Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“They are beautiful,” he declared, shifting a hand to cup my jaw so he could reach out with a thumb to gently touch the hoop at my lip. “And they will be even more beautiful threaded with my chain.”
I hoped he thought so.
“You were right. It didn’t hurt. Just a tinge,” I told him.
“Mm,” he hummed in a way I felt in my belly.
“The ceremony almost made me weep,” I shared.
At that, he looked surprised, then everything left his expression.
That was everything, except the tenderness.
“This heartens me,” he said softly.
“And Piccola is just wonderful,” I went on.
“Piccola?”
“My wee monkey.”
His eyes went soft as did his mouth.
And that was even more handsome.
It might be the handsomest of all.
“You’re pleased?” he asked.
I nodded but admitted, “I didn’t get you anything.”
“You gave me this.” He touched his thumb to my hoop again.
“Yes, I know. But for our wedding.”
His brow went up. “The bride gives her husband a gift at the wedding in your realm?”
“No, I mean, yes. They both do. Bride and groom.”
“How odd,” he murmured.
I brightened.
“So you haven’t gotten me anything so I don’t have to rush to a bazaar tomorrow to find something special for you?”
He bent to me again, putting his face in mine. “My Silence, shall we just say that we’ve already exchanged our gifts? You will take my chain. And I have given you Piccola.”
“I think that would be…that would be…” I couldn’t catch a thought with his face that close, his body that close, his hands on me…in his bedchamber.
“It would be…?” he prompted when I got lost in how black his eyes were.
They were like liquid.
“Good,” I forced out.
“Mm,” he hummed again, lifted up, touched his lips to my forehead, I felt the tickle of his beard, his soft lips, and I froze.
True kissed my forehead.
On the rare occasion I did something about which my father approved (this was a grand total of two times in my life), my father kissed my forehead.
When I was younger and shorter, my mother kissed my forehead.
I didn’t like Mars kissing my forehead.
“I shall walk you to your bedchamber,” he announced.
I didn’t want to go to my bedchamber.
I wanted to…
I didn’t know.
“How did my father vex you?” I asked the skin of his chest.
His hand at my jaw slid down to cup my neck again, but his thumb still moved, this time to stroke my jaw.
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured.
My eyes dropped to his stomach, and I saw the boxes there.
How did he get those?
I could not say I’d seen many men’s chests.
But I’d never seen those.
“I don’t like my father vexing you,” I mumbled.
“As it wasn’t you who vexed me, I’ll share again, mia bellezza, it doesn’t matter.
His beauty.
And he was going to be my beauty.
Without me willing it to do so, mesmerized in some way by his flesh, I lifted a hand and touched it to one of the dents in his belly.
He sucked in breath.
I didn’t notice.
“But I do like your bedchamber,” I muttered.
“I’m glad,” he said in a voice that sounded strange—deeper, thick.
I slid the tip of my finger down the center groove, which was the deepest.
“Silence,” he whispered.
“How do you get your belly to look like this?” I whispered back, sweeping my finger along a side dip under a swell.
“Silence.”
That wasn’t thick
It was hoarse.
I tipped my head back at the sound.
And with one look at him, my body caught fire.
“Mars,” I breathed.
“I would kiss you,” he murmured, staring fixedly at my mouth.
“I would like you to kiss me,” I whispered back, veering inexorably toward his body.
He stopped me by putting his finger under my chin, tipping my head back farther, dipping his down, and touching his lips to mine.
He then retreated.
As other suitors retreated who stole a kiss.
A peck on the mouth.
Then gone.
“Oh,” I mumbled.
“Oh?” he asked.
I looked into his eyes. “I um, well, yes. Thank you. That was nice.”
“Nice?”
Oh dear.
He didn’t look happy.
“Do you play games?” he queried.
My brow furrowed, and I answered. “No.”
His eyes moved over my face a moment before he asked another question.
“Do you truly want my kiss?”
Taking in his expression, I wasn’t so certain.
“Come here, piccolina,” he ordered.
“I’m here, Mars.”
He bent low, wrapped an arm around my waist, and drew me against his body.
“Oh,” I breathed.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Oh.”
He felt hard against me.
Not only his body (which was hard) but a certain part of his body (which was hard and pressing into me).
“This is what your touch does to me, Silence,” he said.
“All right,” I whispered.
“Does it frighten you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I admitted quietly.
“I will fix that.”
I didn’t know if that was possible.
“All right,” I repeated.
“I’m going to kiss you now. A kiss that is not…nice.”
Eep!
“All right.”
He pulled me up to my toes as his hand at my neck tilted my head far, far back with a thumb at the hinge of my jaw.