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He picked her up and carried her there, set her down at the center of the mattress and looked at her. He leaned over, spreading her hair out around her like a dark halo, and then he stood, looking at the beautiful picture that she made. Her soft, bare skin pale against the deep crimson red of the quilt. She took a sharp breath, her breasts rising with the motion, her nipples beading.
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p; “Such a lovely picture you make, My Princess.”
“I didn’t think my official title was Princess.”
“It doesn’t matter. You are my princess. Mine.”
He bent down, cupping her breast with his hand, letting it fill his palm.
She was soft, so delicate and exquisite, and it amazed him that something half so fragile could put such a deep crack in the foundation of what he was. But she had.
He lowered his head and took one perfect, puckered nipple between his lips and sucked all her glory into his mouth. She arched beneath him, crying out in soft, sweet pleasure, and it spurred him on. He growled, lavishing her with attention, licking and sucking, stroking her between her thighs.
His wife. His beautiful, perfect wife, who threatened to destroy all that he was.
How had he ever thought that it was possible to maintain superior connections to this country. To duty and honor when the marriage bed presented shackles that could not be seen with the human eye. Perhaps that was why the cuffs existed. Not to create a sense that they were bound to each other, but to turn them physical. All the better to remove them when one chose to.
Because the ties that existed in his heart he could not see, he could not touch and he did not know how to unleash.
It was supernatural in a way that he would have said he did not believe in.
It was strong in a way he would have told anyone such a thing could not be.
And he was linked to her in a way he would have said he could not be to another human being.
Because he had given those things away so long ago. Because he had pledged loyalty to Matteo and not love. Because he had pledged his blood to Monte Blanco, but not love.
And what he wanted to give to Violet was deeper, and he was afraid that she was right. That magic had always only ever been love, and that it could turn and twist into something dark and evil, just like magic.
All that magic that she was.
All that... He did not wish to give the word a place, not even in his mind.
And so he covered his thoughts with a blanket of pleasure, wrapping them both in the dark velvet of his desire, lapping his way down her body, her stomach, down to that sweet place between her legs. He buried himself there. Lost himself in giving her pleasure.
Got drunk on it.
Because there was nothing to do now but revel in it. Afterward... Afterward there would be time for reckonings and for fixing all of this. But not now.
Now was the time to embrace it.
The only time.
Here in the bedroom.
And maybe that was what the cuffs were for.
To create a space where the world didn’t matter. Where there could be an escape.
And maybe for other men that would have worked. But not for him.
Because he didn’t know how to create space.
He only knew how to be all or nothing.
How to be an agent of his father, or a war machine acting against him.
