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Through the Veneer of Time, medieval time travel historical romance, time travel fiction fantasy, irish historical romance, serial killer fbi agent romance, suspense romance series, mystery thriller romance, mystery suspense romance, Celtic triquetra
Bonus Content

Always and Forever

May 1, 2006, Washington, D.C.

Ryan insisted on carrying me up to our new condo from the limousine. There were two long flights of stairs to negotiate, but he refused to stop. The key was in his pocket, and I suggested he put me down to retrieve it, but he held me up with one arm while unlocking the door.

We closed on this condo a month ago, which I’d spent furnishing and decorating in preparation for our move—and for the wedding night.

He kicked the door open and carried me over the threshold.

Then we stood in the silence that fell, looking at each other—he in his black tux and blue bow tie and me in my strapless mermaid gown with the three-foot train. 

“This is it,” he said. “You’re mine forever.”

“I’ve always been,” I whispered. 

He took my hand and walked me to our candle-lit bedroom. Underneath my wedding dress, I wore my white trousseau: strapless lacy bra, barely-there thong, matching garter belt, high thighs. And white stilettos.  

Ryan unzipped my gown and let it pull on the floor around my feet, then stood back with a low whistle. “Damn. How did I ever get so lucky?”

I stepped out of the buttery silk.

Gaze locked on mine, he pulled down the lacy cups, one at a time. My breasts spilled out over the wiring. He ran his thumbs over my nipples, pulled down my thong.

His mouth curved in a fleeting grin as he dropped to his knees, holding my hips in place. “Fresh out of a Catholic ceremony, and all I crave is idolatry.” 

He bent his head to the tops of my stockinged feet, kissed my ankles, calves, knees. His mouth traveled up my thighs, to the apex above. Skilled. Single-minded. Relentless. He had to hold me in place, lest I collapsed in a panting heap. 

He stood when I’d finished, grinning as I caught my breath. “Bring me some water, love. And keep your heels on.”

I looked over my shoulder before stepping out of the bedroom. His eyes burned like two coals.  

“Walk slowly,” he said, hoarse.

When I returned, he sat on the bed naked, his arousal in perfect proportion with his large frame, his body a work of art.

I handed him the bottle, breath catching in my throat. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He drank deep and offered me some. Then I was on my back, my stilettos falling on the plush rug with a soft thump.  

“It’s different…” he breathed, sinking into me, “making love to you as your husband.” His pace heightened as I fell apart over and over again.

“I love you,” I whispered, as he claimed me harder and faster. My man, my friend, my husband, my soulmate.

“Always and forever,” he echoed as we hovered over the bed, then floated to the heavens above in bodiless bliss.

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