Page 7 of A Dance with His Angel

“I am terribly sorry,” Martin says, lifting his hands in supplication as he drops to one knee before me. “I didn’t mean to look. Believe me, I tried so hard not to.” He hangs his head. “I would never wish to make you uncomfortable by invading your privacy. Please forgive me, my lady.”

My fingers tingle when I slip them through his hair, attempting to comb the messy strands back on his head. I trail the tips of my fingers down his bearded jaw to gently nudge his chin up. “I know, and I forgive you, Lord Martin.”

He drops his other knee, now kneeling on both, and walks forward, his head tipped all the way back. “Thank you, Lady Eden,” he says in that preternaturally deep, rumbly voice of his, sending shivers of long-dead desire up my spine.

Oh my…My fingers flutter to my chest. The sight of Martin on his knees with his lips parted around his heavy breathing is a sight to behold. Now I wish all the more that I’d let Mom take Ivy home, as I conjure up what else Martin could do on his knees if we were alone, the parking lot all but deserted.

“Lady Eden?”

I step closer. “Yes, Lord Martin?”

“Marry me.”

I was so wrong.Thisis the most panicked he’s ever been.

I don’t get the chance to panic along with him, because headlights turn into the parking lot, illuminating our figures, blinding us until Mom cuts the lights and we’re left blinking the flares out of our eyes.

“Forgive me,” Martin whispers, rising to his feet and backing away.

“What on god’s green earth were y’all doing?” Mom asks, hysteria bleeding into her hushed voice on the drive home while Ivy sleeps.

“He—” I think twice about telling Mom that Martin proposed because I almost can’t believe it’s real. That he is, somehow, real. That he’s even interested in me, of all people, when he’s clearly successful, chivalrous, and one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. He could be with anyone he wants. “He tripped,” I settle on saying.

It’s a plausible excuse, given that Mom saw how uncoordinated he was throughout the wedding. She frowns and chews that over, cutting me suspicious looks throughout the drive.

I can’t get away from her fast enough when we get home to the small, navy blue, one-story craftsman on the edge of town. It’s just the three of us living in this house since my dad left us when I was four years old, so the only one I have to worry about waking as I get ready for bed is Ivy. I place her in the crib situated on the wall across from my queen-sized bed, then hustle into the shower down the hall, my skin hot and tingly all over.

I get a naughty thrill when I redirect the water from the overhead spigot to the handheld one, rinsing out my hairspray before I lower my hand. Switching the settings on the handheld, I prop a foot on the ledge of the bathtub and bring the powerful stream of water to my clit. I haven’t done this since before I gave birth. Hadn’t even thought of doing so, of course, in those first six weeks. But I’m all healed andalltoo worked up with what I had imagined Martin doing to me while on his knees.

I drop my head back as I twist my wrist from side to side, massaging my clit with the steady stream of water. It’s never been this pleasurable before. It’s because of who is in my head as I play with myself, imagining it is Martin’s firm tongue instead of water on my clit. I’m on the brink of climaxing, but I can’tquite reach the finish line. Carefully turning sideways, I squat on the tub floor with my feet braced apart and lean back against the wall. The handheld hose is thankfully long enough that I’m still able to use it while I slip two fingers inside me, careful that I don’t scratch myself with my long nails. Slowly, I experiment with thrusting them in and out, in case there’s any lingering internal pain. But, no, it feels divine, and it’s not long until my body and mind are awash with waves of hot pleasure as I huskily call out forLord Martin.

I drop the handheld and slap a palm against the wall, slowly rising on shaky legs. I stop midway on my ascent, bending over and breathing deeply while my heart rate returns to normal, so that I don’t get dizzy from standing up too fast. Back in my darkened bedroom, I pull on a white nightgown, snuggle into bed with my comforter pulled up over my head, and tap on my phone to wake the screen.

I pull up the group chat Shayla had created for the adults in her wedding party so we could coordinate schedules and whatnot, and I scroll through the messages until I find the particular sender who makes me giddy inside. Tapping his profile picture to bring up his info, I save the number to my contacts, then tap to send him a message.

I had a lovely evening with you, Lord Martin

His response comes immediately.

Martin: Really?

Martin: I meant, I did, too, Lady Eden. Very much so

Martin: And I need to reiterate how sorry I am for how the night ended

It was certainly interesting…

I’ve never been proposed to only two days after meeting someone before

Martin: But you have been proposed to before?

Technically yes

My 8th grade boyfriend did, but it was a joke

Was yours a joke?

His response takes longer to come, and he dodges the question.