Page 245 of Storm of Bells
(Chapter 43, ‘A Stormy Night’, from Mr Ambrose’sPoint of View)
I stared down at thepicture of perfection on the bed beneath me. Her dark brown hairwas spread out in wild tangles across the cushion, her whitewedding dress almost invisible against the snowy sheet beneath. Ifonly it weretrulyinvisible. If only she were laid barebefore my eyes.
My fingers flexed as I remembered a truth I’dhad to learn very early in life: real men make their wishes intoreality!
‘Mine!’
For a moment, I considered simply pouncing onher and ripping her clothes off. It would be so easy. Soexpedient.
But…this dress?
This dress could not be touched. There couldnever be even so much as a stain on this dress. The one she hadspoken her vows in. The one in which she had given herself tome.
The confusion on her face as I suddenlylifted her up from the bed on which I had placed her moments beforewas almost adorable—if I were a man who used words such as‘adorable’. Since I most definitely wasn’t, I simply reached outand turned her around until she stood with her back to me. I couldalmost hear the penny drop when my fingers touched the top buttonon the back of her dress and popped it open.
Heat surged up her neck, colouring her skin adelicious shade of red.
I reached the second button.
The red colour reached the tips of her ears,burning bright.
The third button.
Her breathing sped up. Adequate. But notenough. Notnearlyenough. Leaning forward, I pressed afeatherlight kiss on the very spot I had just unveiled. Underneathmy lips, I felt her shiver, and goose bumps rose on her softskin.
‘Are you still certain you don’t want to bemine?’ I enquired, my voice a low growl.
Another shiver.
‘Yes,’ she croaked.
Another button opened, and another kiss. Withthe meticulous care I would only bestow upon the rarest and mostprecious of crystal vases, I reached out and caressed her skin.
‘My littleifrit…you aremine!Now and forever.’
She opened her mouth, most likely for a floodof protests, but I didn’t intend to give her the chance. Quicklypopping open another button, I pressed a kiss at the very centre ofher back, at the spot just above her derrière. The gasp that kisselicited sent a thrill of pride through me the like of which Ihadn’t felt since I made my first million.
And the best thing?
Unlike that brief moment of joy, I would haveher for the rest of my life. With swift, efficient movements, Itore off my clothing, not caring one whit for where it ended up.Removing my own clothes wasnotwhat my mind was focused onat that very moment.
‘I’ve heard you received quite a few presentstoday.’ Letting my last piece of clothing flutter to the ground, Islid my hands up along her sides until they rested on hershoulders. ‘It’s time to unwrapmypresent.’
‘Y-your present? What do you mea—’
My lady wife’s words ended in an abrupt gaspwhen I slid her dress off her shoulders in one fluid motion. With asoft whisper, it fell to the carpet. I felt her tremble as therealization of what had just happened set in.
Yet it’s nothing in comparison to whatisaboutto happen.
Reaching around her from behind, I wrappedher tightly in my arms, intensely aware of every inch of bare skinburning into mine. For a moment, she stiffened as if in the graspof a predator—then suddenly relaxed, sinking back against me.
It began with a feather-soft touch. A singlefinger, then two, then three. Then her entire hand gently coveredmine, pressing it more closely against her front.
The message was clear.Please, hold me!Hold me tighter!
Who was I to refuse a lady?
Well, Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But that wasn’t thepoint. The point was: I didn’twantto refuse. Not on mylife.
