Twenty
Marcus jerked his watch fob from his pocket and looked down at it. It had been three quarters of an hour since he’d entered the painting. With his blasted luck, he would be stuck there for the rest of his life. It would probably serve him right. But when his mother had presented him with the opportunity to spend some time with Cecelia after having been away from her for a whole month, he’d jumped at the chance.
Her father had probably figured out their plot and foiled it. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cecelia climb into the painting. Claire poked her head in long enough to wave at him and yell, “Four hours, Marcus! And please don’t be naked when I come back!”
Marcus reached down and helped Cecelia to her feet. “What is this place?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s one of Claire’s paintings. It’s not a real place. You can tell by the walls.”
“There are walls?” she asked, walking toward the edge. She sank her hand into where the painting ended, and her hand disappeared through the fog. “The walls are fictitious.”
“All of this is,” he said.
“That’s some talent Claire has. How did she end up with it anyway?” Cecelia asked.
Marcus looked at her and bit his lower lip. “That’s an amusing story.”
He took her hand in his and walked with her to the blanket beneath the willow tree. The sky was blue and the clouds puffy and billowy, and the stream lent a low rushing noise to the background. “Tell it to me,” she said as she sat down.
He sat beside her and straightened one leg before him, while keeping the other one up. He drew her to lean against his leg so that she reclined in front of him, and he tangled his fingers with hers. “It all started with Sophia.”
“Sophia can walk into paintings too?” Cecelia asked.
“No, Sophia is entranced by music. It’s how she met the Duke of Robinsworth. She was at a house party his mother threw when she heard music in the night. She was entranced by it, and it drew her to his chambers. They spent a lot of time together over the piano, and she couldn’t resist his songs.”
“I didn’t know the duke played,” Cecelia said.
“He doesn’t do it often. But Sophia says he used to do it when he was feeling melancholy. He had a piano in his chambers.”
“That’s an odd thing to have in one’s chambers,” Cecelia mused.
“He’s a bloody duke. He can have whatever he wants.”
“So what does the music have to do with the paintings?”
He took a deep breath. This was difficult to explain. “It appears as though Mother and Father left a token with each of their fae children so that we could recognize them later in life. For Sophia, she was entranced by music. And the purpose was so that she would recognize the song of a loved one.”
“And she recognized the duke?”
Cecelia ran a finger down the center of his chest and stole his attention. “What were we talking about?” he asked.
She laughed. “Sophia recognized the duke as someone who loved her.”
“Oh, yes. He was the one. The tokens have backfired, apparently. Because by the time Sophia’s token began to work, the duke was in love with her, so it was his song that entranced her. She recognized him as the one who loved her, and then they fell in love, and the rest is history.”
She mulled it over in her mind, the crease between her brows growing deeper. “Wait, so you’re saying that the token was so that she could find her parents, your parents, but she found the duke instead? Because he was the one who loved her and it was his song she recognized?”
“Exactly. Mother is a singer, and she thought it would be her song. But the duke fell in love with her before she found Mother and Father.”
“But what about Claire and the paintings? Is that her token? The fact that she can paint?”
“Father is an artist,” he went on to explain. This really was very convoluted. “They left Claire with a magical paintbrush, and when she has the paintbrush in her hand, she can walk into any painting of her choice. If it’s a real place, she’s in that place, like when we went to Paris and to the land of the fae. And if it’s not a real place, then she goes to a place like this.” He held up his hands, indicating the picturesque little field and the tree.
“I still don’t understand,” Cecelia said. “What does her walking into paintings have to do with your parents?”
Marcus heaved a sigh. “They left her with a painting of a tiny door that Grandmother kept in the attic. Over the door it said ‘Sweet Home’ in Latin. When Claire was angry one day, she went to the attic, found the painting, the paintbrush, and the door, and she went through it, hoping to escape Mother and Father’s presence in the land of the fae. She didn’t yet like them at that point.”
“And?” Cecelia prompted.
“When she went through the painting, she tumbled directly into Lord Phineas’s bedchamber, because he was ‘home’ for her. He was mad for her, and she was already increasing, so this all made sense at the time.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “Did you get a token, too?”
“I did.” He nodded.
She elbowed him in the belly. “Tell me what it is. Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“First, I need to tell you what we’ve come to know about the tokens,” he said. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “We learned that the tokens represent home. When we were younger, that home might have been with our parents. But since our tokens took effect later, they pointed us to homes of a different sort. They took us all to the home in our hearts. The ones we love.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his compass. “This used to point me home when I went on missions. It always did. I would leave home, and I could always find a portal by using my compass. It never failed me. Until I left you. And I found you again. The night you appeared at the ball where we were all introduced to society, I opened my compass and it pointed to you.”
“I’m home for you?” she asked, sitting up, the sweetest of smiles on her face.
“Wherever you are is home. Here, there, the land of the fae… We could be on the moon and it would be home for me as long as you’re there.”
“But does that mean each of you were fated to fall in love with one specific person?” She didn’t appear happy. Not at all.
He rushed on to say, “No, it doesn’t work like that.”
“Are you certain? Because that doesn’t sound very fair if that’s the case.”
“No, no.” He’d bungled this royally. “We were all in love already when our tokens took effect. I love you, Cece. The only one who doesn’t know it is you. The universe already knows.” He jiggled the compass at her. “The magic knows. The world knows. You need to know.” He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes.
“But it’s almost like none of you had free will.”
He threw up his hands. “It’s not like that at all.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“The tokens point to who we love, you ninny.” He tweaked her nose. “They are merely further proof that we are with the people we’re supposed to be with. I’m supposed to be with you for the rest of my life. You’re home for me.”
She lay back, her head on his thigh. Usually, their positions were reversed. But he rather liked this, too. He began to pull the pins from her hair, dropping them one by one to lie beside him on the blanket. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I want to touch you all over. And I’m starting at the top,” he said with a chuckle.
“What if I wasn’t the one, Marcus?” she asked. “What if your compass pointed to someone else one day?”
“My compass will never point to anyone else, Cece. Ever.”
“But what if someday it magically does?”
“Then I will bash the blasted thing into oblivion. Because I know my heart better than any compass ever could.”
“Hmm…” she said.
“Stop thinking,” he urged. “The tokens are just further proof. They have nothing to do with how I love you or why I love you or how long I’ll love you.”
“How do you love me?” she asked with a giggle. She looked up at the clouds with a smile on her face rather than looking at him.
“Desperately and completely,” he said.
“Why do you love me?” she asked, her smile even bigger than before.
“Because you’re home for me.”
Her smile softened. “How long will you love me?” she asked.
“Forever and a day.”
She was quiet, and he could tell she was thinking. He nudged her head with his knee, brushing her hair back from her face with gentle fingers. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about how much I missed you when we were apart.” She turned onto her side to face him. “I’m thinking about how I felt abandoned and alone.”
She might as well have stuck a knife in his gut. He could never say he was sorry enough. “When we were in the land of the fae, did you sleep with me because you were in love with me? Or because you needed to escape from your life?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “A little bit of both,” she finally admitted. “I used you shamelessly.” She giggled. “I would be angry at me if I were you.”
A grin tugged at his own lips. “I would be willing to pay penance such as that anytime you choose.”
“You’re so selfless,” she chided.
“You should have told me about your father,” he said softly. “I could have helped you long before I did.”
“You left me. And I didn’t want to call upon you for anything after that.” She shrugged. “Stubborn pride.”
“I would have come back for you,” he said, taking her chin in his hand so he could look into her eyes. “I would have come back for you anytime.”
“I wanted you to come back for me just because you loved me. Not because I needed someone to save me.”
“Yet you came for the mission to secure my place in human society.”
She looked everywhere but at him. “I needed a reprieve from my father.”
“You didn’t want to see me at all?” He was only jesting, but he was also curious.
“Oh, I wanted to see you.” She grinned. “I wanted to see you strung up by your toenails and flogged to within an inch of your life.”
“You’re not harsh at all, are you? Should I live in fear of you for our entire marriage?”
“Definitely!” she said. Then she raised a hand to pull him down to her. She breathed against his lips. “You should be afraid of me. Very, very afraid.”
He hardened immediately.
Marcus spun around, pushing her back onto the blanket. He lifted her arms above her head and held her hands there, tight within his fists. “I think it is you who should be afraid,” he said softly.
“Of who?” she asked. “You?” She grinned. “Do your worst, Marcus.” She wiggled beneath him.
He couldn’t let a taunt like that go unchallenged. He nestled his leg between hers so he could lie against her heat and bent to kiss her cheek. Then her jaw. Then he drew the lobe of her ear between his teeth and sucked it gently. She squirmed beneath him.
“I’ve thought about this for a month,” she admitted.
He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “What have you thought about?”
She flushed, her cheeks flaming cherry red. “I thought about the way you kiss me.” Her voice was soft and quivery.
He bent and did just that, drawing her lower lip between his teeth where he could lick across it. She let her tongue slide across his, and where he’d been only hard a moment before, he was now painfully hard. He pushed against her heat and her eyes closed.
***
“Tell me what else you thought about when we were apart,” he requested.
The words trembled on her lips. “I thought about the way you kiss your way up and down my body.”
He tugged the string at the bodice of her gown, opening it down the front, and then he pushed it down her shoulders. Her chemise followed, until they both bunched around her hips. He sat up on his knees. “Lift,” he said.
She did, and he pulled her gown and chemise down her body, taking her drawers with them. She covered her breasts with her hands, and he took her hands in his and lifted them back over her head.
“Tell me what else you thought about.”
“I thought about when you put your fingers inside me. And when you found that little spot that makes me go mad.”
He pretended to be puzzled. “What spot was that? I don’t recall.”
“Marcus!” she squealed. He took her nipple into his mouth and licked across it, his tongue scratchy and soft at the same time. He bit down gently on her left nipple, and heat shot straight to her groin. “Marcus,” she crooned more softly.
“What?” he whispered, his mouth popping off her breast long enough to talk, but then he suckled her again, drawing on her nipple until it made her belly clench. “You were talking about this special spot that makes you go mad.”
She leaned up and kissed his forehead. “If you can’t find it, I can show you where it is.” She laughed, throwing her head back, her eyes closed. She opened them when his head suddenly shot up and he looked her in the face. She would never live this down.
“Did a little exploring, did you?” he asked with a grin. “How did that go?”
“Well,” she squeaked.
Good God, the thought of her doing that would unman him. “Did you think of me when you touched yourself?” he asked.
“Every time,” she breathed, her warm words blowing across the shell of his ear.
Thank heavens. “What was I doing in your fantasy?”
“The same thing you’re doing now, only you were moving down there a little bit quicker.” She couldn’t keep from laughing.
He kissed between her breasts and down across her belly button, stopping to flick his tongue inside it. Then he kissed all the way down to where her springy hair hid her mound. And then he kissed and licked his way down through it, until he settled with her knees over his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she asked. But his hot breath already blew across her folds, and she was ready to beg him to touch her.
“Since you did some exploring, I thought I might do the same,” he said. Then he spread her open with his thumbs. He looked up at her. “Did you make yourself come?” he asked.
She squeezed her eyes closed tightly. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I want to watch you do that one day,” he said as he licked her from top to bottom.
“You can watch me do anything you want,” she gasped as he bumped against the sensitive spot at the top of her sex. “Right there,” she said.
“Show me what you like,” he said, reaching up and taking her hand. He pulled it down and placed it at the apex of her thighs.
“Just touch me, Marcus,” she said. “Touch me before I go mad.”
He slid one finger inside her and stopped. “Is that better?” he asked.
“Marginally,” she gasped out.
“Rub yourself,” Marcus commanded.
“Give me more,” she pleaded. He pulled his finger from her and rimmed around the edge of her opening with it.
“So pretty,” he breathed.
“Marcus,” she pleaded, pushing against his hand.
“I want to look around down here,” he teased. “Stop being in such a hurry.”
“Marcus!” she cried. “You’re not supposed to be looking around down there.”
“How else am I supposed to figure out how everything works?” He slid his fingers inside her, and this time, it must have been more than before, because she suddenly felt full. She stilled. “That worked,” he breathed.
“Stop playing, Marcus,” she warned.
“I was an innocent before you took my virginity, silly girl,” he teased. “I’m still learning, just like you.”
He pressed her fingers, which still rested at the apex of her thighs, against her heat. “Show me how you rub it,” he said gently.
She groaned into the side of her arm. She lay there naked, aside from her stockings, and his head was between her thighs and he wanted to map out her body parts from down below?
Fine. She would show him how she liked it. She dipped a finger into her passage, her fingers sliding along his, and brought some of her moisture forward.
“That’s an interesting tactic,” he said.
“Makes it slippery,” she whispered, a grin tugging at her lips. This was so wicked. And if there was one thing she would never have expected to do in broad daylight with Marcus, it was explore her body.
“Show me,” he pleaded, his voice sounding like it had been dragged down a gravel road and back.
She circled her finger around that little nub, and Marcus groaned. “God, I love you,” he growled. “Don’t stop.”
Marcus licked across the center of her, kissing her nether region the same way he kissed her mouth. He worshiped her with his teeth and tongue, and his fingers slid slowly in and out of her. He crooked his fingers inside her, and she reached for his head with her free hand, sliding her fingers into his hair.
“Marcus, I’m close,” she warned.
Marcus nudged at her hand with his nose, pushing it to the side as he continued to crook his fingers inside her. She ground her hips against his hand, pushing him deeper, making herself tighter. His lips replaced her finger as he uncovered the little nub that pulsed like mad with his thumb and bent to take it into his mouth. He suckled her, latching on to that swollen little spot with his mouth, abrading it with his teeth and tongue as he set a rhythm at one with the beat of her heart.
“Marcus!” she cried. “Good God, Marcus.”
And then she broke. She was so sensitive that she tried to move away from him so she could come apart slowly and carefully. But he would have none of that. He hooked his arms around her thighs and held on to her hips, refusing to let her get away. And as the waves crashed over her, he gave no quarter. Her body quaked, her channel convulsing in spasms of sheer pleasure. Her sheath clenched, and she desperately wanted it filled.
“Marcus,” she groaned as he finally slowed his tongue and loosened the suction on that little button of fire between her legs. “Marcus,” she warned, pushing his head away, as he wouldn’t let the pleasure stop rolling over her, again and again. “No more. I can’t stand it.”
***
Marcus wiped his face on the blanket by the inside of her thigh and then climbed up her body to look into her face. Her arms and legs were trembling, and her breaths rushed from her body. “I love you so much,” he said.
“I’ll love you again when I can talk,” she heaved. But she was settling into the counterpane, soft as cotton.
“I like learning about your body,” he said. She grinned, covering her face with her forearm.
“Turnabout is fair play,” she warned. “When I catch my breath, I’m going to start exploring your body.”
“I vaguely remember you getting a good look at my body last time.” He stood up and began to remove his clothes. There was something so erotic about her lying there on the blanket in full daylight completely naked. She didn’t try to hide herself from him. She didn’t try to roll into the counterpane. She lay there, exposed and needy, and she’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “You made me tell you all my secrets,” she grumbled.
“And look where it got us. I got to find out how you like it, and I think we get better at this every time we do it.” He climbed on top of her naked, settling between her thighs. “I think we should practice, practice, and practice some more. We do have my mother’s permission.”
“Ick,” she said. “Don’t bring up your mother right now, no matter how amazing she is.”
She sat up on her elbows, and he sat down on the blanket beside her so he could pull his stockings from his feet.
She rolled so that her head was on his thigh, and his manhood rocked toward her. “Goodness,” she teased. “Has a mind of its own, does it?”
“Apparently,” he agreed.
She arched a brow at him. “I want to kiss it,” she said. She looked up and met his gaze, her blue eyes hot in the moment, full of feeling and want.
“I can’t believe you would suggest such an outlandish thing,” he teased. “What has gotten into you?”
“Before we go back, I hope you’ll get into me,” she purred. Then she leaned forward and kissed him softly. Her lips were wet and cool, and it was a short kiss. One that left him wanting. His manhood jumped toward her lips.
“Has a mind of its own,” he warned her.
“I see that,” she laughed. She stuck her tongue out and licked around the purple crest, her tongue tentative and shy, probably as tentative as his had been while he learned her body. “Did you touch yourself when we were apart?” she asked, her voice a hot purr against his skin.
“Only every single day,” he admitted. He’d had one day with her, and then she was gone. So, he’d relived that day over and over and over in his mind.
“Show me what you do,” she said.
“You’re doing just fine.”
“You made me show you mine.”
“And I might make you show me yours again,” he warned.
“Show me,” she pleaded. Then her mouth closed around the crest of him. “You taste salty,” she said.
“So did you,” he told her. He took her hand and wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing it within his own.
“Like this?” she asked, but her mouth was full of him, the silky sweetness of her tongue nearly undoing him.
“Yes,” he groaned. He put his hands in her hair and showed her how to very gently go up and down. “Take a little more,” he urged.
She did, taking him farther into her mouth.
“Stop,” he warned.
“Why?” she asked, talking around him.
Marcus lifted her under her arms and tossed her gently onto her back. “Not fair,” she complained, as he lay between her thighs and entered in one solid thrust, driving himself all the way into her, as far as he could go.
Only once he was seated within her, his thighs firm against her bottom, did he stop. “Goodness,” she breathed.
“Goodness,” he repeated. He pulled back and pushed into her, filling her full. She was warm and tight around him, like a silken glove fisting his manhood.
“Deeper,” she urged.
Good God, he loved this woman. The last time they’d done this, they’d both been terrified. But now it was like coming home. He pushed her legs forward toward her chest and pushed inside of her, his thrusts quick and deep.
“Oh, Marcus!” she cried.
Her breaths hit his cheek, her moans and sighs and whispers of pleasure jarring him with every thrust, wringing his own sounds of pleasure from him as he pushed in and out, in and out, in and out. She reached for him, drawing him closer to her, her legs still between them, and he went even deeper. The tilt of her bottom made it so that he could take every sweet inch of her.
Marcus kissed the inside of her calf, closing his eyes to the sensation. Her head thrashed on the counterpane. “Marcus, Marcus, Marcus,” she chanted. “Please, Marcus!” she cried.
With a great keening cry, she squeezed him in her tight grip, milking him with her pleasure. “Yes!” he cried, as he thrust through her climax, taking her higher and higher as she broke around him. And it wasn’t until she pleaded for him to take mercy on her that he finished. He erupted inside her, soaking her walls, pressing hard inside her as he let her legs fall to his sides. Her thighs wrapped around his hips as she squeezed him tightly.
“Goodness, Marcus,” she breathed.
Marcus couldn’t move. He just collapsed on top of her, and she ran her hands up and down his back.
“Nothing could ever feel as good as you do when I’m inside you,” he breathed, kissing the side of her breast in a quick, affectionate move. He rolled from on top of her and drew her to lie on his shoulder.
She looked around. “I keep feeling like someone is going to walk up and see us,” she said.
“I doubt that many people can walk into paintings, Cece,” he said with a laugh. “But I’m willing to take the risk.”
She settled on top of him, throwing one leg across his thighs. “What are you thinking about?” he asked as his breathing returned to normal.
“I’m thinking about children we might have. The household we’ll keep. I’m thinking about our grandchildren. I’m thinking about all the missions we’ll go on together. I’m thinking about the good we can do.”
“Hmm,” he hummed.
“I’m thinking about what it’ll be like loving you for the rest of my life.”
“Well, stop thinking about it,” he warned. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”