She kisses my collarbone, and then bites it, hard enough for my cock to stir from sore, sleepy life. “Is it not enough that we’re bound by fate and tied together by magic?”
“It’s not enough until I’m your husband, because I need you to know that you’re my choice. And I need to know that I’m yours.” She looks up at me, suddenly looking paradoxically shy and mischievous all at once.
“Merlin, I kidnapped you, flew you over an ocean, and have spent the last week fucking you until neither of us can walk straight. What about that makes you think you’re not my choice?”
I do have to laugh at that. “So you will be my wife?”
“I will.” She nestles back onto my shoulder and adds, “And you’ll marry me with a cuff on your ankle because I’ve grown rather attached to it.”
“You know, the cuff doesn’t stop me from doing this…” I flip her onto her back and pin her hands above her head, rocking my hard column of need against her naked pussy—the first time I’ve dared to take charge since I was brought here. But I’m in her thoughts now, and I can feel that she doesn’t mind, that she welcomes it—even if I also can sense that she’s allowing it because she feels in love with and indulgent of me.
I don’t mind.
I think I’ve earned a little indulgence by now, don’t you?
Epilogue
Nimue
He wears an ankle cuff when we marry.
It’s not the practical neoprene one from Bardsey, but a handsome titanium thing I had custom made for him when we got home; it locks around his ankle with a special tool that only I have, and we’ve only taken it off when we need to fly somewhere. Otherwise, it glints against his skin day and night, when we fuck and when we shower and when I make him perform all manner of domestic and husbandly deeds completely naked.
I’m not sure if it’s the magic he was born with or simply good genes, but the only sign of Merlin’s age are the faint lines around his eyes and the silver threading through his hair. His body is the lean length of muscle and masculinity that I remember from my youth, his eyes are still crackling and glittering with boundless mystery, and his cock is still youth embodied, in that it’s endlessly hard for me. He takes a beating beautifully, begs me to hurt him, bite him, fuck him, and when I reward him with letting him fuck me in turn, he rails me like a man half his age.
What more could a merry little sadist want?
Well, one thing.
And I have that too.
Sharing magic with him is more intimate than sex, more exotic than kink, and it’s elemental and spiritual and exhilarating and entrancing and I can’t get enough of it. A long time ago I told him I wanted to crack him open and crawl inside his mysteries forever, and now I can. I can indulge my obsession with him on every level, and the way I possess his body, he possesses my mind, my thoughts, my soul. All I have to do is think of him, and there he is, boundless in his secrets and hidden corners of his heart. Mine to explore for the rest of our lives.
It’s a marvelous April evening as I watch him return from his walk with Greer around the lake. He’s just told her the truth of all our lives and given her the key that will take her and Embry home to Ash. And when he mounts the steps to my sister’s expansive patio—currently festooned with lanterns and flowers for the wedding—I catch a glimpse of his cuff bright and shining on his ankle.
How could it have taken me so long to learn how we needed to love each other? When the answer seems so obvious now?
The look he gives me as he sees me standing there in my thin dress, the lanterns no doubt illuminating the curves and lines of my body underneath it, is nothing less than scorching. The same dark smolder he gave me as a prisoner in a cave once upon a time, and the same hungry stare he gave a Catholic schoolgirl twenty-some years ago. My body, already warm from the brief flash of his ankle cuff, heats even more. I think I’ll be dragging him to a dark corner of Vivienne’s mansion very shortly; a quick shove to his knees and a hand twined in his raven hair while he tongues my pussy would do very nicely.
But for now, I settle for the pleasing shine of his wedding ring on his finger as he reaches for my hand to kiss it, following it with a kiss to my neck. I brush up against his thoughts, sending him the images of exactly what I want to do later, and he groans quietly into my throat.
Let’s go now, I hear him think. Let me please you now.
You always please me, I think to him fondly, and then run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. My wizard.
He scoffs aloud. I please you more on my knees.
Let’s enjoy the party a bit longer. Then, if you behave, I’ll let you enjoy me.
I can hear his answering grumble even through our thoughts. I just laugh.
We each grab a glass of champagne and wander over to the far end of the patio, where the reception crowd is thinner and we have an unobstructed view of the lake. The sun has just finished setting, leaving a faint pinkish, lavender glow above the mountains while fog creeps over the mirrored water.
I think of another lake, long ago, also fog-draped and still. I think of the cruel queen who died, and the sister who I ruled with because we decided that two queens united in strength made more sense than a bitter struggle over which of our gifts mattered more to Avalon.
I think of all that Merlin’s accomplished with Ash and Embry and Greer, and I think of the tasks that now lay at my feet, the duties that the sight has given me. Helping Embry and then Kay. The pain and strife about to be stirred up between Mark, Tristan, and Isolde. The quest Galahad will face when he comes of age, and the destined storms already swirling at Lyr’s heels. There is so much to do, and yet, still so much to celebrate and revel in.
I take my husband’s hand, loving the feel of those long, elegant fingers wrapping around my own.
