Amor Vincit Omnia (✓)

♕ Chapter 9

Six fortnights have gracefully rooted their timeprint. Oscillating between performing their duties and enjoying leisure hours in the company of each other, Freya and Julian have come to terms with marriage.

Although Freya was still unauthorized to discuss politics or international relations, she was permitted to express herself in the intimacy of the royal bedroom.

"Why does the world have such incompetent politicians?" Freya inquired one day, as she leisurely sipped a sweet red wine.

Julian quirked his eyebrows, but did not stop caressing her thigh. He was currently finger-drawing the shape of Italy on her plump flesh, earning a light, yet welcomed shudder from his pensive wife.

"I wish I could satisfy your curiosity, but I am unable to do so. Maybe a possible answer would be that men with inferior intellect are easily manipulated."

Freya chuckled sheepishly while thumbing a drop of wine that escaped her lips.

"Do you always talk like a University professor? Drop the act, Julian. We are all alone, need not worry about reputation here."

Julian rose on his elbow and motioned Freya to surrender to the warmth of his embrace. She complied undoubtedly, pressing her back to his torso.

"Look who's talking. <<Need not worry>> instead of <<don't worry>>. Who's the culprit now?" The Duke asked, teasingly biting her earlobe.

Freya suppressed her moan and playfully slapped his pectorals.

"I was trying to match you. My words can turn all ghetto if you want."

"I would rather have a ghetto make-out, love."

His scrutiny was as sensual as it was murderous. Before the savage of their skin began, they gazed at each other in utter silence, studying their bodies as if preparing for a feast. The moment Freya intended to retreat due to the ponderous burden of her desire, he cupped her buttocks and made her land on his lap.

She could indubitably feel the arising bulge in his lower region, doubled, and even tripled by his panting breath. Why was he reacting so rapidly? Were his intentions impure? However, any possible inquiry crumbled when he ever so slightly thrusted himself to her core.

"Please tell me we are not having sex." She thought her insecurities would not materialize, but she was mistaken.

Julian heaved, dropping his head to look at her thighs. He rubbed them tenderly, stroking their flesh as if they were the Holy Graal.

"I would never minimize your worth, dear. Despite my constantly ceasing self-control, I would not surpass your boundaries. If kissing and nibbling are on your wish list only, then I shall behave accordingly."

He rose his cerulean eyes to her pools of depth. A delicate, one-corner smile was plastered on his face, assuring her of his honour.

"But aren't they requesting an heir?" She asked, lacing her arms around his torso and resting her forehead on his pectorals.

He chuckled, sending vibrations all over Freya's awakened body. "They may be, but I never surrender to other's expectations."

"What about..." Freya stopped in mid-track, biting her lower lip and not bearing to gaze at him.

He could not endure the sight of their bond collapsing. He put two fingers under her chin and elevated her scrutiny. She felt miserable, of that he was beyond certain. He intuited her holding back, but needed her confession without him intervening.

"What about what?" His voice was melted gold, so soft and melodious that Freya could not help but give in her turmoil.

"Mistresses. You had many of them before marriage, and one of the unwritten rules of royalty, despite being in the 21st century, is that a nobleman ought to have at least one mistress. I know I am still unable to offer you intercourses, but I could not undergo knowing such a devious truth. I am sorry."

She put her knees forward in order to stand up, but Julian's calves halted her intention. He captured her hands in a steel-like barrier and forced her to gaze at him unhesitantly.

"You know I am never conforming to others' demands. No, I do not have any mistresses. How can you doubt me?"

His facial features contorted in disappointment. Almost five months have passed and, apart from the little tantrums and the verbal teasing, he has never acted against his code of honour. Did she not trust him yet?

Freya witnessed his darkening features and felt ashamed for numerous insecurities, but above all, for her incapacity of trusting such a reliable man.

She kissed him softly, with quivering lips.

"Do you think you can brush this off with a kiss?" He asked seemingly accusing.

"Is it working?" She responded with another question, shyly displaying a smile.

"You can bet it does."

He smashed his lips against her moist flesh of her mouth, sucking and nibbling until there was nothing audible in the room but cherry-sweet moans and heavy breaths.

He rolled on top of her and his lips gradually travelled every inch of her skin. A gentle kiss on her earlobe, a tender kiss on her clavicle, a mellow kiss on her areola. He carefully designed a map of her body, with mountains, meadows and valleys of full flesh. She may have had some cellulite, a few tummy rolls and a jelly thigh texture, but he could not care less. Her body was to be cherished, devoured, teased and caressed.

"Would you entrust me with your inner Eve?" He asked, pointing towards her lace lingerie.

Freya thought for a few seconds that he may not like her plump imperfections, but she felt rather unaffected by such negativity. In front of her stood a man more than desirous of worshipping her body. She had no authority, no right to complain or even doubt.

She smiled, batting her eyelashes in a manner that pleased Julian – or so she observed for the past months. He languorously removed her lingerie and relished her unaltered sight. Her core was painted with a few ringlets of hair, but those did not diminish his arousal at all – they may have just amplified it.

He bit her inner thigh and kissed the spot where the elastic should have been. Julian delicately inserted one finger into her core, noticing how tight, yet clammy and inviting it was. Freya wanted to press her knees together, but Julian did not let her. He whispered soothing words into her ear during the entrance of the second finger, rubbing her clit back and forth.

Freya arched her back and a low growl escaped her mouth, followed by a more powerful one when her husband deepened his touch.

He loved hearing her moans, her agitation, and her clamour. There was no tangible way of ever losing interest in such a devoted woman – his wife. He dreamily heard her hypnotic climax and thumbed her gliding prickles of perspiration from her bosoms. He would have pursued other paths on that beautiful map of hers, but for a loud, rather rude knock on the door.

"What on bloody Earth are you doing? John, I know it's you. I am with Freya, what is the matter?" He furiously yelled, yanking himself off the bed. "I will be right back, my love."

Such a British endearment, yet he never spoke of it until then. It felt even more rewarding, more... core-tightening than it would have otherwise.

Freya watched him leave the room and covered her naked body with the silk linen. She felt reborn.

"What is hap..." Julian could not even finish his question, for a police officer handed him a piece of paper. A subpoena, to be precise.

The officer left immediately and John, sensing his master's rage, left as well.

"A bastard? A mistress gave birth to... what?"