Episode 41

“…El.”

Elouise looked up at him steadily. His confused eyes settled down at her.

He had kissed her before—on the cheek, the forehead—like a passing breeze. But never once on the lips.

And of course, Elouise knew she wouldn’t be his first kiss. Marcus had once boasted that during his many light-hearted romances, he had kissed women—sometimes impulsively, sometimes because the women initiated it.

It seemed laughable in hindsight.

At the time, Elouise had chuckled and said, “Honestly, what are you—a teenage boy bragging about losing his virginity? Who boasts about something as trivial as kissing?”

But now, she wanted that trivial kiss more than anything.

Her eyes misted over as she looked at Marcus, then she closed them.

The sound of him swallowing—gulp—was clear.

It was so quiet she could hear the candle flames flickering. Marcus stared down at her for a long time, his gaze so intense Elouise felt herself flush with embarrassment. A moment passed—but it felt like an eternity. Just as she was about to open her eyes again—

“Don’t regret this.”

He whispered low in her ear. It was nothing like his usual soft tone.

Rough. Strained.

Elouise shivered at the sound.

She could tell—he was struggling to hold back the desire rising within him.

Her fingers tightened around his hand. Still holding her left, Marcus wrapped his left arm around her waist. His body heat felt strangely foreign.

Then he turned his face slightly and kissed her.

His nose was high enough that when it brushed her cheek, she flinched. And then—his lips touched hers.

Elouise trembled.

Since she was a young girl, just barely old enough to imagine romance, she had often pictured kissing someone she loved.

But the sensation now was unlike anything she’d ever imagined.

Soft, warm, a little rough at the edges—his lips against hers defied all description.

She slowly opened her eyes.

His long lashes filled her vision, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. So she closed her eyes again. He gave her a few feather-light kisses—soft, soundless touches—and Elouise thought her heart might explode.

Then the third kiss came—and everything changed.

He parted his lips slightly, brushing and gently tugging her lower lip with his own. Once, twice—then he whispered her name.

“Elouise.”

As he said her name, she opened her mouth to answer—but Marcus leaned in.

His lips parted hers, and when Elouise startled and tried to lean away, his strong arms kept her close. A warm, wet tongue slipped inside her mouth, and she was completely overtaken.

His tongue slowly wrapped around hers.

Elouise thought she might lose her mind at the sheer sensuality of his lewd tongue slithering inside her mouth.

Heavens. This—this was obscene.

She had always imagined deep kisses to be tender, warm, safe. But the reality was completely different. Her body burned from the inside out; even her collarbone tickled. She writhed under his touch. Marcus moved her left hand onto his shoulder and cradled her neck with his right.

She could feel each of his fingers as they moved. She had never thought a kiss could make her this sensitive.

When she tried to pull away for air, Marcus stayed close, exhaling against her lips. It was like a sigh—or more of a moan.

“My chest…”

Elouise gasped. Marcus opened his eyes slightly and looked at her. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She stared at a button on his shirt and whispered:

“It feels like my chest will burst…”

“Mine too, El.”

He guided her hand to his chest. Beneath the firm muscles, his heart thundered.

Like he’d just sprinted at full speed.

Thump, thump.

Elouise blushed. Marcus drew her back into his arms. Their bodies were wrapped around each other now. Her chest tingled—like she was doing something terribly wrong.

“I love you…”

Unable to hold it back anymore, Elouise said the words.

Marcus didn’t answer. He simply kissed her again.

His tongue explored her mouth, their breaths ragged. She couldn't keep count of how many times they kissed, how often they bit and sucked each other’s lips. Eventually, they realized they were tangled on the sofa like woven vines. Elouise had nearly reclined into the cushions, and Marcus hovered above her, like he might devour her.

Their eyes met. Elouise knew—if she gave in now, there’d be no turning back.

She looked up at him. Marcus narrowed his eyes, then said her name.

“Elouise.”

She hesitated, then spoke.

“…Marcus, give me time.”

For her, this was too momentous. Marcus smiled faintly and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“As much as you need, my love.”

He quickly withdrew from above her. Elouise sat up and glanced down at herself, hastily pulling her robe closed. Then she looked back.

Marcus had turned his back and was pouring brandy.

“Marcus. Come here.”

“Elouise, just a moment. I’ll pour a drink…”

“Forget the drink. Come here.”

“Ah, please, Elouise…”

His voice was still rough, hoarse. He had set down the glass and bottle—but his hand was to his forehead, and he still didn’t look at her.

And then Elouise understood why.

It wasn’t that Marcus didn’t want to come to her.

He couldn’t.

Elouise’s face flushed even deeper.

She had learned many things while working as a tutor for noble families in Maine.

Things no textbook would ever teach.

And right now, she knew exactly what Marcus was going through. How could she not?

When he had pulled away earlier, she’d been too dazed to even notice—but now, it was clear he was as affected as she was. If not more.

Otherwise, why else would he be staring so intently at the wall?

He kept sighing, kept fidgeting, glancing back at her—only to stop himself again. Elouise glanced at his firm backside—and though it was just a flicker, her face burned so hot she had to cover it.

What on earth am I doing?

She felt like some vulgar man leering at women on the street. Meanwhile, Marcus—completely unaware of her thoughts—stood there muttering at the wall, hands on his hips, making excuses to no one in particular.

“Just… please, El. Don’t misunderstand why I’m not looking at you. It’s just… I love you too much. I can’t even look without losing my mind…”

“I’m not misunderstanding.”

Elouise spoke gently, but firmly. Marcus looked even more flustered, then finally let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that… I mean…”

“I said I’m not misunderstanding, Marcus.”

He jumped slightly.

Because Elouise had walked up behind him—and wrapped her arms around him.

His chest was so broad that her fingers barely touched. Elouise rested her cheek against his back.

“I understand how you feel. Don’t worry so much.”

“…But El. You and I both know you don’t trust me.”

Marcus gave a bitter smile. Elouise felt the faint tremor in his back. He sighed and said quietly, like a confession,

“I know. This is the price I have to pay. But knowing it in my head doesn’t stop my heart from hurting. It tears me apart, that you don’t trust me.”

“Liar.”

“Elouise.”

He said her name—and she giggled.

Now, Marcus seemed to have finally calmed down. He turned to face her. Elouise, still holding onto him, looked up.

He tapped her cheek gently with his fingers and smiled.

“You’re a bold woman. Climbing into a man’s arms like this. Aren’t you afraid of what I might do?”

“…Do it.”

“…What?”

At Elouise’s words, Marcus looked as if he’d been struck in the head. Elouise looked straight up at him and repeated:

“Hold me.”

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