Wicked heir, p.27
Wicked Heir, page 27
Andromeda showed the guests of honor where she had reserved their seats at the table, and everyone fell into place around them. Saoirse was seated with Emrys on her left and Isolde on her right. Calliope was directly across from her, seated between Vasili and Andromeda.
The first course of the meal was brought out, and everyone began to indulge in the wine and fresh salad full of seasonal vegetables. “Where are our manners?” Emrys said as he swallowed his bite of food and reached for his wine glass. “We were so wrapped up in eating we forgot to toast.” He lifted his glass towards Vasili and Calliope, and everyone followed. “To the couple of the hour, may this next year of marriage bless you beyond even what the gods can measure.”
Everyone let out a low laugh and toasted to the couple before sipping their wine. The cranberry red liquid warmed Saoirse’s body from the inside out, and she welcomed the involuntary relaxation of her muscles.
“So, Calliope, what did Vasili give you for an anniversary present?” Isolde asked. “I believe fifty-four is the glass anniversary.”
“I received the most elegant and ornately decorated vanity with a mirror,” Calliope answered with a bright smile. Vasili leaned over and kissed her temple.
“Will we be hearing it rattle this evening?” Andromeda asked with a smirk.
Vasili sputtered as he took a sip of wine at the wrong moment.
“I think we rattled it enough earlier today.” Calliope giggled while her husband’s face was nearing a shade that resembled the wine in his glass. While Calliope seemed accustomed to Andromeda’s inappropriate commentary—at least in a private setting—Saoirse suspected Vasili wasn’t accustomed to it at all.
“I think you’ll hear more than the vanity rattling.” Isolde sniggered as Cyprian choked on his bite of food.
“I thought we agreed to never speak about this subject at the dinner table again,” he said as he regained his ability to speak.
“Yes, I believe we did,” Vasili said quickly. “Andromeda?”
The duchess sighed and nodded. “Shall we discuss the last couple to celebrate fifty-four years of marriage instead?” Andromeda glanced at Isolde, who gave her an unamused look.
The servants came in and exchanged the guests’ empty first course plates with the main entrée. It was a rich-looking medallion of beef with a thick, brown sauce and steamed vegetables that added to the savory scents of the meal.
“Andromeda, you know exactly what I was doing on my fifty-fourth wedding anniversary.” Isolde shot back as everyone began to cut into their meat. She turned to Saoirse and explained why Andromeda was bringing up her own anniversary. “I was in St. Clewark visiting my parents when a flood hit, and I was trapped for weeks.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Saoirse said.
“Not as awful as not getting an orgasm on your anniversary,” Andromeda murmured, taking a sip of wine. Isolde fired a glare at her but didn’t take any more of her bait.
“Other than making sure your wife orgasms on your anniversary,” Vasili interrupted, his face reddening as he said the word “orgasm.” “What marriage advice do you have for us at this stage, Cyprian?”
The dark-haired fireann chuckled. “Well, it goes without saying to always let her finish first.”
Low laughter circulated around the table again. Cyprian looked to his wife, who shot him an unimpressed look. He kissed between her furrowed brows and added, “And there’s never a bad time to tell her you love her.”
Isolde’s expression melted, and she kissed her husband.
“I don’t know, Cyprian,” Laszlo said. “Telling your wife you love her after you bring home a puppy without telling her beforehand has proved to be an ill time.”
“A dog that weighs three stone is hardly a puppy,” Andromeda countered. “But it’s not just telling your partner you love them. It’s showing them, too.”
“And what would be showing love look like for you?” Vasili asked with genuine curiosity.
Andromeda smirked. “Well, you all barred talking about sex at the table, so…”
“Would you count being given the puppy as one of those ways?” Calliope asked quickly. “I’ll admit a dog sounds better than the things Vasili brings home to me.”
“Badger meat is very tender,” Vasili argued. “If you let me cook it for you, I think you’d like it.”
Calliope flashed him a polite smile and shook her head in response.
“No,” Andromeda answered, trying to smother her laugh. “I wouldn’t say being given the puppy felt like love, but Laszlo taking care of him and training him does.” Her cheeks became tinged with pink as she looked to her husband. “As well as when he takes care of me.”
Laszlo grinned at her and kissed her as Cyprian had with Isolde.
As Saoirse watched the conversation volley between the members of the court, a warm hand covered hers. She looked down and saw Emrys’s fingers slipping into her palm. He squeezed her hand three times while he engaged with the dukes. A warmth filled her chest that didn’t feel anything like her magic. When it didn’t ease, she wanted to rub at her chest to disperse it, but she felt that would be futile. It was a persistent feeling that she had only felt inklings of in the past few weeks.
“I think a well-timed kiss does it for me.” Emrys’s words pulled Saoirse’s attention back to the table. He must have been asked about how he shared love. “I could be in the sourest mood, have my livelihood destroyed before my eyes, and a deep, satisfying kiss could solve all my problems.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you get upset in council,” Laszlo said, causing another eruption of laughs.
Saoirse’s gaze fell to her intertwined hand, and she found it hard to swallow. He had been sharing love with her for weeks. That was what she felt bubbling in her chest and spreading through her limbs. It was no wonder the sensation was so foreign. Her family had put in a bare minimum effort to raise her. They didn’t think she was worthy of it. But Emrys did. He thought she was more than worthy of a loving effort. He believed she deserved love.
“I like spending time with you,” she murmured so that just Emrys could hear.
“Hmm?” He turned his attention to her, and she felt her pulse kick higher under his gaze.
“I feel loved when you spend time with me,” she reiterated. “When I’m not alone.”
A slow smile spread across his face. She lifted their threaded hands and brushed her lips over the back of his. His smile grew wider, and he leaned towards her, pressing a kiss to her lips. The spark crackled in her veins as the seconds of their kiss ticked by. She swore it lasted longer the few moments it actually did, but when he pulled back from her, she wanted to grab for him in any way she could—his coat, his shirt, his face—and pull him back into the kiss.
The discussion continued around the table, but Saoirse barely heard any of it. She and Emrys stared at each other for what seemed like hours as the rest of the room faded away. Was this what the duchesses felt with their spouses? Was this what love and freedom actually felt like, tasted like?
He had never offered it to her because he saw her as unworthy of his love. He offered her freedom because he believed she deserved it. And in that freedom, she was able to explore not only the world she had been locked away from, but herself as well. He gave her ample room to find her boundaries and choose what she wanted. He had never pushed himself on her and respected her choices. She had never felt such desire for someone, and it was because he had the decency to treat her with respect.
As if he knew he was in her thoughts, Emrys leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. “I’ll sit with you and listen to you for as long as you like, if that’s what it takes to make you feel loved.” His breath tickled her neck, and goosebumps ran over her skin.
He pulled back without giving her time to respond, offering a knowing smile before he jumped back into the table conversation. It took Saoirse a moment to pull herself together, but she still spent the rest of the evening stealing glances at Emrys, memorizing his profile, how the muscles of his face creased when he laughed, and the way he smirked when he caught her looking at him. Whatever manifested the spark in her body, it was buzzing through her. As much as she enjoyed spending dinner with her friends, Saoirse looked forward to the end of the evening.
27
After dinner, everyone returned to the sitting room to relax and enjoy after-dinner drinks. Saoirse sat in an armchair adjacent to Emrys, resting her elbow on the arm and propping her chin with her hand. She drifted in and out of the conversation, but her thoughts continued to drift to Emrys more than they usually did. Her gaze bounced around the room but came back to Emrys whenever she heard his voice. He caught her a few times gazing at him, but she didn’t care to hide it. He grinned at her before he returned his attention to whoever was holding the conversation.
The night slowly waned, and when Calliope and Vasili chose to retire to their bedroom for the night, everyone else followed suit. Emrys reached for Saoirse’s hand as they made their way up the stairs to their guest room, and she reveled in the personal touch of warmth in her hand.
He led her along the upstairs hallway to a door on the right side at the end of the hall. “How do you know this is ours?” Saoirse asked. No one had given them directions, at least she was fairly sure no one had. She hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone but Emrys after dinner.
“We’ve all spent enough time in this house that we’ve claimed certain rooms,” Emrys answered with a cheeky grin. “And I chose this one because it’s the furthest from Laszlo and Andromeda’s.”
Saoirse giggled and followed him inside their quarters for the night. In the dim light of a small lamp on a nightstand, she could barely make out the space, but there was a four-poster bed in the middle, a small dresser to the right, and a standing mirror on the opposite side of the room.
She located her suitcase at the foot of the bed and plopped it on the quilt to open it, digging around for her nightgown. As she reached for the back of her dress, Saoirse remembered Rory had buttoned her into it, and there was no chance she could unbutton it herself. “Emrys,” she said. His attention swiveled to her, and she felt the overwhelming tension that had been building between them all night. “Would you help me out of my dress?”
He nodded and stepped towards her as she pivoted around. He thumbed open the buttons one by one. Every so often, his fingers grazed her exposed skin and made her feel like she was being lit on fire with every brush. “Why do you boireannaich have such tiny buttons on your dresses?” he asked with a chuckle.
“My question has always been why they were put behind us while being so small.”
She grinned as he opened the last few buttons and slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. The heaviness of the dress struck her once it was off, and she felt lighter. Stepping out of the puddle of lace, satin, and beads, she turned and bent for the dress, but Emrys picked it up before she could reach it. He promised to place it on the dresser while she continued to undress.
Saoirse thanked him and pulled the pins out of her hair. It fell over her shoulders, and she brushed it out with her fingers. She stripped down to her chemise and exchanged it for a silk cream-colored nightgown with lace along the neckline and hem. The hem of her nightgown barely reached her mid-thigh, and the neckline left much of her collarbone and upper chest exposed.
She braided her hair as Emrys perched on the bed, removing his shoes and socks to join his jacket and waistcoat. He glanced at her before quickly returning his attention to his shoes, sneaking peeks when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“Do I have a tear in my nightgown?” she asked, turning and giving an exaggerated look over her shoulder.
Emrys’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No,” he answered huskily. “Just that cheeky little starburst birthmark between your shoulder blades.”
Saoirse giggled and reached for a satin ribbon in her suitcase, feeling Emrys’s eyes follow her movements. Her fingers worked swiftly to braid her strawberry blonde hair and tie the ribbon around the few inches she left as a tail. She stepped between Emrys’s legs and lazily plucked the buttons of his shirt open.
“Someone packed with very specific intentions tonight,” Emrys said, skimming his hands over the back of her thighs.
She smirked and pressed a long kiss to his lips. “Want to know a secret?” she whispered.
“Always.”
“I brought two nightgowns.”
“What?” He chuckled.
“I brought this one,” she motioned to the nightgown she was wearing, “and one that is much more…”
“Scandalous?”
“Frumpy.”
Emrys’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, and he squeezed the back of her thighs. “I like the one you chose to wear.”
Saoirse bit back another smile as she pulled the loose tie from his collar and tossed it towards the other discarded clothes piled near his closed suitcase. Emrys’s eyes never left hers while she continued to unbutton his shirt. When she untucked the tails from his trousers, she slipped her hands under his suspenders and felt the muscles of his chest. They were smooth and firm under her palms.
He unbuttoned his cuffs with their gazes locked while Saoirse smoothed her hands over the muscles of his chest. He shrugged out of his shirt, and Saoirse smirked as she slipped her hands under the hem of his undershirt and pulled it over his head.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s finally your turn to be undressed.”
His lips cracked a smile, and he slid his hands up her hips to cup her arse.
“I knew it was just a matter of time.”
He kissed her exposed collarbone and his lips burned a path along her decolletage. Saoirse’s fingers traced over his muscles, and his eyes followed the path she drew. Saoirse had seen his bare torso before. She had even been held against his bare skin as she slept. But it had never been this intimate. The tension between them was electrifying, and she couldn’t deny herself any longer.
Emrys cradled her face with one hand, inviting her to meet his gaze. “Saoirse,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from hers. “Is this happening tonight?” That spark bounced erratically through her, urging her to forego all her hesitations and indulge herself.
She nodded and closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his. Her shoulders melted as he stood and pulled her closer. She felt the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and she wished it wasn’t standing between them. She wanted to press her breasts against his skin and feel their shared warmth.
At first, her mind was able to keep track of every touch they shared. She was aware of the path Emrys’s hands traced on her body, the rhythm his tongue danced against hers, and the press of his hips on hers, indicating just how much his body was anticipating this. But then, the awareness faded, and she found it difficult to register what was happening. She felt movement against her body, but she couldn’t place what the source of the touch was.
Her body also felt like it wasn’t hers, like it was being controlled by someone else. She was merely a witness to its actions. Her hands moved stiffly over his body, and her kissing turned sloppy. She tried to concentrate, but her thoughts mingled and mashed together, causing her to lose complete focus on where she was.
“Saoirse?” The question sounded distant.
“Hmm,” she hummed, but she could hear it came out more like a grunt.
“Saoirse.”
Something soft gently stroked her cheek, and she worked to open her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out the concern in Emrys’s expression. Her senses started to come back to her, and realization hit her too late.
It had happened again. As much as she had pushed yesterday’s incident from her thoughts, her mind felt the need to protect her. It disconnected what she was doing from her conscious state.
Tears burned Saoirse’s eyes as she tried to blink them away. She had chosen to suppress what happened to her yesterday for a reason. She didn’t want her body reacting like this, especially not with Emrys. Her bottom lip trembled, and she knew her resolve was waning rapidly. A hot tear rolled down her cheek, and that was all she needed for the fuse of her emotions to be lit.
Saoirse’s face twisted as a choked sob escaped her lips. She covered her face with her hands and tried to step back, but Emrys’s arm wrapped around her, bringing her in tightly against his body. Once again, she was hyper-aware of his touch, and two impulses warred within her, one being to untangle herself from him and lock herself in the bathroom to cry and the other being to press herself as closely as she could to him, grounding herself and letting her emotions take over.
The latter won out, and she gripped his sides, burying her face in his warm skin. Her nails dug into the flesh covering his ribs, but he didn’t react. Instead, he ran a hand over the back of her hair and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He murmured words to her that she couldn’t hear over her sobbing. She only knew he was talking by the way his chest vibrated against her.
“I’m sorry.” The words were garbled as she hiccupped for air. “I’m sorry.” She continued to repeat the words until they dissolved into more sobbing.
Emrys didn’t respond with empty words of comfort. He merely held her tighter. There was still a piece of her that believed he didn’t deserve the hardship she brought on him. She cried for that insecure part of her. She also cried for the person she was before meeting him, the one who didn’t know love. Finally, she cried for herself who would no longer know what not being violated by another person felt like. She’d always carry that knowledge, no matter how well Emrys treated her or loved her.
Saoirse felt her body slightly sway side to side, and she realized it was Emrys rocking her. She focused her mind on the rhythm and let it ground her and settle her. Her breathing was still heavy, but her tears had slowed to a halt. Her hands loosened their grip on his sides, and she cringed at the effort it took to remove her fingers from his skin, knowing she most likely left behind crescent moon shaped marks on his flesh. She swallowed before lifting her head up.
