Page 60 of Captive Bride

I watch him raptly as he turns to leave, his body completely entrancing me now more than ever. Now that I’ve been with him, I doubt I’ll ever think of him the same.

Or anything for that matter.

As the door closes behind him, I focus my attention back to myself, to the soreness between my legs and the sensitivity of my own mouth.

I run my fingers across my lips, delighting in the puffiness he’s left behind.

I’m no longer a virgin. The thought seems incredible to me.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was dreading the Governor’s bed, the rough parting from me and my virginity.

How quickly things have changed.

Last night feels utterly surreal. I fight the urge to pinch myself, terrified that I’ll wake up in my own bed, this whole night being nothing but a dream.

I know better though; no dream has ever conjured the kind of mind-blowing passion that Tristan has awakened in me.

My body tenses at the memory, tears of unspeakable joy threatening my eyes.

I never knew that love like this was possible.

None of my fantasies or daydreams have ever come close to the reality, to the depth of my own feelings.

I love him.

Never before has a word felt so inadequate.

I love him.

Suddenly, I need to be with him again, his absence striking me as near painful.

I leave the balcony, heading instead to the bathroom. I twist the tap on the tub, hot water cascading into the oversized claw foot tub. It fills quickly, and I waste no time stepping into it.

I sink into the warm water, already grabbing a loofah to drag across my skin.

Now that I’ve started missing Tristan, I move with urgency, unable to wait to be in his presence again.

After I’ve thoroughly scrubbed and washed, I grab a towel from the rack, stepping out into the now foggy bathroom. The plush towel fits snugly around me as I cross to the mirror, running my hand down the condensation that’s gathered there.

My reflection meets me with level eyes, the bright blue of them staring out at me. My face the same as ever before.

I don’t know what I’ve expected to find here, but some distant corner of my mind feels surprised at the fact.

I feel changed. Different.

That the monumental events of the last day could be utterly absent from my appearance feels wrong.

I run my tongue over my lips, irritating the sore flesh. At least I can still feel him there, the side effects of just how he’s changed me.

I grab a brush, carved silver feeling cool in my palm as I rake it though my blonde hair. Tangles from a night well-spent give way with little resistance.

Feeling wholly more presentable, I make my way back to the bedroom, stopping to pull my black slip dress over my head.

There’s nothing more I can do, having left so much behind.

The possessions are replaceable, no matter how luxurious they can be. I feel no connection to them. They were never anything more than tools meant to keep me complacent, anyway. Just more items on a list of my parents deceptions.

My life was not luxurious, no matter what material items they threw at me.

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