you come for me, my wife?”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes.”
And then she does. Her tight pussy flexes over my engorged cock. I still until she is done. And then I resume the same rhythm.
“Do you want my seed, Mrs. de Lacey?”
She lets out a little laugh. “Yes.”
“Fuck,” I say, the tension too good, the pleasure of having her like this too much.
“Please,” she teases. “Let me have it.”
I come then with more control than I have ever had, and yet with more total surrender than any I have shared with her yet. I fill and fill and fill her as if it were my purpose in life.
When we are done, I hold her. She kisses the side of my face, an act so tender that it brings tears to my eyes.
I curl my body around hers.
“Sleep,” I say, though I suspect she is already unconscious. And that suspicion makes me bold.
I whisper into her ear, “I am glad you are my wife, Annabelle de Lacey. I will love and protect you until the day I die.”
With that, I begin to fall asleep.
It is only when I feel a quick squeeze of her hand that I realize the truth. She hasn’t been sleeping at all.
Chapter 38
Annabelle
We sleep long and deeply.
And when we wake we eat in the breakfast room, unhurried and lazy.
At the breakfast table, we look at our erotic books. I hold his green one in my hands. I flip through, looking for the scene he described last night.
“I do not see a wedding night,” I frown at one point, flipping the pages.
