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“I have something for you.” His voice was muffled by her shoulder, which he’d been tracing with his lips, cooler than the wintry air of the bedchamber.
“You’ve already given me something this morning, husband . In duplicate.” There was contentment in her tone. She snuggled back into the soft bedding, enjoying the contrast of the bed’s warmth with the chilly air and his cool fingers. Those fingers were now tracing their way over the curve of her hip, edging towards her thigh--again. She had some idea where he was going with this, and had a new appreciation for the stamina of vampires.
“Oh, nothing so ephemeral as that, though I am happy to provide that any time milady wishes. No, this is something material.” There was laughter in his voice as he slipped out from the pile of blankets and rummaged in the wardrobe.
Matthew kept his hands behind him as he returned to the bedside, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. But he looked at the fabric wrapped gift in his hands for a moment before offering it to her, almost shyly.
“I made these for you.”
She’d already seen many marvellous things he’d made over the years, from churches to fireplaces to children’s blocks. It left her anticipating something truly remarkable. What she was not anticipating was a pile of undyed woolen fabric. It was impossible to keep the confusion from her face as she shook out the material, trying to make sense of it. Sitting up against the headboard, she let the blanketing fall away as she held up a garment and finally understood, at least in part, what she was looking at.
“You...made me...your tights?”
“Ah, no, not quite. I made you your own tights, from a pair of mine.” He took them from her and found the seam where he’d joined them into leggings. “You see?”
She was already sliding to the edge of the bed while reaching out for them.
“There’s a shirt, too, that’s been shortened a bit.”
“I love them.”
The smile as she pulled them over her legs was impossible to suppress. They weren’t a perfect fit, but they weren’t eight layers of dress and underskirts, either. She took the proffered shirt from him and completed the look, twirling before him like a ballerina.
“Most husbands try to keep their wives out of clothing the morning after their wedding.”
“Most men aren’t married to you. And I intend to keep you out of it much of the day. You can only wear this around our chambers, of course, but you’ll freeze with nothing on here.”
“The unsexiest lingerie ever produced, then?” They both smiled at that as she swayed her hips teasingly.
“We’re a few centuries too early for that, I’m afraid, so this will have to do. Though if you’d like me to take it off of you—“ He reached for the loose sleeve of the shirt but she slipped away, raising her arms then bending down to touch the ground. She heard him growl with approval.
“Maybe I could keep it on to do a little yoga. Then perhaps after breakfast I’ll find it unnecessary.” She stretched her arms up over her head again, feeling her shoulders pop, before shaking her arms out, swinging them loosely.
“May I join you?”
Nodding in response, she found a spot on the rug and settled down into child’s pose, feeling her vertebra stretch out and her shoulders relax. She’d been too long confined by Elizabethan attire and too long without her usual activities. It felt good to move her body freely again.
He’d given her her freedom back.
She stole a glance over at Matthew’s naked form as she was taking a deep breath, and almost forgot to breathe again as she admired the play of his lean muscles under the taut skin. Sometimes she thought he could feel her watching him, but realized as her pulse quickened a beat and he glanced over at her that it was more likely he was sensing her response to watching him.
“Ready to return to bed already, Mrs. de Clermont?”
Her wrinkled nose sent him laughing out of tree pose.
“You’ve been Madame de Clermont here for weeks. Why does it bother you now?”
Stretching up into cobra, she shook her head. “Because it’s true now.”
“I like that you’re mine.” He was suddenly over and around her, pressing her down, “But you can still be Dr. Bishop when we return.”
Sinking down under his weight was tempting, so tempting, but she pushed back up against him, and he let her arch up into him, almost in cat pose. It was no hardship for either of them, his cool strength against her warmth, now with a layer of soft wool between them again.
“Dr. Bishop-Clairmont.” She could compromise; she was part of his family now twice over.
“I like that too.” His lips found the back of her neck. “My brilliant wife.” He pressed down onto her again, and this time she let him, sinking down a bit before arcing her back up into him when he began to grind his hips down into her.
“Regretting my gift already?”
She was definitely regretting it, but one layer was so much easier than all the clothes she’d been wearing since they arrived in 1590. There were no bumrolls or farthingales or corsets to unlace. All he had to do was slide them back down her legs, one firm, steady pull bringing them back down over her hips, baring her to him as she gasped.
The tights pooled where her knees rested on the carpet. He made no move to take them the rest of the way off, but remained curled around her, solid, firm. Lips found her shoulder again, tracing up from her shoulder, along the column of her neck, and catching her earlobe between his lips.
“Is this all right?”
“Oh, yes.” In case he had any doubts, she pressed herself more firmly up into him, and turned her head to catch his lips. “Yes.”
One of his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back just a bit, until she felt him, hardening again, pressing firmly against her ass. When she gave a little twist of her hips, he growled in response, his hand sliding up from her waist to cup her breast under the shirt.
She pushed off and knelt up, and he pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her completely bare to the cool air. His arms were around her for a moment, then slid down to her hips, encouraging her to move against him. It took little encouragement; she wanted this again as much as he did, and rocked back against him with a soft sigh.
He answered her with a sigh of his own, pressing fully against her back, ready cock against the small of her back as she arched against him. Hands slid off her hips, one trailing up her torso to find a breast, teasing across a nipple before pinching it lightly. The other skimmed around her hip, across her abdomen, and through the trim curls at the apex of her thighs.
A sigh escaped her lips as one of his fingers found her clit, flitting across it briefly before sliding further down, across her entrance. This morning he’d made her come twice already, and she wasn’t sure if she was still aroused from that lovemaking, or this was a fresh wave of arousal, but his finger slid into her easily. Gliding in and out, he added a second in short order, as his thumb circled around her clit, teasing.
She whimpered in frustration.
When his thumb flicked it, she nearly collapsed forward, caught only by the hand on her breast. He shifted it to her shoulder, supporting her as she lowered her hands back to the floor, folding forward, and he followed behind her, wrapped over and around her. Then she rocked back into him, pressing into his hips, into his ready erection. It slipped between her legs, slid along her entrance, and he moved his hand just enough to allow the head to brush against her clit, then retreat, his hand returning. She was panting, wanting him to move just that fraction he needed to--she rotated her hips, trying to find the angle for herself, but he slid back, catching her hips and stilling her.
“Matthew….” She gasped as his lips found the back of her neck again, grazing along her shoulder. Turning her head, she tried to capture his lips, but could only brush against his temple until he tilted his head towards her and kissed her fully, deeply.
Catching his eye as their lips parted, she murmured, “Please.”
“Bien sur, mon coeur.” Hand still holding her hips steady, his other hand left her briefly to guide himself to her entrance, then returned to her as she sighed in contentment. Slowly but steadily he slipped into her, as his thumb returned to that aching bundle of nerves. But it was almost unnecessary, as from this angle she could feel him move across equally sensitive flesh within, her body shuddering lightly already.
He was speaking to her, whispering in a mix of old French and Occitan that she couldn’t quite understand. Some conjugation of “amour” and “mon coeur” were the only things she could understand as he murmured into the shell of her ear, rhythm of his words following the rhythm of his hips against hers, of his thumb against her. All of it fell in rhythm with her rising heart rate, her rapid breaths.
With seemingly little exertion on his part, he was sending her up and up, a spiral of desire as heady as the view from this tower. And yet she knew that despite the barely increased heartbeat, the still-steady respiration, he was effected as well. The words from his lips, the kisses he trailed down her neck between them, the passion with which he held himself to her, all made it as clear as her stuttering heartbeat and inability to catch her breath made it to him.
Abruptly his lips were gone, and he moved up and away from her just enough to change the angle of his thrusts. Suddenly he was hitting her g-spot with every descent into her, until her she was crying out with a trilling sigh with every movement of their bodies, closing her eyes and mirroring the thrust of his hips with her own, exponentially increasing the intensity of their responses.
When his fingers adjusted to the building rhythm with renewed intensity against her clit, she went over the edge. Thrusting back into him, she stilled her body, rocking just her hips into him, struggling to keep her hands planted on the ground and herself upright. The hand at her breast wrapped around her, holding her up as if she weighed nothing, helping her push back into him with increased leverage. For the first time in her life, she actually screamed at the ferocity of her orgasm--she’d always thought that silly, overwrought adult film or romance novel foolishness, had never felt the need to do more than cry out her partner’s name or moan. But this, this with her husband, was something else.
She gave herself over to the intensity of it, of the blinding overwhelmingness that left her almost unable to breathe, unable to hold herself upright, unable to feel anything but Matthew around her and in her. Still moving against her, still moving deep within her, stroking her higher and higher until he too was caught up in the spasms overtaking her and moaned out her name as he pulled her upright and flush against his chest. She could feel every taut muscle in his body against her back, his hips rocking up into her then stilling, arms around her chest and hips holding her tight.
As he finally let out the longest, deepest breath she’d ever heard him take, she relaxed, slumping in his arms as he also relaxed, letting her sink back onto her knees, her weight still half against him. She wasn’t sure she could fully hold herself upright, and even he seemed to be struggling with it for a moment.
But he was quicker to recover, arms still around her, keeping her close as they both settled onto the carpets, then he drew her into his lap.
“I’ll have to get you gifts more often,” he said, lips teasing the curve of her ear. His fingers tangled through her hair, sweeping it away so he could kiss her neck again.
She could only hum in answer, feeling sated and content as she had with no one else in her life, in spite of the unbelievable circumstances in which they found themselves. It was impossible to hope to stay here, this safe and this happy. Both of them knew it was only a momentary interlude, but one they seemed determined to make the most of.
“We can stay right here today? Enjoying my new present?” Half-heartedly, she mustered the energy to reach for the leggings now tangled by her ankles.
“I thought you wanted breakfast. I’ve never known you to turn down food.” He stood, lifting her up with him before letting her bare toes touch back down on the floor and releasing her. His arms stayed loosely around her, though, until she stepped back and shook out the leggings with a smile.
“Eggs and bacon and toast?” Finally righting the tights, she slipped them back over her legs before turning away from him with a sultry smile and bending down to pick up her discarded shirt.
His hands found her hips again, but she shook her head, laughing. “Breakfast first, please.”
“Whatever my wife desires. Though you should know there’s another feast later, so perhaps not too much breakfast. Or at least more working up an appetite between now and then.”
“Another feast? Surely one was enough.”
“Not for Philippe,” he groaned, then picked up a few pieces of fabric before finding a shirt of his own. “And it’s traditional. There will be more gifts, mostly poultry.”
“More eggs for breakfast, then.” She stretched again, lifting her arms up into mountain pose, then stepping forward into warrior.
Matthew looked happier as he headed down the stairs than he had in all the time she’d known him. She smiled too, watching her new husband briefly depart, and breathed deeply, welcoming the new day.
*