Lord of Dread: Chapters 41-45 (Patreon)

Chapter 41

I stick my tongue out as I lean forward and dab at the giant ink blot I just foolishly left. It was supposed to be a cute, tiny period, but I pressed too hard and now it looks horrible. It sticks out on the page, and I lean back as I debate starting over.

Will sent me some beautiful stationery in the mail, and I want my thank you letter to be perfect. I’d hate for him to think I don’t appreciate the gift, especially when it was so kind. In my last letter, I complained to him about the lack of good options at my local shop, and it seems he took that as an opportunity to visit his shop and purchase me something.

I mess with my ink blot a bit more before deciding to continue with my letter. I was able to pull a smidgen of the ink up, and I think once I finish the rest of my writing, it won’t be quite as prominent.

At least, I hope not.

I’m on my last few lines, and I’d really hate to have to start over.

“Good morning, Rebecca!” Louise peeks her head into the room and shoots me a sly smile. She’s in an awfully good mood today.

I bet it has something to do with my dearest baby brother, Jack. She’s been quite tight-lipped as of late, but I’ve caught her reading over letters from him with flaming red cheeks on more than one occasion. I’d love to be nosy and pry, but I’m not sure I want to know.

Louise is quick to blush, but her cheeks are just a bit too red for their letters to be entirely appropriate.

I shiver at the thought of what could be in there. Louise is poised and would never do something to tarnish her name, but my brother can be a real strumpet. He ran around with the widow before meeting Louise, and the rumors of what they did in private spread far and wide.

Gross.

I’ll kill him if he’s being inappropriate with Louise.

“There’s a seamstress here to see you,” Louise says, drawing my attention.

What? I look around the room, shocked to hear that. I’d never make a house call for a seamstress. They’re much too expensive, and I have more than enough clothing. Maybe Elijah has put in an order for some new gloves for me.

The thought makes my heart warm.

“Where is she?” I ask.

Louise takes another step into the drawing room. “Upstairs in the first bedroom,” she says.

I’m careful not to spill any ink as I bundle my writing tools together and place them in the drawer underneath my desk. I keep a few pages of my new parchment out, though. Elijah hasn’t had a chance to see them yet, and I intend to visit his office later and show him.

Objectively I know he doesn’t care about what parchment I use, but I know he’ll do a good job pretending to be excited.

He’s good at that, and I almost can’t even tell when he’s faking.

“Why is she upstairs? Can you bring her here?” I ask.

There’s no reason for such privacy if she’s only fixing me some gloves. I’m comfortable showing her my bare hands in a room where others may see. My bony fingers are hardly the most scandalous thing in the world.

“You care to undress in the drawing room?” Louise laughs, her eyes bright and full of mischief. “She arrived with trunks of fabric, Lady Hughes, and I think she intends to make you an entire dress,” she continues, giggling.

My throat runs dry. There’s absolutely no way, and I shift my weight from foot to foot as the possibility of that settles in. My own dress? Seamstresses are expensive, especially when they come to your house and even more so when making a dress from scratch.

No significant events are coming up that would justify one, either.

“Are you sure?” I whisper, clutching my parchment to my chest.

I’m sure I look flushed as I wait for Louise’s response. Her smile grows as she gives an eager nod, and I let a quiet squeak slip from my throat as I hurry my way upstairs. I really hope what she says is correct, but I do my best not to let my excitement get the best of me in case she misread the situation.

Elijah hasn’t mentioned anything about purchasing me a new dress.

My heart flutters as I push open the first bedroom and peek inside. My eyes land on the trunks first, and I swallow past the lump in my throat as I open the door the rest of the way and step into the room.

A seamstress is sitting on a small stool counting pins, and I shoot her a friendly smile as I set my stationary down on the empty vanity by the door.

“Hello,” I greet her.

She stands and clasps her hands behind her back. She’s not my usual seamstress, but she seems friendly. Her expensive fabric and bright-colored dress tell me she’s wealthy for a seamstress, and I wonder if it’s because she married well or because she her services for an exorbitant price.

“Good morning, Lady Hughes. I’m here to take your measurements and create a base for your new dress,” she says, confirming Louise’s suspicions.

Oh, dear. My lips twitch upwards as I shut the door and step further into the room. Elijah is going to be receiving a visit from me once I’m finished here.

“Wonderful. Thank you,” I beam.

She nods, ever polite, and returns to her pins while I remove my outer layers. Elijah helped dress me this morning, a task he’s begun to do most mornings, and I’m glad he chose the top that buttoned in the front.

I assumed he chose it because he wanted to feel my breasts as he buttoned it, but now I wonder if it’s because he knew I’d be meeting with a seamstress and wanted me in something I could quickly undo.

He is a sneaky, sneaky man.

There’s a small pedestal in the center of the room, and I make my way over to it once I’ve undressed. I’m in only my corset and underdress, and I accept the seamstress’s outstretched hand as I step onto it.

It brings me up a few inches, and I let my arms dangle by my sides as the seamstress circles me.

“Would you like me to tighten your corset before beginning?” she offers.

I feel her wiggle a finger in the gap between my corset and underdress, probably measuring the distance. My blood warms as I shake my head.

“No, thank you. This is how I wear it,” I say.

Elijah would be quite pleased to hear that, and I’ll make sure to inform him of the fashion sacrifice I’ve made today. He should feel complimented I’ve chosen him before my beauty.

The woman hums, clearly disapproving, but doesn’t say anything further as she gets to work. She drapes fabric over me and pins it in place, and I find my muscles growing taut with each added pin.

The sharp metal threatens to jab me with the slightest movement.

My heart rate skyrockets as the bedroom door begins to open, and I prepare to yell that the room is occupied when Elijah’s head pops in. The seamstress looks up to see how it is before turning away once she realizes it’s only my husband.

Elijah saunters into the room with the confidence only he can muster.

I’m in the middle of a fitting! Men are not interested in their wife’s clothing, or at least they’re supposed to pretend not to.

“Hello, my dear wife,” Elijah says.

I lick my lips.

“A new dress?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.

Elijah shrugs and pointedly looks down at my body. I shoot him a sharp glare once he meets my eyes again, and he sucks in his cheeks before politely turning away. He shouldn’t be looking at me with such heat when we’re in the company of another.

His being in this room is indecent enough.

“I thought you might like a new dress for next month’s coming out ball,” Elijah says. “Since you’re the oldest married woman in your family, I assume you’ll be Ophelia’s chaperone this upcoming season.”

I blink, shocked he knows about my sister Ophelia. I give a tentative nod when he continues to stare, confirming what he says is correct. How and why does he know that? I don’t talk to him about my family, Jack excluded.

I hardly even talk to them myself. I was publicly humiliated by Elijah and too ashamed by it to keep in close contact.

I know Ophelia would never blame me, but I couldn’t bring myself to face her.

My match with Elijah sets a precedent for any men who may wish to court her. Elijah has a good title, yes, but he treated me poorly and made no attempts to hide it. It doesn’t cast Ophelia in the most favorable light, and guilt has kept me distant.

“It’s quite a big event, and many eyes will be on you and your sister.” Elijah waits for me to nod before continuing. “I want you to have a new dress for it. Some matching gloves as well.”

Elijah directs the last bit to the seamstress, and she looks up and nods in confirmation. A new dress and gloves! This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.

“I’m quite excited to see Ophelia, too,” Elijah adds as an afterthought.

I recoil. He’s excited to see my sister? I open and close my mouth, struggling for words, before clamping it shut and narrowing my eyes. What an odd thing for him to say.

Elijah takes enjoyment in my confusion. His smile grows as he watches me, and I resist the urge to kick him in the shin when he steps forward and presses his lips to mine. He keeps the kiss short, an intelligent move, before leaning back and tucking one of my curls behind my ear.

I pull it back out to spite him.

“I know how much you love your family,” Elijah says. “And how much you care for your sister’s reputation.”

He takes a comically large step back when the seamstress clears her throat and gestures to the area he’s standing. I purse my lips to hide my smile as she moves into the space he once occupied.

“I know I made people look unfavorably at you and your sisters, and I want to fix it. I sent a seamstress to your family home to make a dress for Ophelia, too,” he admits.

My breath catches in my throat. He’s truly done that? That’s not his responsibility.

“It’s my father’s duty to buy her a dress,” I say.

Elijah glances at the seamstress before leaning close.

“Your father is poorer than he lets on, Becks. He placed all his bets on you, and rumor throughout the gentleman’s clubs is that there’s little money left for your sisters,” he whispers. “I want you both to have something nice.”

Guilt hits me hard in the chest. I’m aware our family isn’t in the best place financially, but I had no idea that information was being spread. Even if it weren’t true, the whispers are enough to harm my sisters.

Elijah tucks my curl back behind my ear.

“You and Ophelia will show up to the ball in beautiful, expensive dresses, ones that I’m sure will get all the other ladies talking,” he says. “I’ll make sure to be a doting husband all night, too, so there’ll be no question as to our relationship.”

I have no words. No thoughts.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I love you.”

Elijah’s eyes search mine, and I look away when it becomes too much. I clutch a hand to my chest and blink away the damned tears that threaten to spill over, and Elijah lets out a quiet laugh before taking another step back when the seamstress clears her throat once more.

“Did you see the gift Will sent me?” I ask, changing the subject.

Elijah shakes his head, and I gesture toward the vanity table. I can’t see it from where I’m standing, but I know I set it on the top when I entered. It should be the only thing on the small table.

Elijah glances in that direction before walking over. I turn back to the seamstress as he exits my line of sight. She’s working on the bodice, and I resist the urge to flinch as I see her needle move only a hair’s thickness away from my skin.

I rarely experience the joy of having dresses custom-made for me like this. The price was always too high for my father to justify paying, but I’ve always found it fascinating.

I usually pick a pre-made silhouette and have it tailored to fit me, and I have to admit watching her pick up fabrics and make the silhouette from scratch makes me feel quite fancy. There have been only two other times I’ve had such an experience, once for my first coming-out ball and another for my wedding.

The first was filled with excitement, but I found no joy in having my wedding dress made.

I don’t even know what’s become of it. They are typically saved and treasured, but I never bothered to ask where the maids took mine after I changed out of it. I’m not sure if I care to know even now. That time wasn’t happy for me, and I don’t need the reminder.

“You don’t like dotted paper,” Elijah says.

I attempt to turn and face him, but it’s next to impossible when there’s a woman holding a needle only inches from my soft flesh. Instead, I settle for turning my head and staring at the wall closest to him.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Elijah enters my line of sight and holds up the stationary Will gifted me.

“The pattern is dotted. You told me once you don’t like this style,” he says.

My lips form the shape of an O. I don’t remember telling Elijah that, but it’s true. The pattern isn’t one of my favorites, but the deep lilac color is beautiful and I appreciate Will gifting it to me.

“It’s still a very kind gift,” I urge, not wanting to complain and sound ungrateful.

A wide smile spreads across Elijah’s lips, and I dip my chin when it makes my stomach swirl. How does he always manage to get me worked up with something as simple as a smile? Everybody has one.

“It is,” he agrees, approaching.

I hold my breath as he nears. I’m standing on a pedestal that puts us at the same height, and I take enjoyment in the new view. Elijah looks just as handsome straight on as he does from a few inches below.

I’d tell him that if I didn’t fear it would make him cocky.

He presses a chaste kiss to my lips before turning and leaving. He shuts the door behind him, and I stare at the wall as I work to collect my thoughts. This is by far the most thoughtful thing anybody’s ever done for me, and never in a million years did I think Elijah was capable of such affection.

He’s turning out to be full of surprises.

“You’ve got yourself a good one,” the seamstress says. She rounds me and pins some fabric at my back, the woman smooth and efficient.

I believe I know the answer to my earlier question regarding where her money comes from. She’s clearly skilled.

“I know,” I respond, my voice hoarse. “He’s good.”

Chapter 42

I can practically feel Louise’s annoyance as I urge her not to suffocate me with the corset. I’m not pleased with this change in my attire, either, but I’d rather deal with the looser fit than the evil eyes I’m sure Elijah would give me if he knew I let her tie it tight.

Life was simpler when he disliked me.

“Are you excited for tonight?” she asks, peering at me through the mirror’s reflection.

I nod, unable to hide my glee. My dress was completed only last week, and it’s stunning.

The emerald green compliments my skin, and the fabric is impossibly soft. That’s not even to mention how well it fits. Even with my looser corset, it makes my waist look tiny and my breasts large.

They’ve been swollen as of late, a fact Elijah is most excited about. He seems to think that means I’m with a child, but I’m not getting my hopes up. My bleed isn’t expected for another three days, and engorged breasts are a common side effect of my impending monthly horror.

My eyes follow Louise as she walks to my wardrobe and pulls out the dress. I’m in love with it, and I clasp my hands together as I stand from my vanity stool and meet her halfway. Her eyes dance as she watches my poorly concealed excitement, but I don’t care.

Tonight is going to be perfect.

There’s a sharp knock on the door, and I turn to it with a huff.

“Go away!” I shout.

I know Elijah wants to interrupt, but he can’t see me until I’m ready. He’s yet to see me in my dress, and I want to make it a big thing. I hope he correctly plays the part of blown away, at a loss for words, hopelessly in love male.

“You can’t lock me out of my own bedroom, Becks,” he yells through the wood. I ignore him, and a second later I hear a quiet thud of a forehead hitting the door. “I forgot to grab my black socks,” he finally admits, his voice low and full of shame.

Good.

I told him twenty times that the bedroom was mine tonight and he needed to grab his clothing and get ready somewhere else. Twenty times. He assured me he had everything he needed, but I knew the fool would forget something.

Elijah’s quiet as I storm to his wardrobe and grab his balled-up socks. They’re right on top, and I roll my eyes as I make my way to the door and unlatch the lock.

“Close your eyes,” I order.

My words are met with a loud sigh. “My eyes are closed.”

I creak open the door and shove my arm out of the crack. Elijah’s eyes are tightly squeezed shut, and I press the socks into his chest before snatching my arm back. He fumbles to grab them, and I slam the door in his face before returning to Louise.

Twenty times I told him to grab everything.

“I love you!” Elijah says through the door.

I continue to ignore him, but it’s not out of playful anger this time. He’s taken to confessing those words to me daily, sometimes even multiple times a day, and I still haven’t said them back. At first, it was out of fear, but now it’s out of worry.

I was terrified to accept my feelings for him, let alone share them. I thought if I told him I loved him, it would ruin the perfectly crafted walls I had built around myself after months and months of hurt.

Now I realize he’s already torn down those walls.

The words don’t change anything. I already feel the emotion, and admitting them won’t make my heartbreak any greater should he decide to change his mind.

But now I’m worried about how to say them. Elijah chose such a perfect time to tell me his feelings, and I want to do something similar. I’d hate to blurt them out only to encounter a more romantic time later and wish I have saved them until that moment.

“The one-sided I love you’s are getting awkward.” Louise breaks the silence as she helps me step into my dress.

She’s not wrong. I’m fully aware they are, and I’m sure Elijah feels the same way. It’s only a matter of time before he stops saying them altogether.

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” I admit. “I want it to be special.”

Louise doesn’t push the issue, but I can tell she wants to. She’s made it more than apparent that she’s happy Elijah and I have decided to come together in a real marriage, and I’m sure she’s eager for us to take things further with confessed love and children.

I am, too.

We finish getting me ready in relative silence, and once I’m finished, Louise steps into my closet and picks out a dress for herself. I try to guide her toward one of my nicer ones, but she insists on wearing one of lower quality.

I know she’s embarrassed to borrow my clothing, but I don’t mind.

They fit her nicely, and I enjoy seeing Jack fawn over her in them. I’m sure he’d still appreciate her in her regular clothing, but a shameful part of me acknowledges that it looks better for our family when the woman he’s courting dresses well.

I’ll take that emotion to my grave, though, and I’d never insult Louise by vocalizing how her station negatively impacts my family.

Jack genuinely cares for her, and if it weren’t for my younger sisters, I wouldn’t have a care in the world.

“Oh, let me fix this pin,” Louise says as I reach for the door.

I pause, my hand on the knob, and wait for her to repin one of my curls. I’ve taken to wearing my hair down recently, but tonight I’m sticking to the season’s fashion and wearing it up.

My heels tap quietly against the floor as I make my way to the foyer. Elijah straightens up as I enter the room, and I nervously run my hands down the front of my dress as I watch him take me in.

His expression is unreadable, and he takes his sweet time looking over every inch of me before saying anything.

“Rebecca,” he says, stepping forward. He places his hands on my waist and pulls me into his chest. “You leave me breathless.”

Do I? I search him for any hint of a lie, but there’s none. Elijah looks at me with such reverence, and I have a feeling I’m doing the same as I step back and take in his outfit.

He’s wearing a new outfit, and I eye it with an appreciative hum. His shirt hugs his torso perfectly, and the suit jacket he wears over it makes his shoulders look broad and muscular. So many women will look at him tonight, and I’m proud to know I’ll be the only one he entertains.

Elijah is mine.

“We should get going,” I force myself to say. “Ophelia is waiting for me.”

Elijah takes my arm and leads me outside to our carriage. He’s being quite the gentleman this evening, and I feel like a giddy child as he opens the door for me and helps me inside.

Louise is taking separate transportation tonight, leaving Elijah and me alone. We haven’t been in a carriage together since that day he purchased me the damned sex toy, and the heat between us is palpable as we make our way to my childhood home.

“Would you pull up your skirts for me if I asked?” Elijah breaks the silence.

He’s staring desperately at my covered thighs, and I glance out the window to see how far we are from my home before giving in and lifting the bottom of my dress. Elijah sucks in a sharp breath as I expose my bare legs to him, and my pulse races as he leans forward and nudges my skirt up even further.

“I’m afraid to say I’m growing desperate for you,” he admits.

I keep my knees pressed tightly together, preventing him a view of my most intimate bits. I want him to feel needy.

“How desperate?” I ask.

Elijah looks practically feral as he looks up and meets my eye. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he debates how to answer my question, and I hold his gaze until he does.

“Desperate enough to order our driver to pull over and take a walk.”

Oh. That truly is desperate. Elijah groans as I take my shirts from his hands and pull them back over my thighs. I like when he gets needy, and I hope I can even get him to beg tonight. There’s something about seeing him lose his pride that does me in every time.

Big bad Elijah begging for his wife. It’s a dream come true.

Elijah darts forward and steals a kiss before settling back in his seat. He seems awfully proud of himself as he straightens his jacket and smiles out the window, and I snort as I watch.

He is a lovesick fool.

We make it to my house without any further requests, and I step out of the carriage just as Ophelia makes her way outside. I gasp and place a hand over my heart as I take her in. She looks beautiful in her light blue lace-covered dress, and her curly blonde hair has been pulled up just like mine.

I’m used to seeing her in a child’s silhouette, but the adult shape suits her nicely. It compliments her collarbones.

“Lord Hughes,” she greets Elijah with a polite curtsey. “Rebecca.” She turns to me to do the same.

I wave away the formal greeting and pull her into a warm hug. I missed her.

“You look positively stunning,” I compliment.

Her cheeks are red when she pulls away, and I can barely contain my smile as we get back in the carriage and make our way to the ball.

“You can call me Elijah, by the way,” Elijah says as we all get settled.

He looks nervous, and I fold his hand within my gloved one before hammering Ophelia with questions about everything I’ve missed these past few months. She has no good drama to share, at least not anything I haven’t already heard from Jack, but it’s so nice talking to her that I hardly care.

Poor Elijah looks about ready to burst into flames by the time our carriage slows to a stop.

I suppose it’s inappropriate to talk about corsets and undergarments in front of a gentleman, even if he is my husband. Elijah seems more than comfortable discussing these things when we’re alone, and I can’t help but giggle as I realize he’s feeling awkward because of my sister’s presence.

He’s embarrassed.

He shoots me a frosty glare as he pulls open the carriage door and offers a hand to both Ophelia and me, and I offer him a sickly sweet smile in return. He lingers behind to give Ophelia and me space, and I happily explain to her all that’s happening as we step inside the large building.

This is her first debut in society, and I remember how overwhelming everything was my first time.

We do a few laps around the room before pausing to take a break near the dance floor. She flicks open her fan with practiced ease.

“Hold your fan in your right hand,” I quietly remind her. “It signals that you’re open to conversation. If you use your left, men will think you don’t want to be approached.”

Ophelia nods and quickly switches her fan to her right hand.

I’m so happy not to have to carry one around anymore. They were clunky, and it felt odd to have one dangling on my wrist when I danced with men.

My eyes travel the room in search of Elijah. He’s made himself scarce, but I’m ready for him to find me again. I tap my foot against the floor as I look, and I practically burst out in laughter when I spot him flinch back and smoothly avoid the flying arm of some woman.

She turns to him with a look of horror, but he kindly waves her off before turning and searching through the crowd. Is he looking for me? He frowns when he can’t find me, and I love seeing how his eyes light up when he finally spots me.

“Ophelia!” A young man shouts, his gaze flashing to me before settling on Ophelia. I recognize him as one of her childhood friends, most specifically the one who has turned her cheeks bright red since she was fifteen. He clears his throat and lowers his voice before continuing. “Would you care to dance?”

She stares up at him before turning to me, and I raise a brow before stepping back and gesturing for her to go. We’ve been here for only minutes, and already she has a man asking her to dance. That’s a very good sign.

“I would love to,” she says.

I feel myself grinning as she accepts his outstretched arm and lets him lead her to the dance floor. Ophelia is a skilled dancer, and I watch with pride as she moves throughout the room with grace.

A few men glance at her as they dance with their partners, and I’m sure she will be the night’s talk. People don’t expect much from us. Our family is at the lower end of interest and, I’m sure, at the very bottom of many invite lists.

I hope tonight sets a good example of her.

“She looks beautiful,” Elijah says, his arm wrapping around my waist.

I agree.

“But you, my love….” Elijah slides his body behind mine, his breath tickling my ear. “Look absolutely ravishing.”

His hands find my hips, and I’m so grateful to be standing in a less populated area of the room. My breath hitches, and I clench my hands into tight fists as Elijah kisses the exposed skin at the back of my neck. He’s being entirely indecent, but I can’t lie and say I don’t love it.

“You’re a tease,” I gasp.

Elijah straightens up and presses the front of his body against my backside. His warmth is all-consuming, and I wish for nothing more than to spin and take him against the nearby pillar.

“I’m going to put my mouth between your thighs tonight.” His words are spoken so quietly that I can barely hear them above the loud music. “And then I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you forget everything but how to scream my name.”

A server walks by with a tray full of wine, and I hurriedly snatch one and take a long sip. It does nothing to cool the throbbing between my thighs.

“What’s my name, Rebecca?”

I think my husband is trying to kill me.

“Elijah,” I plead.

I’m unsure if I’m pleading for him to continue or stop.

“Good girl,” his lips graze my ear before he takes pity on me and steps back.

Elijah moves from behind me to my left, his actions smooth as he slides his arm through mine again.

“I tried finding you a piece of chocolate cake, but it seems they aren’t serving any tonight,” he says, changing the subject.

I spin so quickly that I step on his toe. He does a good job pretending it doesn’t hurt.

“Is that where you disappeared to? To find me cake?” I ask.

Elijah shrugs, but his sheepish expression gives me all the answers I need. He truly is obsessed with me.

Chapter 43

Elijah chokes in laughter as I grab his hand, lift it above my head, and spin around. I’ve had a few drinks tonight, and I love every second of it.

“Have you ever had a more wonderful time?” I ask, giggling.

I stop spinning when I grow dizzy, and Elijah places a hand under my elbow to keep me steady as I trip over my feet. I don’t have the spins, nor am I drunk, but it seems twirling around with four glasses of wine in me is not a good idea.

I’m just tipsy enough that it spells danger.

“Ophelia had eight dance partners tonight!” I release Elijah’s hand and hold up eight fingers.

A maid scurries past us, her eyes cast downward, and I yank Elijah into my arms with a happy squeal.

“Eight!” I repeat.

That’s quite an impressive number, and I feel her new dress is part of the reason. It’s a shame how materialistic people are, but there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is try and set my sister up for the best match.

She seemed pretty smitten with the first man she danced with, and I’d go as far as to say he felt the same way about her. I know they’ve been close friends since childhood, and I’m excited to see where things go with them.

Elijah laughs as I squeeze him to my chest, the man more than happy to let me manhandle him as we make our way to our bedroom. He’s been teasing me all night, and it’s about time I get my revenge.

I spent the entire carriage ride home planning my torture, and I’m quite proud of the idea I’ve come up with. Elijah’s going to hate it, so naturally, I’m very excited.

“Take off your pants,” I order as we step into our bedroom.

Pushing my shoulders back, I stare straight and walk to my vanity. The door closes behind me, and I hear the wooden latch click and lock us in before fabric begins to rustle. I stare at my reflection and start pulling pins out of my hair.

The rustling continues, and I hold my breath as I wait for it to finish.

“Your shirt, too,” I say the moment it stops.

I spare a quick glance at Elijah in the reflection of the vanity mirror. He’s facing me, but thankfully he’s too busy unbuttoning his shirt to see my eyes. That’s good. I don’t want him to know he has my attention.

He will be begging for my eyes by the end of the night.

I return to my reflection and lean in as I search through my hair for pins. Louise doesn’t skimp, and there’s nothing worse than waking in the middle of the night with a pointy metal bit stabbing into your skull.

“Socks.” The word leaves my lips in a low purr, and Elijah groans before bending to yank them off his feet.

We continue this until he’s naked and I’ve finished removing the pins. He’s now staring at me through the mirror, waiting for me to look up and meet his eye, but I don’t. I keep my attention solely on myself.

Once my hair is released, I take my sweet time brushing out all the knots. It turns into a big poof, and I swallow down my embarrassment as I clear my throat and hold up a tie.

“Braid my hair,” I order.

Elijah moves so quickly he stumbles over his feet, and I get to work unbuttoning my top as he separates my hair into three parts. He’s not very good at braiding, but he tries.

I’m sure he’ll improve with time and practice.

I can feel the weight of his stare as I push my top off and reach behind me to unlace my corset. The length of time it takes Elijah to braid my hair signals that he’s struggling to focus.

Good.

“Done,” he says, trailing his hand down my back.

I lean forward, disconnecting his fingers from my skin. Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s pouting.

He remains by my vanity as I stand and move to my wardrobe, dropping pieces of clothing along the way. By the time I make it to the thick wooden doors, I’m entirely naked.

“Lay on the bed.” I lift a finger and point toward the mattress.

Elijah must not waste any time as I hear the bed creak a second later. It pleases me to see how quickly he moves, and I let a quiet giggle emerge from my throat as I pull open my wardrobe and grab a silk nightdress.

I made myself a new one, and it’s a deep red.

Elijah’s breathing grows loud as I slip it on, and I trail my hand down the front of my body as I turn to look at myself in the mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elijah prop himself up on his elbows so he can better watch me.

His cock lays thick on his stomach, but he’s smart and doesn’t reach for it.

It’s mine, and I’ll get to it when I’m good and ready.

“Do you like this on me?” I ask, admiring myself in the mirror.

The slip ends just below my butt, and the fabric billows and exposes my most intimate bits whenever I move. The top is just as revealing. It’s low cut, and my hard nipples push against the silk, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Even the sleeves are nonexistent, two thin straps being the only thing that holds it up.

It’s entirely indecent.

“Baby,” Elijah gasps, his voice rough. “Please.”

He wants me to join him in bed, and I loudly hum as I turn my body left and right and debate it. This is quite fun, and I’m pleased he’s letting me tell him what to do.

“Have you been good?” I ask.

Elijah clears his throat. “Pardon?”

“Have you been good?” I repeat.

I’m emasculating him, I know that, but I do it anyway. I’d never do this to him in public, and we both know what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.

There’s a long moment of silence, but I don’t mind. Elijah needs time to wrap his mind around the fact that I own him, and I’m willing to wait. I’m a very patient woman, after all.

“I’ve…” Elijah pauses and groans. “Yes, I’ve been good.”

I let out another giggle. “How good?”

I’m having a lot of fun with this.

“Very good.”

I don’t move, and Elijah lets out a loud huff before flopping back on the mattress. He’s acting like he’s being tortured, but I can see in the reflection that his cock is still achingly hard on his stomach.

“Becks, I’ve been very, very, very good,” he whines.

This is perfect. I spin to face him, but I don’t look him in the eye as I climb on the bed and settle on his thighs. His length twitches against his stomach, and a little bead of precum drips from the tip. I debate touching it, but I decide against it and press my hand into the center of his chest.

I’m not wearing gloves, and I stare at my bare hand on his skin before meeting his eye.

Elijah flattens against the bed, and I climb up higher.

He licks his lips like he anticipates me placing my sex on his mouth, but I plant myself square on his chest instead. His arms shift by his sides as he fights the urge to touch me, and I pull my dress up my thighs before reaching between them.

Elijah watches as I press my fingers to my clit and rub in a slow circle. I lean back so he has a better view, and my hips twitch slightly as I pleasure myself on top of him.

I’m wet, and my arousal smears against him with each roll of my hips. It feels like a claim, and I clench my jaw before grinding myself harder on his chest.

“You’re mine,” I say.

Elijah nods, his jaw slack.

“I’m all yours, baby,” he agrees.

My sex clenches, and I slide the fingers on my clit into my entrance. My sex squeezes around them, and I rock back and forth before pulling out and bringing my fingers to Elijah’s mouth. I rub my wetness on his lips before pushing inside.

Elijah’s tongue curls around my fingers, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks my arousal off them. It does dangerous things to me, and I let out a low moan as I stare down at him.

I pull out with a laugh, and Elijah lifts his head and follows before flopping back down on the mattress. I like that he’s giving me this level of control, letting me do with I want.

No man would ever let a woman do these things to them. It would be seen as too humiliating, and the danger of anybody finding out is too great. Men own women, not the other way around.

“I’m yours, Becks,” Elijah repeats, knowing that’s what I want to hear. “Only yours.”

I nod, pleased to hear it.

“Good.”

I trail my finger down the center of his chest, deciding what to do next. Elijah watches, his eyes wide as he follows the movement of my hand. Touching him feels so odd, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I bring my hand to his shoulder.

I hover over it, fully aware I’m being evil.

“Do you want to feel me touching you?” I breathe.

Elijah groans, the nose vibrating from deep within his throat, before nodding. I smile and lower my hand until I know he can feel the warmth of my skin. Still, I don’t press against him.

I lean in and bring my lips to the shell of his ear instead.

“Beg me,” I whisper.

His breath is hot, and I can practically taste his fury as he opens and shuts his mouth in a very ungentlemanly manner. He looks like a fish gasping for air. I straighten back out and slide my open palm down his chest.

It grazes him, the touch featherlight, but I know it’s not what he wants. He wants to feel me press against him.

“Beg for me to touch you, Elijah,” I repeat.

Elijah’s hands snap to my waist. His fingers curl into the fabric of my slip, the man on the verge of losing control.

“Please,” he chokes out.

I hum and tilt my ear toward him.

“I think you can do better than that.”

His hold on my waist tightens, a silent threat. I ignore it.

“Please, Rebecca. Please touch me,” Elijah repeats, his voice full of need.

It’ll do. I press both my bare palms to his chest, and Elijah’s hips twitch underneath me as he lets out a loud, wrecked moan. His skin is so soft, and I slide my left hand up to his throat and gently curl my fingers around it.

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the base of my palm, as I give it a gentle squeeze.

I rock myself against his stomach, the fire in my abdomen growing. He tightens his grip on my waist in return, and I slide both my hands to his wrists and remove his hands from me.

His fingers twitch as I raise his arms above our heads and press them into the mattress.

“You’re having quite a bit of fun with this, aren’t you?” Elijah laughs.

I shrug, not bothering to deny it.

The muscles in Elijah’s arms flex as I hold him down, and I bend and give him a gentle kiss to lull him into a false sense of security before quickly bringing my fingers to his armpits.

He gasps and snaps his arms back to the side, not at all amused by my tickling, before flipping us over in one smooth movement. I land on my back, and Elijah rips my slip down the center before lining himself up with my entrance and pushing inside.

My back arches, and he pauses to ensure I’m okay before pulling back and driving into me. His thrusts are deep and hard, and I love it.

I love him.

“Touch me,” Elijah moans, grabbing my hands and bringing them to his waist. “Touch every fucking inch of me.”

I whine, overwhelmed by his thickness as I slide my hands over him. His muscles ripple, and he buries his face into my neck and moans into my skin as he fucks into me.

“Fucking take me,” he grunts, looking down to watch himself sink into me.

His thrusts are deep, and I drop one of my hands from his torso to bring it to my clit instead. I’m already so close, my teasing putting me on edge, and it only takes thirty seconds of rubbing for my body to jackknife off the bed.

The strongest orgasm I’ve ever felt tears through my body, and Elijah thrusts into me two more times before collapsing on my chest and spilling himself inside me. His length twitches as he cums, and his hips give a few more weak thrusts before he stills altogether.

We are a sweaty mess, but I don’t care. I slide my hands around him and feel every inch of his back. Elijah lays as still as a statue, not even breathing.

“Please don’t go back to your gloves,” he pleads.

His voice cracks, and I freeze as the pain of it registers in my mind. Oh, my god. Tears immediately fill my eyes, and every muscle in my body grows stiff as he buries his face in my neck and gasps. That gasp turns into a choked sob, and I bury my fingers deep into his skin as he cries into my neck. His shoulders shake with the force of them, and I’m faced with the horror of what I’ve been doing.

I knew he didn’t like my reluctance to touch him, but I had no idea it was troubling him so deeply.

I had no idea.

“I’ll never keep my hands from you again,” I whisper.

And I mean it. I don’t care what he does or how angry with him I grow. My hands are his.

Elijah pulls back and grabs my wrists, his grip borderline painful as he brings my palms to his face and holds them to his cheeks. He squishes my hands against them, and I happily cup his face and run my fingers over his eyebrows.

He shuts his eyes and sucks in a slow breath, calming himself down, before loosening his grip and pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrists.

“I love you,” I blurt.

Ah, fuck.

“Wait, no,” I hiss, taking it back. “This isn’t the right moment.”

I groan and huff, angry I’ve spoiled it. This moment wasn’t it. It wasn’t the moment. It’s close, but not the one.

Elijah’s smile grows as he watches me pout, and the mood is lightened as he laughs and releases my wrists.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it,” he says, sitting back on his knees.

I nod, pleased, before wiggling out from underneath him so I don’t leak all over the bed. Elijah turns to watch me rush into the bathroom, and I pretend I don’t see how he smiles like a giddy schoolchild and cups his cheeks as I round the corner.

Chapter 44

I wake up to Elijah playing with my fingers, his hand encompassing my wrist as he presses each of his fingertips against mine. He looks pleased with himself as he does so, and I relax on his chest with a quiet sigh.

This is nice.

“I ruined your dress,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I know.” I was there when it happened, and I’m still upset.

I spent hours upon hours sewing the damn thing, and I only got one wear out of it. I know it’s my fault for pushing Elijah so far, my tickling maybe a bit unnecessary, but I don’t regret it. It felt good, and I immensely enjoyed him letting me take control.

“Do you need more fabric to fix it?” Elijah asks.

I prop myself up on my elbow and peer down at him. His hair is a mess, and there are slight indents on his cheek from where I dug into his pillow during sleep.

“Fix it?” I laugh. “Elijah, there’s no fixing that. I’ll need to make a new one.”

Elijah frowns. “Oh.” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I suppose I won’t rip them in the future.”

He supposes? I roll my eyes and flop back down on his chest. How nice of him to take it into consideration.

“I have a surprise for you today,” Elijah says.

Oh? I perk up. I do love surprises.

Elijah watches me with an odd expression, and I furrow my eyebrow when his weird stare lasts for more than five seconds. What’s going on in his head? It’s a sign of trouble when he looks at me intently.

“I’ve changed my mind about what I said to you last night,” he finally says. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear you say you love me.”

I push against his chest and sit up with a huff.

“You promised,” I hiss.

Elijah puts his hands behind his head with a satisfied smirk, and I resist the urge to poke him in the eye.

“I didn’t promise anything. I’ve put a lot of thought into this, and I’ve decided that I’d like your confession of love to be on the same night you touched me with your bare hands,” he decides.

No. That’s not how this works. I get to decide when, where, and how I tell him I love him, and he doesn’t get any say in it. I want the moment to be perfect, and last night wasn’t it.

“Well, then I take it back,” I decide, crossing my arms over my chest. “I do not love you.”

Elijah’s smile only grows.

“You can’t take it back,” he says. Who is he to decide that? “You love me, you said so yourself.” Elijah lifts his hand and boops my nose.

I move to bite him, but he snatches his hand back to his chest before my teeth make contact. He’s lucky, because if I had managed to get his finger in my mouth, I would have bitten it right off.

It’s rumored that biting off a finger is just like biting a carrot, and I’m quite skilled at eating carrots. I’m practically a rabbit.

“You are an insufferable, ugly oaf,” I insult, climbing out of bed.

Elijah doesn’t look nearly as offended as I wish him to. Instead, I’d go as far as to say the bastard seems pleased with himself.

“Your breasts are still quite full,” he comments, changing the subject. “Are you feeling any pains?”

The talk of my possible pregnancy soothes me, and I shrug as I make my way to my vanity mirror. I’m naked, and I lift and drop my breast with a frown. They are full, but they always are this time of the month.

“I feel the same,” I admit.

My bleed isn’t expected for another two days, and I’m an anxious mess of nerves. I’d love to be with a child, but I don’t want to get my hopes up until my monthly horror is officially late. I’ve told Elijah this about a million times already, but he’s not listening.

Instead, he continues to comment on my breast fullness and ask if I feel any pre-bleed pain.

Elijah climbs out of bed and approaches, and I lean against his stomach as he pulls my loose hair out of my face and kisses the top of my head. His lips linger, and I shut my eyes to enjoy it.

“What do you want to wear today?” he asks.

I shrug. “Surprise me.”

That’s his favorite answer, and I watch him approach my wardrobe through the mirror reflection. He pulls it open and scans his options before pulling out one of my simple day dresses. It’s a pretty light blue and covered in beautiful lace, but I know that’s not why Elijah picked it out.

It’s also got a low neckline that shows just a bit more cleavage than traditionally appropriate.

“You’re not sly,” I say.

“I’m not trying to be.” Elijah returns with the dress. “Your hair might be best tackled by Louise this morning,” he continues, glancing at the top of my head.

Oh? I look in the mirror and gasp in horror. It looks horrendous.

The braid I encouraged Elijah to put in must have come loose early in the night, maybe even during our sex, and my hair now looks like one giant poof. I let out a dramatic cry and lift my hands to my head.

“Don’t look at me,” I gasp.

Elijah, like the evil man he is, laughs.

“I love you,” he blurts.

The words warm my chest.

Elijah truly is a wonderful man, and I feel so lucky to be his wife. Even though our marriage didn’t have the best start, he’s more than made up for it. Day after day, he proves he’s in this, and there’s no longer a doubt in my mind that I’m the woman he wants.

He’s mine, and I’m his.

“Are you really not going to forget that I said I love you?” I ask.

Elijah sucks his lips into his mouth to hide his smile as he gives a pointed shake of his head.

Bastard. He ruins everything.

“Well, then, I suppose I love you, too.”

I glare daggers at him, but Elijah’s cheery mood remains as we finish getting ready in comfortable silence. It’s nice, and I do my best to hide my messy hair from him as he leaves with the promise to send up Louise.

It takes longer than I thought it would for her to arrive, but I realize why when she emerges with a pale face and red-rimmed eyes.

“Enjoy ourselves last night, did we?” I tease.

She glares, but she’s so hungover she’s unable to put any malice behind it. She was all over the dance floor last night, but her only partner was my dearest baby infant brother, Jack. It’s horribly inappropriate to dance with one person for so long, but I could tell by their matching glassy eyes that it would have been useless to try and break them apart.

They were both lost to the liquor.

“I have to tell you a secret,” Louise whispers, grabbing my brush.

I wince as she runs it through my knots. “Yes?”

“Jack kissed me last night,” she admits, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

I gasp and clasp my hands over my chest. Louise looks horrified, and I let my hands drop with a quiet laugh. Honestly, I thought they were doing much worse than kissing.

I’d never be so forward as to ask, but I assumed they were doing the worst.

The rumors of Jack’s visits to the mistress have stopped, and I even got Elijah to admit to me that the whispers about his visits to the brothels—only spoken about among men within the private walls of the gentleman clubs, of course—have also come to an end.

Men don’t stop having easy sex because they have a crush. They stop having easy sex because they’re secretly getting it elsewhere.

I raise a brow. There is one other reason I can think of that would cause a man would stop having easy sex. Jack loves her.

“He kissed you?” I ask.

Louise purses his lips and gives a timid nod.

“Was he a gentleman about it?” I pry.

I will harm him if she says no. Kissing isn’t appropriate, but it’s common knowledge that most courting couples will sneak them in whenever they can. I’ve heard it’s impossible to resist. I never had that experience, but I can imagine the temptation.

“Oh, yes,” Louise is quick to say. “He was a complete gentleman!”

I don’t necessarily love hearing about my brother’s kisses, but I can tell how excited Louise is to talk about it so I plaster the widest smile on my lips as I spin around and demand she tells me everything.

She sure does.

“Please don’t tell him I told you any of this,” she begs, finishing up my hair.

I reach back and give her hand a gentle squeeze. “I would never.”

Louise nods, pleased, before patting my shoulder and stepping back. I look at myself in the mirror, amazed by how good my hair looks. She truly is a miracle worker, and never will I sleep in one of Elijah’s weak braids again.

We’ll practice them some more tonight, and I’ll teach him how to make them tight.

“Elijah wants you to meet him in the drawing room,” Louise says as I stand and make my way to the door.

Delightful! I bet this has something to do with the surprise he mentioned earlier. I still haven’t forgotten about it, and it better be nice after he stole my runaway money from me. He snatched it from underneath my bed before I could rehide it, and I’m pissed.

I’ve already got a plan to steal it back, though, so I haven’t said anything to him about it.

I worked hard for that money, and I intend to purchase something exciting with it.

Louise follows me downstairs, and I’ve got a noticeable pep in my step as I make my way to the drawing room.

“Elijah?” I call out, stepping into the room.

My eyes fall to where the rug we coupled on used to be, but now there is nothing but a bare floor. My cheeks warm, and Elijah laughs as he notices my line of sight.

“Oh, hush,” I pout, turning toward him.

He’s sitting behind my piano, and I do my best not to look too confused as I sit next to him on the bench. Has he gotten me new sheet music? I have plenty, but I’m always pleased to have new pieces to practice.

A sheet is already set up on the stand, and I hum quietly as I look it over. It’s a beginner’s song, one I learned and memorized when I was a young child.

He wants me to play this?

It’s an odd request, but I don’t question it. If Elijah wants to hear me play him simple tunes, I’ll play him simple tunes. Maybe this is a song he heard as a child and wishes to hear again.

I straighten my spine and bring my hands to the keys.

“No, baby,” Elijah laughs, grabbing my wrists.

He gently pulls them away from the piano, and I turn to him in confusion as he brings his own fingers to the starting keys. What’s he doing? Elijah doesn’t know how to play the piano.

“I know how much the piano means to you, so I’ve been taking some lessons while you’re on your weekly outings with Louise and Jack,” he says, clearing his throat.

What?

I place my hands over my mouth, at a complete loss for words as he brings his fingers down on the first note. He pauses and readjusts, seemingly not happy with the start, before glancing at me out of the corner of his eye and clearing his throat once more.

Is he nervous?

My smile grows, and I feel stupidly giddy as I wait for him to begin.

“You’re killing me!” I giggle when he readjusts his hands for the third time. “I’m so excited to hear you.”

Elijah shoots me a sideways glance, his lips twitching before he finally begins to play.

He’s absolutely terrible.

His tempo is off, and it takes him way too long to orientate himself when he makes a slight mistake. It’s clear he’s inexperienced within the first few seconds, but I can’t bring myself to care.

His effort is the best gift I’ve ever been given, and the most meaningful.

Elijah does his best on the song, and by the time he reaches the end, my cheeks are covered in tears. I can barely contain them, and I reach out and take my hands in his the moment he finishes.

His cheeks are flaming red. “I know I’m not the best…”

I pull his lips down on mine, uncaring.

“I love you,” I whisper into his mouth.

Elijah pulls me into a tight hug, and I happily mold myself into his arms. His cheeks are still tinted a light shade of red when he releases me, and I take a moment to enjoy the sight before clearing my throat and turning toward the piano.

“I have a song to play you, too,” I admit.

I once promised myself that Elijah would never hear this, that he’d never experience the song I spent months upon months perfecting. My piano was supposed to be the way I attracted a suitor, and I needed my song to be beautiful.

I was so proud of it, but Elijah’s untraditional decisions meant I never got to play it for an audience.

Elijah wraps an arm around my hip, loosely holding me as I bring my fingers to the keys and begin to play. The melody is quite moody, and I feel his grip on me tighten as it springs into something more joyful.

The song is imprinted in my memory, and even after all these months, I can play it all the way through with little issues. I mess up a few notes, but after hearing Elijah’s song, I don’t think he will care.

Or notice.

I love my husband, but he doesn’t seem to have much of an ear for music.

Damned tears find their way to my cheeks again, and Elijah takes care to wipe them away before they drip onto the keys. There’s no reason for me to cry, and I angrily wipe them away when the song is over.

“I don’t know why I’m so emotional this morning,” I admit with a huff.

Elijah pushes my hair out of my face and tucks a loose strand behind my ear.

“It’s probably because you’re pregnant,” he decides.

I choke out a laugh.

“My bleed isn’t for another two days, Elijah,” I remind him.

I’m beginning to think he forgets on purpose. He’s quite confident in the virility of his sperm, but I suppose most men are.

Elijah hums, unconvinced, and I slide off the piano bench before approaching the area where our rug once was. I still can’t believe he poured all that wine on it.

“That song was beautiful, Becks,” Elijah says.

I dip my chin to hide my smile. I’ve always hoped the man I married would enjoy it.

Elijah clears his throat. “Would you play it again?”

My face lights up as I spin back around. He enjoyed it so much that he wishes to hear it again? Elijah sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he glances between me and the piano, and I let out a quiet squeak as I rush back around it and plop down on the bench.

“I’d be happy to,” I beam.

Elijah darts forward and steals a kiss, and I laugh as I bring my fingers to the keys.

Chapter 45

1.5 years later

Elijah’s footfalls are quiet as he steps into the room, and I smile as I hear tiny patterings join each of his movements.

I turn and look into the giant eyes of my drooling child, his smile wide as he holds Elijah’s hands and waddles between his legs. He lets out a scream and stomps his feet, and I can’t help but laugh as Elijah leads him to me.

“Somebody peed all over Dad this morning,” Elijah huffs.

I puff out my cheeks to hide my laughter as I tuck away all my parchment. I’ve told Elijah a thousand times that he needs to ensure James is always covered during diaper changes, and somehow Elijah always forgets and ends up paying the ultimate price.

James babbles, and I can’t help but smile as I bend and pick him up. I bounce him on my knee, obsessed with the high-pitched squeal he lets out every time I do this.

“Hello, my little man,” I coo, hoisting him into the air. “Did you have a fun morning with Dad?”

He recently decided that Elijah is his person, and he screams his head off whenever Elijah is out of sight for more than five minutes. There’s no consoling him, and he’ll sob until he locks eyes with my usually frazzled husband and gets handed off.

It hurt my feelings for a while, but I’m confident he’ll eventually gravitate back to me as he did the first six months of his life.

“Were you able to get any work done?” I ask, turning to Elijah.

Given James’s new obsession, Elijah has put a play area in the corner of his office for James to sit in while Elijah works. I feel horribly guilty about it, especially knowing how distracting James can be, but Elijah hardly seems to mind.

I’d actually go as far as to say he actively enjoys it.

Elijah practically swoops James out of my arms the second we finish our morning feeding, and I don’t see them for three hours until it’s time for James to have a snack. By then, James is usually ready for a change in scenery, and we’ll stroll through the garden and play around until he gets antsy and starts screaming for Dad.

James curls up in my arms, and I hold him to my chest with a happy sigh. He’s getting big, and soon I won’t be able to hold him like this.

Our peaceful moment only lasts a few seconds before a tiny, slobbery hand curls into my hair and rips it to his chest. I cry out and jerk away, and Elijah hurriedly steps forward to try and help remove the strands from James’s fist.

The hair-pulling is his new habit, and I wouldn’t say I like it.

“I got absolutely no work done this morning,” Elijah admits, laughing. “But James says he’d like you to join us for an outdoor picnic, anyway.”

Elijah continues helping to pry my hair out of James’s fist.

The child fights us tooth and nail, my hair his newest treasure. The second it’s free, I’m handing him off to Elijah. My husband happily takes our son, and I rub at my scalp as I admire them from a safe distance.

If this hair-pulling doesn’t stop, I fear I will go bald.

“Did James happen to say anything else?” I ask.

Elijah huffs and props James up on his hip.

“He did, actually,” he admits. “He said quite a few things, ‘dad’ being among them.”

I wrinkle my nose, not believing it. James is only nine months old, and most babies his age aren’t yet speaking. Elijah’s convinced James’s baby babble is him saying ‘dad’ though, and he’s been trying to convince me of it for days.

I’m skeptical.

We all know James’s first word will be ‘mom,’ and I refuse to entertain any other possibilities. I’ve been speaking the word to him daily and actively avoiding saying anything that starts with a ‘d’.

It’s a foolproof plan.

Elijah grabs James’s hand and brings it to his lips, and I can’t help but stare as I watch him teasingly nibble our son’s fingers. I never imagined just how involved of a parent Elijah would be, and seeing his outward displays of love for our son always makes me speechless.

“Does our picnic happen to be near my berry bushes?” I ask.

The row of delicious bushes was my birthday present last year, and I’ve been impatiently waiting for them to ripen.

Only when Will comes to visit am I able to sneak away to the ones in the woods, but Elijah doesn’t like me going out there by myself and he’s always conveniently got an excuse not to go. I just think he doesn’t like being put to work.

It’s a good thing Will is so willing to be used.

Elijah shoots me a coy smile, and I respond with one of my own before stepping forward and kissing him. His mouth molds perfectly around mine, and I sigh into our kiss before pulling away and bringing my lips to James’s cheek.

He babbles, and Elijah bounces him on his hip.

“That sounds a lot like ‘dad’ to me,” Elijah points out.

I shoot him a frosty glare, and he only laughs before patting my butt and gesturing for me to lead the way outside.

“Grab your berry basket,” he says.

I bounce on my toes and rush to grab the small basket. It’s empty, and I can barely contain my excitement as I make my way to my bushes. I last checked on them three days ago, and while the fruit was large, they weren’t ready to be picked.

I’m hopeful this time has done them justice.

A large blanket and spread of food are already laid out on the grass near the bushes. Elijah and James make themselves comfortable, and I take my time picking a few ripe berries before joining them.

The bushes need a few more days, but I was able to find enough to add to our meal.

James’s gummy smile grows as he notices the berries, and I dump them on the blanket in front of him before making myself comfortable between Elijah’s legs.

His body is warm, and I happily lean against his chest as I grab two sandwiches and hand one over.

“This is quite nice,” I admit.

We’ve been taking most of our meals indoors recently, but I do love spending some time outside when the weather permits. The sun is good for the soul.

“That it is, my love, that it is.”

James busies himself with his berries, squeezing them so hard they turn into mush before he sloppily sucks the mashed berries off his fingers and palms. It smears all over his face and cheeks, and I can’t help but smile as I watch.

He’s going to need a bath tonight.

Elijah eats two sandwiches before lying back on the blanket, and I join him before rolling onto my side and staring down at him. He cracks open an eye as my shadow looms over him, his lips twitching as I reach out and push his hair out of his face.

The strands are soft, and I enjoy running my fingers through them.

After a few seconds, Elijah lets his eyes slip shut once more. He looks so at peace, and I can’t help but trail my fingers over his lips and down the front of his throat. He gulps as I slide my finger down it, and I smile at the physical sign that he notices my touch.

Even after all this time, the mere touch of my finger still arouses him.

It makes me hate how long I kept it from him. I’ve come to realize that Elijah absolutely loves touch. Some people prefer gifts, some kind words, and some quality time, but Elijah feels most love through physical contact.

I make an effort to give it to him every day.

“When are you going to give me another baby?” I ask.

Elijah’s eyes grow comically wide.

“What? You told me you didn’t want any more,” he breathes.

I stiffen.

“I never said that?”

Elijah props himself up on his elbows, his eyebrows pulled tightly together.

“Yes, you said so two days after James was born,” he argues.

I lick my lips, unsure of what he’s talking about.

My pregnancy was horrible. I was sick for the entire nine months, and near the end, I felt so uncomfortable in my skin that I struggled to do much more than sit around and cry. Elijah did the best he could, but the entire experience was dreadful.

Still, I don’t recall ever saying I don’t want any more children.

I would never say that.

Elijah clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

“I believe you said it after visiting the bathroom,” he reminds me.

My lips form the shape of an O. I know precisely what he’s talking about.

My first bowel after birth was harrowing. I thought my butt was on fire and split in half, and at that moment, I couldn’t fathom putting myself through this again.

I was emotional and exhausted, and in a fit of fury, I spit that I never wanted to be pregnant again.

I didn’t realize Elijah remembered my angry words, let alone took them seriously.

A small part of me thought it was odd he hasn’t ever mentioned trying for more. I assumed he was giving me time to heal the first few months after James’s birth, but as of late, I was starting to worry the delay was on his end.

My smile grows, and tears fill my eyes as I absorb the weight of Elijah’s actions. He took my words to heart, and not once has he tried to pressure me into something he thought I didn’t want.

He sits up, clearly concerned by my impending tears, and I throw myself into his arms.

“I love you,” I sob into his chest.

Elijah wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a tight hug.

“I love you too, Becks,” he whispers. “But why are you crying?”

I clear my throat and wipe my cheeks.

“I just…” I say, trailing off. “I would love to have more children with you, Elijah.”

He squeezes me tighter, and James lets out a loud squeal seconds before I feel a moist hand land on my ankle. It’s covered in berry juice, and I laugh as I pick him up and set him between Elijah and me.

He blubbers as I grab a napkin and wipe his hands and face.

“It’s about time for his nap,” Elijah says.

James rolls onto his back as I stand and swoop him into my arms. This lunch was lovely, and I can barely contain my cheesy grin as Elijah follows me inside and up to James’s bedroom.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he whispers, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before continuing down the hallway.

I watch him leave before stepping inside James’s room and changing him into pajamas. His eyes grow wide and wet as I remove his clothes and expose his body to the cold air, and I hurry to redress him before he begins to cry.

He can be finicky with his naps, and I’ve got a very specific routine all created to help soothe him. It seems to work, and I hold him in my arms and rock him back and forth until he’s dead weight in my arms.

Only then do I lay him in the crib, and I spend another five minutes rubbing his tummy and head until his blinks are slow and his breathing heavy.

Licking my lips, I tiptoe out of the room and shut the door.

I rest my head against the wood and wait for any crying sounds. When none reach my ears, I turn and make my way to Elijah’s office.

I usually try not to bother him while he’s working, but my feet carry me in his direction anyway. His door is cracked, and I push it open just as he dumps a bunch of James’s toys in a small basket. The play corner is messy, and I hurry forward to help him clean up.

“What did you two get up to in here?” I ask, laughing.

Elijah nudges me with his elbow. “That’s private business between James and me.”

I snort and pinch his shoulder. Elijah thinks he’s so funny, and he looks awfully proud of himself as he stands and holds out a hand. I accept it, thinking he’s trying to help me up, but instead he pulls me into his arms and brings his lips to mine.

His kiss is heated, and I clutch his shoulders as he backs me up into his desk and lifts my skirts.

It’s been a while since we were last intimate, and I fall back on his desk as he drops to his knees and reminds me exactly what I’ve been missing. It’s incredible, and I’m thoroughly sated by the time he’s standing and sinking himself into me.

“Are you sure about wanting another child?” Elijah asks, pumping his hips.

I nod, more than sure. I’ve been thinking about it for months, and with James finally becoming more independent, I think it’s a perfect time.

Elijah moans and stills inside me, and I hold him tightly to my chest until he shivers and pulls out.

It’s been nine long months since I last felt him finish inside me.

I love it until I begin to drip, and Elijah happily offers me a handkerchief to clean myself with while he reorganizes his desk. I accidentally threw everything to the floor, but it doesn’t take him long to tidy it up.

I expect him to return to work, but instead, he lies on the couch and gestures for me to join him.

“Aren’t you busy?” I ask.

Elijah shakes his head.

“I’m never too busy for a nap with my wife.”

Well, who am I to say no to that? I happily throw myself on top of him, and I very politely ignore the not-so-polite grunt he lets out as my elbows bury into his chest. Elijah is quite dramatic, and I take a minute to get comfortable before relaxing.

This is nice, and I let my eyes slip shut as Elijah grabs my hands and squeezes them within his own. My fingers are always getting cold, and it turns out Elijah’s hands act as a pretty good pair of gloves.

____

The End! Hope you enjoyed!