She did, and gradually the pain faded, replaced by a sense of fullness, of rightness.
“Okay,” she whispered. “You can move.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please, Morgan…”
Morgan began to move in slow, careful strokes, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none. Only pleasure building again, different from before but just as intense. He picked up the pace, filling her and pumping.
“God, Eliza,” he groaned. “You feel incredible. So perfect.”
He buried his face in her neck, his movements becoming less controlled, more desperate as he licked her neck. Eliza wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively seeking more, deeper.
“That’s it,” Morgan encouraged. “Take what you need, darling. I’m yours.”
The pleasure built and built until Eliza was crying out his name, her nails digging into his back as waves of sensation washed over her. Morgan followed moments later, shuddering as he buried himself deep inside her. They lay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, pressing soft kisses to her temple. “Did I hurt you?”
“God, no, my love,” Eliza said, surprising herself with the truth of it. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
“So were you, darling. So were you.”
He held her close as their breathing slowed, as exhaustion began to claim them both.
Morgan went still. Then he pulled back to look at her, his expression full of wonder.
He kissed her again, deep and thorough and full of promise. And as they drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, Eliza felt something she hadn’t felt in so long she’d almost forgotten what it was.
Hope.
Not just for survival, but for happiness. For a future built on truth and trust and love. For a life that was, finally, truly hers.
“I want to show you something,” Morgan said one evening after dinner.
They were in his chambers, or their chambers now. Eliza had taken to sleeping in his bed every night, the connecting door between their rooms standing perpetually open. Eliza looked up from the book she’d been reading, curled up in the chair by the fireplace.
“Show me what?”
Morgan’s expression was somewhere between nervous and mischievous. “Do you remember what you told me? About finding my… collection?”
Heat flooded Eliza’s face. “Oh. That.”
“Yes. That.” He stood, offering her his hand. “I promised you’d see it again under different circumstances. And I think, if you’re interested, tonight might be the right time. What do you say, wife?”
Eliza’s heart began to race. She set her book aside and took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
“I’m interested.”
“You’re sure? We don’t have to…”
“Morgan.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m sure. I want to… explore. With you.”
His eyes darkened with desire. “Then come with me.”
He led her to the wardrobe, the same one she’d accidentally discovered weeks ago. With a slight pressure on the hidden panel, it swung open, revealing the closet beyond. Eliza stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The space was larger than she remembered, lined with shelves holding an assortment of items that made her blush even as curiosity sparked like wildfire within her.
Silk scarves in jewel tones. Soft leather restraints with velvet lining. Bottles of oil that caught the candlelight. And other things, things she didn’t have names for but could imagine uses for.
