Chapter 116 First choice
Not many strokes, apparently.
The pegs tumbled off her tits to the floor, its affixed bells tinkling against the liquid black wood of the bedroom floor. And she let out a soft cry as her thighs shook in an orgasm that made her abs clench.
The sight of her like this, the sound from those lips. It was worth it. Worth halting my fantasy for.
I had planned on keeping her in this state of arousal for the entire day. But that will have to wait.
The curtain by the French windows billowed as my little wife collapsed back on her heels. And I pulled her onto my lap as the damp winter air slipped in through the windows. I should have shut that thing close.
“More?” Even one-handed, my fingers were quick with the knots, losing the silk off her, freeing her breasts where she lay cuddled in my arms.
Her eyes were half open, her lips slack as she appeared to still be in the deepest of subspaces. But her lips moved, a response I doubted she was aware she gave.
“More.”
I tossed the silk aside and wrapped my other arm around her. “Soon, my pet. But right now you need a breather. You did so well.” I pressed my lips to her forehead. “Hale was right, you are stronger than you look.”
The chill air started to creep up my feet just as the rain started to tap in light drops against the tiles of the roof out on the bedroom balcony. I found the chill more annoying than I thought it cold.
I moved my left hand and yanked the cover sheet off the bed, threw it over her mostly naked body and wrapped her snugly, hugging her closer.
“Do you remember where we left our conversation in the kitchen?” I rocked her back and forth as her eyes closed completely.
She inched away. It was a tiny gesture, but I was holding her close enough to notice.
I had been careful with my expression in the kitchen, so if this topic made her uncomfortable, she probably had no clue why.
“Astre.” She said now.
“That’s right,” I kissed her nose, and delighted in the blush that spread across her cheeks. “Astre.”
Before Finn, I never had to deal with a Nymphaea reincarnate with memory loss. The self-denial was familiar, but complete loss of memory was new territory.
However, unlike when we mistook Finn for her reincarnate, I had no plans to restore her memory. Yet.
Besides the Aionis hurdle, Nymphaea’s identity came with melancholy. The chances that this sweet, airy ballerina whose biggest worry was winning a ballet competition would slip into depression the moment she regained her memory, was high.
She would remember that she never lived past twenty-eight. And that we had failed to save her three times because we never discovered the supernatural triggers of her death.
She would remember that we had been close with Astre. That she woke up every night with the dreams of the Firstborns, giving instructions that we could not decipher before she went to Japan.
My gaze fell on her now, relaxed in a quiet trance, breathing against my chest. I would do anything to protect her from herself as long as I could.
Even if I had to lie to the man I loved.
Because the moment I told him her real identity, those visions I saw in her mind would kick-start. And the thought of it was gutting.
“You said she was an opera singer.” Her soft voice drew me from my musings.
“Yes, sweet wife.” I gazed down to find her eyes open, large doll eyes, watching me. “She was. I hated her profession, but even I would admit that she had an angel's voice.”
The rain started in earnest now, sounding like a thousand whips on the roof, the streams chasing each other down the window.
I glanced at the fireplace that seemed to burn brighter in the blueish dimness of the bedroom. It was as if I had been transported to Berlin, listening to the laughter of Astre and Konrad as they went over music notes in yet another travel preparation.
That damned man.
The damned man I couldn't even hate fully anymore. Because I had fallen for his reincarnate. I loved him fiercely even before I mistook him for Nymphaea’s reincarnate.
I turned back to the doll who was still watching me, her eyes bright as she seemed to be climbing higher into consciousness.
“Her work life was a lot like yours now that I think about it. Performances, international fandom, tours and travels.”
She was watching me in that way that was unique to her, like my words were life itself, and she could not afford to miss a second of it.
I smiled and she blushed.
“It must have been difficult,” she whispered as I brought my hand up to wipe her brows, also feeling for her temperature.
“It was.” I clutched her hand, brought it to my lips and kissed the back of it. “Even with a rich husband, she had to spend longer hours traveling than you do now.”
My heart kicked as a sudden vicious longing seized me. I missed my wife. My wife who remembered.
I want her to remember who she was, what we shared and how we started. I ached to see recognition in these silver eyes.
My chest hurt and my throat burned. It was suddenly torture that she did not remember what First Choice meant, that she was staring at me now with zero knowledge of why I had always waited for her, why life without her was barely even living, why I would wait a thousand years if I had to, and more importantly, why she would always choose to come back to me.
I swallowed hard, but even then my voice came out hoarse. “I missed her a lot when she traveled. So much so that I often went with her.”
Lys smiled.
“What's funny, pet?”
“You’re a romantic.” Her cheeks were a bright pink, her gaze shy.
I looked away, inhaling deeply to clear my mind and not throw caution to the wind.
“Only for Nymphaea.” I turned back and kissed her lips. The hurt look in her eyes as I straightened made me want to carve my heart out.
To throw out the wretched thing that hurt so much. If only she knew, knew that she was Nymphaea and that statement was made for her.
Suddenly, she flew off me, the bedsheet slipping off her shoulders and falling to the floor in a heap.
I paused. The first sound of thunder rumbled outside.
She looked… odd. She stood, fidgety like something was itching her from the inside, her eyes pleading as if she wanted me to do something she could not quite communicate.
I reached for her and her stance changed immediately. Her body leaned forward, her hands poised for attack, and then a shiver ran up her body and she roared.
Loud. Guttural. In my face.
Instinct said to match her, remind her who was apex here. But with a chill I saw her eyes flicker from silver to gold.
Her fangs were out, widening her mouth as her skin glowed. She looked like she had swallowed the moon, and it was shining out of her skin.
There was no doubt. Lys was Nymphaea.