Epilogue
Twelve Months Later
BEA
Summer in London can be hard to cope with. That is, anactualsummer. Not the usual fare of wet and cool weather, but those days when the sun shines and all seems right in the world. All seems right unless you’re in the city. Something about a hot summer’s day in the city makes a person understand what it might be like to be suffocated. But for me? I’m not doing so badly. The hospital is mostly cool, and Kit has air conditioning in his home. I think it might be the only domestic building in England to have air con, but hey! That’s my boyfriend.
He’s actually more than my boyfriend because we live together these days. Once Rory had his nightmare of a kitchen refitted, Fin moved in. This left me looking for a roommate, a situation I wasn’t so keen on. But then Kit suggested I move in with him. Did I hesitate? Not a chance. Because he loves me.. . and I love him.
To distraction.
We have a good life. Lots of lazy weekend brunches and dinners with Rory and Fin. Rory reacted... surprisingly well to the fact that his brother wasn’t actually gay. I suppose it all comes back to the don’t ask/don’t tell dynamic the pair have. It goes without saying that no mention of Kit’s bisexual nature has been made since then. Fin, on the other land, likes to discuss it in detail. She likes to discuss ita lot. And I think Rory benefits from those days.
We get to see Ivy, Dylan and baby Al in Scotland often. Natasha usually visits then, too. Once, she even brought June and Sam.
On the days in between, we work hard, and we play harder. Play being the operative word, now that I’m a member of the Lion’s Den.
We’re notthatcouple—the ones who hang out there every weekend.Hanging outbeing the operative words. The Den isn’t a massive part in our lives; more like it’s the cherry on the top of the cake we’ve baked for ourselves.
We don’t need it but like the variety it offers us, and I’m often the one who suggests an evening there. A bit like I have tonight. Another masquerade party. Mine is an outrageously silver feathered number that Kit says belongs on a topless dancer at the carnival in Brazil, while his is much smaller, black, and with a hint ofZorro.
I do love a little mystery. And a little pomp and circumstance...
‘You’re like some wicked little mare, Isobel. You must learn to be obedient. Learn to be ridden and how to receive the crop, or how else how will I sell you at the fair?’
‘You enjoying the show, honey bee?’ Kit’s words rumble in my ear as his hands begin stroking my thighs under my flirty bandeau dress. It’s not as though anyone can see.Not yet, anyway. And I don’t need to ask him the same question. His hard cock pressing into my ass tells me all I need to know
I sigh my answer as his fingers tease my inner thighs as the girl, “Isobel”,begins to mewl her distress as her “owner” begins to strip her from the voluminous confines of her white nightdress. There’s something virginal about the garment, gossamer and virginal, and I find myself getting wet. It seems regency raunchiness might be my thing.
‘Can we go to our room?’ I turn my head, whispering my question into Kit’s hot neck. He smells delicious, as always, a mixture of man and spice and the whisky he’s sipping. God, I so want to be that drink as I watch him swallow it down.
Our relationship is good. Very good. And we’re happy. But there are times like this when I’d be content only to be devoured by him—consumed in my entirety.
These moments of obsession when I long to crawl under his skin.
‘It’s not time yet,’ he whispers, rubbing his stubbled jaw against the bared skin of my neck. He knows what the sensation does to me, reminding me of other things. I shiver as much from his knowledge as from the action itself. ‘That’s the point of anticipation, darlin’. It makes itsoworth it in the end.’ And then, as though I don’t know what he’s doing, he slides his legs farther apart, forcing me to adjust the way I’m sitting.
He does so like it when I straddle his leg. When I’m helpless and desperate.
My heart begins to beat faster as I relax against his chest, his fingers transferring their caresses from the tops of my thighs to the soft insides.
‘Do you like her nightdress?’ Kit asks, edging his teeth against the shell of my ear. The sensations are so delicious they cause me to shiver.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s called making polite conversation, darlin’.’
‘Polite conversation and an inappropriate brush of your fingers?Yes.’
‘There, darling,’ he purrs, ‘I like it when you make my fingers wet. I’ve half a mind to make you lick them clean them in front of these nice people.’
‘I don’t see any nice people,’ I whisper, snaking my hands around the back of his head. ‘Just nice fucks.’
‘Such a greedy honey bee.’
‘Says the bisexual,’ I respond, the words drawn out in a hiss.
‘For that, I’m not going to help you,’ he purrs wickedly. ‘Instead, I’m going to make you get yourself off.’ I love it when he uses that tone—the rasp in the reprimand that makes me weak in the knees and wet between my legs.
