In that moment, he was all that existed already.
She bucked harder and then dropped her hands to his chest, rocking through the pleasure, gasping when he sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He lifted against her as his mouth found hers, increasing the pleasure once more, drawing it out like he did with such effortless talent.
When she had stopped writhing he rolled them over again, back on top, his arms still tightly around her. He buried his head into the crook of her neck, thrusting faster now, harder. The edge of his control was right there, a thread that had been drawn tight…then too tight…by every touch. She wanted to break it. To watch as he convulsed with pleasure the same way she had. She cupped his bare backside, urging him faster. He grunted against her neck and then cried out, pulling from her, his release splashing between them in a glorious mess of pleasure and heat and connection.
He collapsed, breath hard, and she wrapped her arms as tightly around him as she could, holding him against her, never wanting the moment to come when he was parted from her.
And knowing that was impossible, because the moment was always waiting, too close on the horizon. One day she would reach it and then this dream would end.
Grantham’s entire body felt heavy as he rolled away from Ophelia at last. He shifted to his side to face her and she did the same. They were silent for a while, both just staring at each other as the weight of what had just happened sank in.
He had made love plenty of times in his thirty years. Remi would say not nearly enough, but pleasure had never been a stranger to Grantham, even if it hadn’t been a recent visitor.
But he had never felt anything like what he’d just experienced with Ophelia. Not with any other person, not on any other night. The connection he’d felt was intense and powerful, not something he could pretend away, no matter how much he wanted to.
He smoothed her hair away from her face and she smiled at him softly. The truth of it was so clear and so powerful, so easy and yet so ungodly hard: he was in love with her.
There was no surprise at the realization. It was as easy as breathing to recognize it and know it was true. He loved Ophelia. There had been some part of him on that path for as long as he’d known her. From the first moment that he’d stepped into a parlor and been utterly astounded by the chaotic angel he’d found there.
The more he’d come to know her, especially in the weeks they’d been in Athawick, had only made that feeling grow. Bloom and spread to touch every single part of his life.
He wished he could celebrate that. He wished he could surrender to it as his siblings had. Watching them embrace their happiness had been one of the greatest joys of his life, and here he was, looking into the face of his own truest happiness and…
Well, he couldn’t embrace it. He couldn’t pull her close and whisper the words that would change them both. He couldn’t pick some beautiful ring from the royal collection and slip it on her finger and a crown on her head and call her his queen.
Because the world he ruled was not well. It was, if he admitted it to himself, in chaos. And while Ophelia, herself, was sometimes chaos, he couldn’t drag her into the mess his life was going to be. He couldn’t ask her to give up who she was, what she was, and become the queen of an uneasy nation. To do so would be to break her…and definitely put her in danger.
“You are suddenly sad,” she whispered.
He smiled despite himself. Of course she would see that truth. She’d been seeing through him for as long as he’d known her. Frustrating hoyden that she was. Beautiful angel.
“Perhaps it is because I know that morning will come,” he lied. “And then this night will be over.”
She nodded solemnly. “But you know the most wonderful thing?”
“No, what is that?”
She leaned in and kissed him. Gently, but with promise and purpose that impossibly stirred his depleted body back to life. “Tonight isn’t over yet,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, but dragged her closer, slipping her beneath him as he drowned in all the beauty and passion she had to offer. Soon enough he would have to come up for air.
And once he did, he would never be truly happy again, because she would take some part of him with her when she left. So he had to revel in her now, revel in being whole in her arms and forget, for just a little while longer, that the pain that was coming was going to be devastating.
CHAPTER 17
“I don’t have time for this,” Grantham said the next morning as he strode into the parlor to which Remi had called him. His tone was, perhaps, a bit more annoyed than he wished it to be. But he was tired, thanks to his night with Ophelia. One that had only ended a few short hours before when she’d slipped from his bed with one last searing kiss.
And he’d spent the following few hours wondering if it might be the last. So Remi’s demand that he join him was not met with as much grace as he probably should have expressed.
He skidded to a stop as he saw his brother. Remi was stripped down to the waist, trousers slung low on his hips and his hands were wrapped with cloth, protecting his knuckles. The furniture had been removed from this little-used room and now it looked as it once had years ago when they had used it as their boxing ring and fencing piste.
“Remi,” Grantham said, troubles pushed aside for the moment as he fully entered the room. “What did you do?”
His brother grinned and held up his arms as he made a slow turn. “Returned the room to what it was originally, of course. Father took it away as punishment for…God, I don’t even know what.”
Grantham turned his head. Remi didn’t recall because the punishment hadn’t been his, for once. Their father had taken this room away from them because of something Grantham had done.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Remi said, this time a bit more gently. “And you and I may not be as…as close as we once were, but I’m not so selfish that I can’t see the pain on your face. I know you’re suffering.”
Grantham pursed his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Remi snorted. “Still have to leave those walls up, do you? Very well, that’s your prerogative as king. If I annoy you by pressing, why don’t you solve the problem in the boxing ring?”
Grantham stared past him at the square in the middle of the room that would serve as a ring. His hands itched at the idea of shrugging off propriety, at having a physical release. After all, the physical release with Ophelia was certainly helping. In those moments with her, he could almost forget the inevitability of his life.
“Fine,” he said. “But I really do have other matters to attend. I can’t spend an inordinate amount of time doing this with you.”
Remi chuckled as Grantham began to strip out of his jacket and unwind his cravat. “Oh, well, thank you very much, Your Majesty. I appreciate you making time in your schedule.”
Grantham huffed out his breath, but he was trying to cover a laugh. He set aside his jacket, his cravat, his vest, his linen shirt. Remi produced the strips to wrap his knuckles and then went to work protecting Grantham’s hands with the bindings.
“Who wrapped yours?” Grantham asked, motioning his head toward his brother’s own hands.