Every Rose Has It's Thorn

Every Rose Has It's Thorn Chapter 20

Word Count 1,377

I awoke the next morning to the soft chirping of the birds and the amber magnificence of the sun pouring in through the lavish windows, bathing me in a pleasant, flaxen warmth that placed delightful kisses on all parts that made my naked figure. I attempted to arise from where I lay when I came to the sudden realization of how I had somehow returned to my new bed in the palace of Cleveland following the events of last night. I dug deep into the unseen crevices of my mind, trying to generate some recollection of myself undressing and climbing into bed, but surfaced with none. I drank in my surroundings; they were indeed of my new bedchamber. An amiable scent of rosin and sundew filled my senses as I rose from the bed and placed my bare feet on the cold floor, only to cry out due to the sudden sharp sting of pain between my legs. I fell back onto the bed, gasping at the acceleration of my once stable heartbeat. Had it not been for the lone arm that I had supported myself with, I would have ended up on the floor, a mess of sweat and shame to match the coldness of the marble floor.

Memories of what had transpired the night prior flashed vividly across my mind in an erotic, garish blur. The image of two pale bodies, fearlessly intertwined in the darkest pits of scandalous desire, the carnal rise and fall of labored breath, the feel of skin against skin, the moist heat in a haze of passion, the searing intensity of gripping pleasure engulfing my senses, the sweet whisper of forbidden promises...

The obscenity of the pain that paid the price of pleasure, as punishment for the sin of temptation.

My hands trembled as they gripped the side of the bed - all the warmth within the room that had seeped in through glass panes seemed to leave the way it came while the creeping talons of shame took its place, filling the room with a frigid aura.

I draped a hand across the other side of the bed, heart sinking at the feel of cold linen against my fingertips instead of the heat of my lover's toned, lean chest. I sighed in disappointment, though I could not bring myself to admit the cause of my unease.

I did not know why, but I was crying - crying tears not of sadness, but happiness, contentment and gratitude for this man. This… renegade, who had been forced as stiffly into a marriage as I had been, but was still willing to honor and respect me and my position as his wife. I had tried so desperately to hate him, think him a brute, but the wallowing guilt within me prevented me from doing so. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to loathe him. I could not hate Colson.

I had been intoxicated by ale that night, but these little memories clung to the back of my mind like a vice, and it hurt to try to let them go.

The comforting brush of cold sheets did much to soothe my pounding heart and frenzied mind as I was laid delicately onto a bed of white. The rush of cold air filling the room in Colson's austere presence left the hairs on my bare skin tingling as I opened my eyes. The room appeared an interesting mesh of cream and vermilion - one that reverted to the familiar surroundings of my chamber once my vision cleared. The sinking feeling of cerulean eyes burning through the back of my head caused me to gulp in a mix of fear, and strangely, anticipation. Taking in a sharp breath, I turned my head slowly to face him.

We gazed into each other's eyes, relishing in the rare moment of being able to see each other in the light of a lover. In those moments when his eyes would meet mine, the world would seem to blur into nothingness; an empty void which only served to compliment his crippling beauty.

Eyes trained on my own, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, pale hand slowly creeping to rest on mine. My heart was sent aflutter as I entwined my fingers eagerly with his.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, eyes filled with affection.

I had given Colson my heart, mind and body, everything I held dear; every last part of me belonged to him.