Chapter 12
912 Words
Chapter 12
Bill groggily surfaced. Seven a.m.
Crap! An hour late! He tried to leap into action, but his body totally failed him. Then he remembered where he was. No kids. No lunches to make, no need to double-check they had their homework in their packs.
He rolled over, but there was no one beside him. It was just breaking daylight beyond the lacy curtains. The room he hadn’t seen last night was now lit with a soft light. Everything that was utilitarian in the rest of Perrin’s apartment, had no place here in her bedroom. Here there were warm colors, soft textures. Rather than a closet, rather than just a closet, one whole wall had been turned into shelves and hanging racks. Here were the clothes, both casual and incredible, worn by both the real Perrin and the wild-girl she presented as a smokescreen to distract others.
But where was she?
Even as he struggled to wake up enough to go find her, the bedroom door swung open. An elegant, burl-wood door harp played a cheerful chord as the door bumped lightly against the dresser.
He’d never seen anything like what came walking into the room. Perrin had said she slept in a flannel nightgown. What she hadn’t said was how amazing she looked in one. It was easy to forget how tall she was because she was so slight, but the columnar gown emphasized her length. And her black-and-blond hair stood out even more strongly against the white. The gown was of such fine material, that even the tiny breeze of her forward motion made it wrap and cling against her amazing figure.
And the smile that greeted him wasn’t the least bit tentative. There couldn’t be any question about how they felt, not after last night. Her smile was as luminous as the morning light. Her fine features, so delicate yet so strong.
“Are you ready for some coffee?”
His brain said, “Yes.” But the rest of him had other thoughts. A reaction she clearly noted through the thin layer of the sheet over his bare hips.
“I was hoping that’s how you felt.” She set the tray on her dresser then moved to sit beside him.
When she reached out a hand to brush his cheek, he used it as leverage to drag her against him, crushing his mouth to hers.
She lay down full length upon him and melted against him until they would be one body if not for the thin flow of soft fabric separating them.
“You,” he ran a hand up her magnificent body, “requested a ravage, Ms. Williams. I think it is time you received precisely that.”
“Why Mr. Cullen, that sounds like an absolutely brilliant idea.”
And he did. For a moment, he considered if he should be gentle, not wanting to scare her. Then he imagined her as the Empress—the great, the powerful, the embodiment of woman. What kind of a lover could make the Empress lose herself? A gentle one would please her, but that wasn’t the point of a ravage.
He rolled her onto the bed beside him. When Perrin moved to pull off the nightgown, he brushed her hands away. In some ways this too was her shield, where she wrapped herself into safety. Well, this morning, he’d not violate that, instead he’d honor it as a part of who she was. He rubbed the fabric over her, tasted her through its thickness, drove her with his hands, though never directly touching her, until her body thrashed and she groaned begging for more.
When he could stand it no longer, he rolled her on top of him, slid the nightgown up her legs, and took her beneath the cloak of flannel now spread over both of them.
With her palms against his chest, she rose above him, the most magnificent being he could imagine, and then she drove her hips downward as he arched up into her.
Her head thrown back, her exquisite neck curving ever so perfectly, her body thrumming against his as they both greeted the morning with their shared pleasure and joy.
# # #
Bill was showered, dressed, and totally pleased with his morning when Perrin’s phone buzzed as they were leaving her apartment. She checked the message and then made a cheer and did a little shimmy dance. Today she wore tailored wool slacks and a cashmere sweater, one of which hugged and the other of which clung.
Bill’s first thought was how badly he wanted to drag her straight back into the apartment, but she was skipping ahead of him down the poem and zebra-stripe hallway.
“It’s finished!” she called back to him.
“What is?” He had to hustle to keep up with her.
“C’mon slowpoke!” And she was gone.
She stood at the street corner when he caught up with her and there was certainly no need to ask what she was looking at.
A solid maple tree, with its long straight trunk, had been wrapped in yarn. It was the colors that were so electrifying. The upper half was in the conflicted color of the lineage of the Tragic Prince, the lower half, the jewel tones of the Princess and True Love. Over them both, in large, blocky letters that were actually knit into the design was simply the opera’s title, Ascension, in the dark, forceful colors of the Overlord.
“An Ascension yarn bomb? That’s cute.”
“I had Patsy’s yarn g**g do it for me.”
“It’s sweet.” Bill brushed a hand down the soft surface.
Perrin the wild girl was looking at him…and grinning like a jackal.
Bill surreptitiously checked the soles of his shoes to see what he had just stepped in, but he had no idea.
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