Synching With the Devil's Son

Chapter 110

Bella's P.O.V.

I don't know how it's possible for one person to make another feel, like Lucien makes me feel. His touch ignites me like a torch dipped in kerosene, his kisses make promises that his hands fulfill. I am barely aware of what he's doing, what he's asking of me, I just agree to everything. I love making him come in my mouth, love that I affect him so much he's hard again in minutes, love that he still wears a condom, even though I know it's pointless. I am in love, lust, awe, infatuated and all other adjectives my brain cannot grasp at the moment, with Lucien. He tells me he has never had a woman react to him as quickly as I do, so maybe that's why everything he does is so electrifying. He quickly brings me to an orgasm that make my toes curl and I lose consciousness for a few seconds. I don't know how he is able to do it, but those climaxes feed my fantasies and fulfill all my desires.

Four fantasy filled orgasms later, we're cuddling on his bed, his arm wrapped tightly around my belly and his face in the crook of my neck. I finally have a chance to look around...his room is enormous, his bed is enormous, and he has an en suite bathroom. He's chosen dark colors to decorate with, blacks, and dark blues with splashes of cream and light blue splattered around. Very attractive and very masculine. I look at the large windows and sit up suddenly, not believing my eyes. He sits up with me and looks at me with a question in his eyes. "Is that what I think it is?" I ask, pointing to a glassed in shelf with over a dozen old books in it.

"Mmm, I don't know, what do you think it is?" he asks, being purposefully obtuse.

I get out of bed and pad over to the shelf. Holy mother of God! He has original copies from some of the most incredible authors the world has ever known - Shakespeare, Hemingway, Dickens, Wilde, Austen, Tolkien and Orwell's names all shine through the glass in their original gold stamped embossed leather. Well, Shakespeare's folio wasn't embossed, but the rest were. "Where did you get all these books?" I ask, astonished. When he looks at me sheepishly and shrugs a shoulder, it hits me. "You knew all these people?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Well, I didn't know Shakespeare, he died when I was two years old, but the rest of them...yeah. Hemingway was the most enigmatic, he loved women and alcohol, I could totally relate."

I'm only partially listening to him while I stare at Sense and Sensibility a Novel, In Three Volumes, by A Lady. "Jane Austen should have been born two centuries later," I murmur quietly, amazed at what I'm looking at.

"Yeah, she was a spiky little thing. She desperately wanted to change the roles women had at the time because she wasn't allowed to publish her books if she put her name on them. So stupid what humans deem proper and acceptable," he says. "It always makes me wonder what other masters remain unknown under the veil of Victorian indecency."

Sometimes I am gob-struck when I think about what Lucien has seen and who's he's met. The benefits of immortality I guess, and it's starting to look more and more appealing. Before I chase that rabbit down the hole, I change the subject. "Do you have any food in that beautiful kitchen of yours or is it just for show?"

His eyes go wide and he looks ashamed. "I'm so sorry. Of course, let's go make something to eat."

We hastily throw on some clothes and head downstairs. I'm trying not to gawk at the beautiful furnishings of the house as we make our way through it. Lucien isn't kidding...they totally renovated the place. The kitchen is dark when we enter, and after a quick search through the refrigerator and pantry, chicken and penne pasta with vodka sauce is what's on the menu. As the water starts to boil, I look out the window at the sparkling pool in the backyard. "You guys did such a remarkable job renovating this place," I tell him quietly. "The Willows family wouldn't recognize it."

"My Dad's got to take the credit for this one," I tell her. "I was too pissed at him for removing me from Venice that I refused to give any input."

I look at him. "What were you doing in Venice?"

He looks at me sheepishly again, "Nothing important, that's for sure."

My mouth purses into an "Oh" without saying it, and I see Lucien grin at me.

"I really love that expression you have." I look at him quizzically. "The one where you form the word 'Oh' but you don't say it. That expression shows your intelligence, but you either don't want to know, or are too kind to pressure for, the details."

"Okay..." I say, not sure why that's such a big deal. We finish cooking dinner and sit down to eat. The food is simple, but delicious. Lucien added spices to the sauce, and I sautéed the chicken with onion and garlic. We finish and put the leftovers in the fridge. I'm surprised we had leftovers considering how much Lucien ate, but there is enough for his father for lunch tomorrow if he wants it. Tomorrow...what exactly am I supposed to do with Lucien's mother tomorrow?

"So," I start, getting Lucien's attention, "where should I take your mother to show her around tomorrow?"

"Well," he drawls, "I would probably start at the grocery store."

"What? Why?"

He looks at me like I've lost my intelligence, but I'm not following. "My Mom was born in 1596 and died in 1662, quite an accomplishment to live to 66 in those days," he says simply.

My eyes widen, of course! Kate has no idea what's happened in the world these past few centuries. Grocery stores are going to seem as foreign to her as Mandarin Chinese is to me. "Okay, so the grocery store and what else?"

He shrugs. "Where do women go to do things around here?" he asks.

I nod, thinking about that for a minute. "Okay, I get it. I've got the day planned out in my head."

"Thanks babe," he says, sending a slight shiver up my spine.

I grin at him. "Babe?"

"Mmm," he replies, giving me a languorous kiss, "you're just a babe in the woods."

"Not compared to your mother," I growl, making him laugh and kiss the top of my head.