Page 67 of The Oracle's Journey

CHAPTER 27

Emma

Nicolas and I slipped away from the celebration without saying goodbye to anyone. The guests would figure it out before long. We were ready to retire for the evening. Nicolas held my hand as he ushered me through the chateau to his chambers. Or really, our chambers. My heart beat frantically, as if we were sneaking away to do something forbidden. Probably because merely being alone together had been illicit until a few hours ago. His green eyes peered down at me, as if to make sure I was still pleased to be there with him. I grinned so he knew I was exactly where I wanted to be.

We paused outside the door of his chambers. He took both my hands in his and gently ran his thumbs over my knuckles. “I want you to know that we don’t have to rush into this part if you’re not ready.” His gaze searched my face as if looking for any sign of hesitancy. I loved him for it.

I stepped in closer and lifted onto my toes to kiss his full lips. “I want to do this with you, though I’d like to go slowly.”

Despite Ozanna’s assurances, I was still scared of the pain I’d been warned of since adolescence. It felt even more ridiculous considering the power I had, but I was still unsure how to properly wield it. I also had the instinct that any more reality-bending would be … well, disastrous for reality. Though that was a worry for another day.

He nodded and rested his forehead against mine. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, love.” He brushed his lips over mine in a feather light kiss before opening the door.

I felt the heat of a blush creep up my neck and face when we were finally alone in his sitting room.It was much like the one in my guest suite, with a table and sofa, though he had a comfortable armchair by the fireplace with a side table stacked with books.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked.

The mulled wine from the celebration had already left me floating a little. I wasn’t sure it would be wise to have more.

“Water, please.”

“Anything for my Duchess,” he said with a playful smile and exaggerated bow that made me giggle. “Make yourself at home.”

I looked at the plush blue sofa and considered sitting there, but that wasn’t where I wanted to be. Not tonight. There was a set of closed double doors on the far side of the parlor that likely led to our bedroom. I shooed away the butterflies in my stomach and made a daring decision. Sauntering past Nicolas, as he poured water from an ewer into a crystal glass, I pushed the doors open.

The canopy bed was massive, ornate, and solidly crafted. There appeared to be a red and gold brocade coverlet under a small pile of furs. I ran my fingers through the fur, sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Eyebrows raised, Nicolas stood in the doorway with two glasses of water. With a crooked grin, he said, “I thought you wanted to take it slow.”

My face heated up, again, and I laughed. “Yes, well, not so slow we would have to start in the parlor.”

Nicolas looked down at the floor and then back up at me, contemplating something. Then he swaggered into the room and the rakish grin on his face made my heart skip a beat. But instead of pouncing on me, he handed me one of the glasses and took a large gulp from his own before setting it down on the bedside table.

“Since we seem to have different definitions of slow,” he said and started undoing the buttons on his indigo surcoat, “I’m going to let you lead this dance.” He shrugged the beautiful garment off and tossed it on the floor. “What should I take off next?” He asked me.

As he stood before me in his black trousers and rumpled white shirt, my stomach did a strange little flip flop. At least the butterflies weren’t returning.

“Hmm,” I said, putting a finger on my lips, contemplating. I hadn’t known what to expect, after all, but to be given such a choice … I just didn’t know. What part of him do I want to see first? “Take your shirt off.” His grin renewed itself, and he pulled the garment over his head without hesitation.

“Oh,” I said and took in the sight of him. His red-bronze skin stretched pleasantly across slabs of muscle on his broad chest and shoulders. He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, then held his hands out to the side and turned in place so I could admire his hard earned, fighting man’s physique.

“You’re welcome to touch any of me,” he offered and stepped a little closer. “I am completely at your disposal.” The latter sounded more like a taunt than an invitation.

“So, I’m to indulge my curiosity?” I asked with a playful lilt and touched a trembling finger to the middle of his chest, tracing a line down to his navel. He shuddered and sighed contentedly. It was such a simple, timid gesture on my part, how could it have such an effect on him? I leaned forward, set my glass aside, and gently brushed the fingers of both hands over his chest and down the sides of his belly. He shuddered and giggled this time.

He giggled!

“That tickled a little,” he admitted sheepishly and gestured to his sides, right above the hips. “Don’t let that stop you, though.”

I suddenly wanted him to touch me the way I’d been touching him. I wanted to know what it felt like to shudder so pleasantly under his fingers. But there was one last thing I wanted to do before I let him. I rested my hands on his hips and leaned in to kiss his belly, just above his navel. His breath caught a tiny bit and his hands moved, as though he reflexively wanted to touch me, to encourage that contact, but he kept them down at his sides. It seemed he’d set at least one rule for himself while he offered his body to me. So, I kissed just under his navel, and he gasped.

“Emma,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. I smiled up at him and kissed his belly right above the waistline of his trousers. He gasped again, groaned, and put his hands on top of his head, tousling his hair. Frustrated, if I wasn’t mistaken. It sent a little thrill through me, knowing I could generate such a reaction from three little kisses.

“Could you undo the buttons on my dress?” I asked, smiling up at him. He gave me space to stand up and turn my back to him.

“Why are there so many tiny buttons?” he lamented as he slowly undid one after the other.

“To frustrate bridegrooms.” I smiled and teased him over my shoulder. “Obviously. It’s tradition.”

---