Page 69 of Absolution
“Oh yes,” I agree, lining my hard cock up with her slick opening. She’s already wet and more than ready for me. “All yours, little dove.”
As I declare her ownership of me, my fingers wrap around her neck, squeezing gently. Her lovely lips part on a soft, erotic gasp, and her aquamarine eyes shine with devotion as she looks up at me.
“I love you.” I seal my promise with a harsh thrust, spearing her to the hilt.
My love for her makes my heart ache with a throbbing beat. It’s so strong that the vital organ threatens to burst, but I would gladly ruin every part of myself just to be with her.
“I love you,” she promises in return.
I increase the pressure on her arteries, restricting her blood flow to grant her the ecstatic high she craves. She begins to soften beneath me, and I claim her pliant body in ruthless, deep strokes. Her legs lock around my hips, her heels digging into my ass to spur me on.
Pleasure gathers at the base of my spine, and I release her throat. Oxygenated blood rushes back to her brain, and she flies apart on a blissful scream. Her cunt contracts around my cock, and I surrender to the torrent of my own pleasure. My rough shout fills our bedroom as I pump my cum deep inside her, marking her.
Before I met Abigail, I didn’t think I possessed a soul. But now I know that mine belongs to her. It might be black—selfish and more than a little cruel—but it’s hers.
And she’s offered me all of herself in return.
My miracle. My wife.
My Abigail.
24
ABIGAIL
Two days later
“Ican’t believe we’re in Whitby!” I exclaim, twirling on the spot so that I can take in a full view of my surroundings.
The ruins of the famous abbey on the clifftop are every bit as gothic and atmospheric as I always imagined. It’s overcast, but it’s not raining. Beneath the gray sky, the grass is such a vibrant green that it’s almost otherworldly. There’s an eerie quality to the midmorning light that glows through the dense clouds, and I can’t wait to try to capture it at my easel.
“Sorry about the weather,” Dane apologizes. “It’s England.”
I stare out at the heavy fog that completely obscures the beach and North Sea, and I let out a happy sigh.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I declare.
Back in Charleston, Uncle Jeffrey’s death is all over the news. There’s wild speculation that he either drank himself into a stupor or started the fire on purpose.
No one has suggested murder, so it seems Dane did a thorough job of coving up what I did.
In any case, I’m more than happy to be out of town until it all blows over.
“The weather is perfect,” I say. “Everything about this place is perfect.”
He shakes his head. “Its…soupy.”
“I want to walk in it.”
I’ve never seen such thick fog. It almost looks velvety, and the prospect of feeling it on my skin calls to me like a siren’s song.
He gestures out at the beach, incredulous. “In the fog? At least we can see three feet ahead of us up here on the cliff. Don’t you want to explore the abbey?”
I grab his hand and lead him toward the steps down into town. “We can come back to the abbey. We’re here for the whole week, right?”
His eyes glint with mischievous light. “Oh yes, we have time to come back up here.”
“Good,” I declare. “Then you can stop questioning me and join me on the foggy beach.”
