“What are you working on?” I asked when I could no longer contain my curiosity.
“The article.”
“Article…” I have to search my memory. “For the journal?”
He nodded. “It’s the last bit of unfinished business from before. The editors are keen to capitalize on Auraliaphilia.”
“I truly despise that word.”
“What, you don’t enjoy being a global celebrity?” Lorcan teased.
“It’s not just me, my King.” You can tell which part of the study is mine by the mess of papers, and which part is Lorcan’s, with neatly piled stacks and well-organized books next to his laptop. I nudged a clipping over to him. It’s a fawning profile of “the warrior king and his philosopher queen.”
Not that they bothered to get our power structure right.
“Here’s what I was thinking might work as a vision statement,” he said, putting his computer on top of the clipping. A pink tinge touched his cheeks. Ha! Score one for Zosia. Finally. “An outline.”
I quickly scanned through his ideas. “This is much better than anything I’ve come up with.”
It isn’t as though I haven’t tried to finish the article. Last summer, we were still at odds and I didn’t have much confidence in anything I was doing. Then, it fell to the wayside after our wedding. If Lorcan hadn’t taken the initiative to finish it, no doubt it would still be languishing at the bottom of my to-do list. The pressure of putting all your hopes for the future down in print for the world to read and dissect is terrifying.
But he’s never let fear hold him back.
I sat on his lap and started editing his document. Lorcan watched over my shoulder, gently working his hand under the hem of my loose sweater. I ignore him as best I can while typing a few paragraphs. Then I shifted my weight to give him a better view of the screen. He stroked my stomach and nuzzled my shoulder, reading what I had hastily composed from his outline.
“You’re not making it easy to type,” I complained as he moved lower, hands inside my waistband. “Or think.”
My scheming husband chuckled. “It’s good. I like the three-phase strategy.”
“Yeah?”
“Breaking it down is helpful.” He withdrew his hand from my clothing and hugged me around the waist as I sat crosswise on his thighs, reading what I added to his outline. “‘We have three distinct populations to attend to: the elderly who have lost family members and will need support as they age, widows and single women, some of whom have or want families, and a sizable group of orphans. Plus, we desperately need laborers. We have to factor in the cultural differences between the different tribes and ensure that no one group is disadvantaged. There is fertile ground for discord, if not carefully managed.’ Well done, Zosia.”
“You’re the one who came up with the framework,” I pointed out, playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“We’re a good team.” His hand went back under my shirt, and the mood shifted. I slammed the laptop lid closed, then adjusted so I’m straddling him.
“Take a break?” I asked, looping my arms around his broad shoulders and bending down to kiss him. The bulge of his cock lengthens and rises beneath me. Lorcan had my shirt off in seconds. His hot, hot mouth devours me, licking the peaks of my nipples before sucking them between his teeth.
A knock at the door interrupted us. Lorcan pinned my arms behind my back and kissed me hard, preventing me from calling out or getting up to answer.
They knocked again, then left us in peace.
“We’re not done discussing the paper,” he whispered.
“We’re not discussing the paper,” I pointed out. Lorcan’s wicked grin did wonderful things to my insides. I forget, sometimes, that I can tell people to wait. My husband likes to remind me, usually by asking if I know what’s even sexier than having a princess begging for him. (Answer: a queen.)
In other words, he guards my time as well as he guards my safety.
“You know, this is all I thought about the entire time we were writing the first draft.” He nipped my throat and ground against me to demonstrate.
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
Yes.
The memory still incinerates me, three years later. I ruffled his hair, trying and failing to summon mock anger. “You tanked my grade as foreplay? Bold move, Lorcan.”
“Hey, it worked,” he laughed. “Eventually.”
