Page 97 of Sharpen Your Claws

“Are you that eager to fuck me?”

“At this stage, I think we could call it making love.”

William pretended to gag, then rolled over to curl against his chest. His arms fell around Nicholas’ waist. He sighed with a contentment Nicholas hadn’t heard since they found each other again. A smile spread so large his cheeks ached.

“Don’t play the romantic. It doesn’t suit you,” William teased.

“Says the man who loves a romantic.”

“In books.” William drew circles in the small of his back. “I love you the way you are, as wicked as I am.”

“Love was never a word I thought I would hear from anyone,” he whispered, especially not William, even if that was all he could ever want.

“Then I will say it every day.” William’s eyes became devious. “If you behave.”

He groaned playfully. “I’ve done more than behave this evening, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

William opened his mouth, no words leaving his lips. He pulled away, leaving Nicholas cold and despaired. William got up to wipe himself off with his ruined shirt and tugged something out of his trousers. The item was small enough to hide in his hand. He returned to Nicholas’ awaiting arms, where he meant to be forever. William’s full body blush darkened as he held that hand against his chest.

Then William took his hand, bringing it from his waist to settle between them. Something dropped, shadowed under William’s arm. He caught Nicholas’ ring finger, holding it up and Nicholas held it there, letting William slip a ring on that finger. He stared, perplexed, at the roots tangled into a knotted ring. He remembered giving William his, taunting him with a mortal custom that hadn’t meant anything at the time. But now, the ring hugging his finger meant everything in the world.

“It won’t last forever or hide you from trouble, but that’s as good as I can make." Blushing, William kissed Nicholas’ knuckles as he had done so many times.

He pulled William flush against him, needing to kiss him, to hold him forever. “Is this your way of asking to court me, officially?”

“It’s my way of saying I’ll never let you go. I fear I was made for you too, trouble.”

He liked that even better. They held each other close all night where Nicholas’ heart grew so full he feared it would burst from his chest. He knew the feeling wouldn’t go away, never again, because he wasn’t alone anymore. He had more than he could ever imagine, more than he would ever dare ask for.

Regardless of what the future held, he was happier than ever and somehow; he knew it was only going to get better.

32

Three Years Later

Everyweekend,theVandervultestate came to life.

Through the week, Lord and Lady Vandervult tended to their garden, read their books, and played with their granddaughter. Having retired last year, Lord Vandervult enjoyed his time away from court, having finally quit smoking those awful cigars Matilda so despised and let their eldest take over so the two could enjoy their later years. Lady Vandervult also took up learning a little fencing, and she was far better than any expected, although her sons greatly regretted encouraging her after they learned her reflexes could not be dodged. They learned swiftly not to make crude remarks lest they risk a smack to the back of their heads.

The Vandervults didn’t throw many parties, nor were they invited to many. If they were, they would have declined. Their time in the spotlight ended, and they savored the life they had and the family. Especially the family. They were the reason the estate came to life in a spectacular fashion.

“How is supper coming along, darling?” Matilda called to the chef, who toiled over their meal for hours. After all, they were hosting for thirteen and expecting more in the coming months.

“Nearly done, madam,” said the chef, with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. He drizzled homemade dressing across their salads. Behind him, dinner cooked, lifting a light haze over the kitchen and a plethora of charming smells that would make anyone salivate.

“Good, good. They will be coming soon.” Matilda hiked up her skirts, all smiles and cheer, and went for the door.

Marshall waited for the first carriage to arrive. He opened the door for a very pregnant Amara, who waddled through the doorway with a hand on her plump stomach. Behind her, Arthur carried Alice until she wiggled out of his arms.

“Grandma!” Alice fell into Matilda’s skirts, hugging her waist tight. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, my dear.” Matilda picked her up and kissed her cheek just as Richard and Eleanor dragged their twin boys into the foyer.

She couldn’t believe the twins were three already. She could have sworn they were born only yesterday, and yet, they were already running through the foyer in search of trouble.

Amara watched the boys, then glared at Arthur. “If we have twins, you’re sleeping on the couch for a year, at least.”

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