Page 90 of The Rest is History
Meanwhile, though, I have a very clear idea of what an ‘indulgent’ Sunday morning looks like with Elodie.
We’re sitting out on my bedroom terrace. It’s a bit fresh at this hour, but I’ve wrapped us up in fluffy robes, and there are hot coffees on the table next to us. This is possibly my favourite part of the house. My bedroom is over the kitchen, on the east-facing leg of the L-shaped footprint. Above the curved bank of doors in my dining area sits this semi-circular-shaped terrace, where I can salute the sun from a yoga mat or the two heavy loungers. The trees in my and my neighbours’ gardens are mature enough that all I really see are leaves and roofs.
It’s my refuge.
One lounger is empty this morning, because I have Elodie sitting between my legs, her back the perfect weight against my chest. She’s reading theTimes Culturesupplement while I catch up on theFinancial Times, holding the folded-up paper out toone side so I can read while I snuggle with her. Monday to Friday, my reading habits throw me back a few centuries, but I like to keep up with the markets on the weekend.
Usually.
Today, the usual op-eds don’t stand a chance of keeping my attention when there’s a beautiful woman reclining against me, her robe exposing tantalising slivers of thigh and breast. The newspaper print dances in front of me, and I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her hair.
Christ, that long dark hair, and the things it does to me.
We had sex last night, but we haven’t touched each other properly this morning, and I ache for her. I drop my paper on the ground and slide my hand around her front so I can stroke her neck.
‘Mmm.’ She sighs contentedly. ‘What is it about you and my neck?’
‘It was the first part of you I fell for,’ I murmur.
‘Really?’
I’ve never told her that before. She knows I have a thing for her neck—I think I made the point pretty forcefully, that first time at the palace—but I’ve never told her how that initial glimpse made me feel.
‘Yeah.’ My fingers trail down to the dip at her throat. ‘You had your back to me in the interview room. I took one look at your neck and, I swear, my legs nearly gave out. I can’t explain how it made me feel, except to say I was completely transfixed. I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw that slim, white neck of yours.’
‘That’s a sweet story, Count Dracula.’ She pats my thigh through my robe.
‘Actually, I felt more like Henry. I had a very specific jolt of recognition of how Anne must have made him feel. And then you turned around, and?—’
‘The rest is history?’
‘I decided I could probably cope with the front view, too.’
‘Such a charmer.’
‘The front view is pretty fucking spectacular.’ I slide my hand downwards beneath her robe, finding one perfect breast and cupping it. Weighing it in my hand. Admiring how perfectly it fits the cradle my palm makes. My thumb skims over her nipple, and she makes a little noise that goes straight to my groin. Turning, she finds my mouth and kisses me.
I open my mouth and find her tongue with mine as my thumb rolls languorously around her nipple. This is Lazy Sunday. We’re taking this slow. As my thumb works her nipple, her kisses grow more heated. The sucks of her lips on mine more desperate. I pull my mouth away and settle her so her back is squarely against my chest. Reach down and tug her robe open.
‘Let’s see how slow we can go, sweetheart,’ I whisper in her ear.
She gives a little laugh, likeyou’re delusional, and arches her back. ‘Let’s see, indeed.’
She has a valid point. I’m already hard as rock.
I kiss down the side of her jaw. She obliges by letting her head roll to one side, exposing that beautiful neck for me. I give it a little nip—nothing that will mark—and run my tongue over the same spot. My other hand slides around her and I roll both nipples between my fingers, marvelling at how stiff and plump they are. The sweetest fucking things. My fingertips graze their sensitive caps, and she bucks.
‘Pinch them for me, Charlie,’ she begs.
‘Like this?’ I pinch the swollen flesh.
‘Yes,’ she hisses.
‘Nope.’ I kiss her neck and resume my featherlight touches. ‘This way is better.’
‘Better if you’re a sadist,’ she grits out, and I chuckle. She has no idea what I have planned for her.
I shift slightly on the lounger, pulling my knees up so the soles of my feet are flat on the cushion. She follows, but I clamp my knees together as tightly as I can, trapping her legs firmly shut between mine. I release one nipple, sweeping a hand between her breasts. Over her smooth stomach. Between her legs.
