Chapter 68

Cecilia

I kicked off my heels, sighing with relief when we walked in the apartment.

Arthur locked the door, then turned to me, his eyes dark and intent in the dim light filtering through the windows.

"I need to shower," his voice rough. "Wash off the last few hours."

I nodded, watching as he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. His tie followed, then his cufflinks, each movement methodical and controlled. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before disappearing down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of running water, before my gaze drifted to the velvet box still clutched in my hands. The Brahmore Bride's Collar.

Arthur's wife.

The thought hit me with unexpected force. Not girlfriend. Not partner. Wife. That's what this necklace represented.

I imagined wearing this at our wedding, imagined Arthur fastening it around my neck as I became Cecilia Winston.

Heat pooled low in my belly. I set the box down on the coffee table and moved toward the bathroom without consciously deciding to, drawn by the sound of water and the knowledge that Arthur was in there, naked and wet and mine.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside, my dress whispering against my legs.

Arthur stood under the spray, his head tilted back, water sluicing over the planes of his body. He was magnificent—all hard muscle, droplets catching in the dark hair on his chest before trailing lower.

His eyes opened, finding me immediately. For a heartbeat, his expression shifted into something darker, hungrier.

"Ceci," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. Just reached behind myself and found the zipper of my dress, pulling it down slowly. The silk pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but the delicate lace of my underwear.

Arthur's throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin. "Come here."

It wasn't a request. His hands were on me, pulling me flush against him. His mouth found mine in a kiss that was all heat and desperation, his tongue sliding against mine as water cascaded over both of us.

"You're still dressed," he murmured against my lips, his fingers finding the clasp of my bra.

"Then undress me," I challenged.

He made a sound low in his throat, and made quick work of my remaining clothes, tossing the wet lace aside.

Then his hands were everywhere, sliding over slick skin, tracing the curves of my waist and hips, cupping my breasts with a possessiveness that made me arch into his touch.

"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice rough as his mouth found my neck, "what it did to me tonight? Watching you stand up to my grandmother? Watching you refuse to back down even when everyone was against you?"

"Tell me," I breathed, my hands sliding down his chest, lower, until I wrapped my fingers around him and felt him pulse in my grip.

"It made me want to drag you out of there," he said, his hips jerking forward into my touch. "Made me want to take you somewhere private and show you exactly how proud I was. How much I fucking love you."

"Then show me now," I said, stroking him slowly, watching his eyes go dark. "Show me, Arthur."

He spun me around without warning, pressing me against the cool tile of the shower wall. I gasped at the contrast—the cold against my front, the heat of his body against my back.

"Put your hands on the wall," he commanded, his voice low and rough in my ear. "And don't move them."

I obeyed, palms flat against the tile, and felt him press closer, his cock hard and insistent against the small of my back. His hands slid up my sides, over my ribs, cupping my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers until I was gasping and pushing back against him.

"Please," I whimpered. "Arthur, please—"

"Please what?" His mouth was at my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below. "Tell me what you want, Ceci."

"You," I managed. "I want you. Inside me. Now."

One hand slid down my stomach, between my thighs, finding me already slick and ready. He groaned, his fingers circling that sensitive bundle of nerves until my legs were trembling and I was making sounds I didn't recognize as my own.

"So wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Always so perfect."

He withdrew his hand, and I whimpered at the loss, but then I felt him positioning himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, and I felt myself stretch to accommodate him, felt the delicious burn of being filled so completely.

"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead dropping to rest against my shoulder. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good."

He started to move then, slow and deep, each thrust pushing me against the wall, the water making everything slick and perfect. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he drove into me again and again, and I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Harder," I gasped. "Arthur, please, harder—"

He obliged, his pace increasing, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the tile. One hand slid around to find that sensitive spot between my legs, his fingers working in time with his thrusts, and I felt myself climbing higher, higher, until I was right on the edge—

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice strained. "Come on my cock, Ceci. Let me feel you."

I shattered, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over me. I heard myself cry out his name, felt my knees buckle, but his grip on my hips kept me upright, kept me exactly where he wanted me.

He wasn't done. His thrusts became harder, more erratic, chasing his own release. I was oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but I pushed back against him anyway, meeting him thrust for thrust, wanting to give him everything.

"Ceci," he groaned, and I heard something shift in his voice, something vulnerable and raw. "Cecilia, I—"

His words dissolved into a moan as he drove into me one last time, holding himself deep as he came. I felt him pulse inside me, felt the warmth of his release, and then his arms were wrapping around me, pulling me back against his chest as we both struggled to catch our breath.

We stood there for a long moment, the water still raining down on us, his heart hammering against my back. Then, so quietly I almost didn't hear it over the sound of the shower, he spoke.

"—me."

The words were barely a whisper, muffled against my hair. I tried to turn, to look at him, to ask if I'd heard correctly, but his grip tightened, holding me in place.

His hips pressed forward, still buried inside me, emphasizing each word. "Be my wife. Let me—"

But I couldn't hear the rest. The combination of physical exhaustion, emotional overwhelm, and the intensity of what we'd just done was too much.

My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in, and the last thing I was aware of was Arthur's voice, still speaking words I couldn't quite make out, and the feeling of his arms catching me as my legs finally gave out completely.

I lay asleep nestled in his arms.