Chapter 55: Breathtaking
The house had settled into a rare hush. Soft winds brushed against the tall windows of the Ainsley Estate, stirring the ivy outside and trailing gentle fingers along the glass. In the nursery, the hush of sleep had at last overtaken Eva, her lashes resting like moth wings on flushed cheeks, her body curled around her swan-shaped pillow. A single breath escaped her lips, slow and even, as if she were dreaming of moonlight and secret gardens.
Vivienne lingered in the doorway longer than usual, arms folded, eyes unreadable. Her heart was full in that way only Eva could fill it—a quiet ache, a pulse of love too vast for words.
"She asked for fifteen kisses," Vivienne murmured, voice low and warm with amusement.
Evelyn, leaning against the doorframe, smirked, though her gaze hadn't left their daughter. "Fifteen from each of us," she said. "And she still wanted more."
Vivienne hummed. "Insatiable. Like someone I know."
Evelyn turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing. "Don't."
Vivienne didn't smile, not fully. She tilted her chin, her voice feathering into mischief. "You heard her."
"She says many things," Evelyn muttered.
"She called me breathtaking," Vivienne said, and this time the smile curled—slow, triumphant, playful. "And you, my darling wife, blushed so hard I thought you might catch fire."
Evelyn groaned and pushed off the frame. "I was eating."
"You turned the color of ripe cherries," Vivienne murmured. "And you dropped your spoon."
"Because you were staring at me like a cat that found cream."
"I am merely repeating the facts," Vivienne said, stepping lightly down the corridor. Her silk dress whispered around her legs, lavender shimmering like the dusk outside. "Come."
Evelyn followed, half-grumbling, fully enchanted. There had always been a pull between them—years had only deepened it. Even when she resisted, she was moving toward Vivienne.
They reached her room. The door opened with the softest sigh. Evening had begun to slip inside, draping the furniture in shadow and quiet gold. Vivienne moved with purpose, undoing the ribbon at her waist as she walked toward the window.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You're making a scene."
Vivienne turned, only half undressed, and the look she gave Evelyn was velvet and smoke.
"Only because you love it."
Evelyn swallowed.
"I do," she said.
There was no space between the confession and the movement. She crossed the room in three swift steps, took Vivienne by the waist, and pushed her gently down onto the bed. Vivienne let herself fall, propped on her elbows, hair spilling like dark fire across the bedding.
Evelyn hovered above her, eyes dark with intent.
"You want to know the truth?" she whispered, voice low and rough. "You undo me."
Vivienne's breath caught.
"When you kiss Eva's bruises, when you brush her curls back like she's spun from sunlight. When you say my name like it matters." Evelyn leaned closer, their mouths a breath apart. "You're so beautiful it frightens me."
Vivienne didn't answer. She didn't have to. The heat in her gaze said everything.
Evelyn kissed her, deep and slow, as if she had all the time in the world. It wasn't hunger, not yet—it was worship. She took her time, letting their lips slide and catch, letting the weight of years and tenderness and ache press into every kiss.
Her hands moved with care, sliding down Vivienne's arms, drawing the silk from her shoulders. The lavender dress slipped down, a sigh of fabric exposing soft, moonlit skin. Evelyn's lips followed the path, kissing the hollow of her wife's collarbone, dragging her mouth down until Vivienne arched beneath her.
"You smell like violets and something wicked," Evelyn murmured into her skin.
Vivienne's laughter was breathless. "That's not very poetic."
"I'm out of poetry," Evelyn whispered. "I need to speak in touch now."
And so she did.
She kissed every part of her wife as if learning it anew. The pulse at her neck. The dip between her ribs. The inside of her wrists where love had once hidden. Vivienne trembled beneath her, gasping softly when Evelyn's tongue circled the peak of her breast, hands tightening in the sheets.
"Evie," she whispered, voice frayed at the edges.
But Evelyn silenced her with a look—dark, reverent, aching. "Let me."
She trailed kisses down the line of Vivienne's stomach, her hands worshipful, her body warm with years of longing never truly quenched. Vivienne writhed under the weight of Evelyn's mouth, the devotion in every press of her lips, every brush of her tongue.
"You'll ruin me," Vivienne gasped, head thrown back.
Evelyn looked up from between her thighs, voice low. "Good."
Vivienne could only moan in response, her body arching into her wife's hands, trembling on the edge of a wave that had taken years to build. And when she fell, it was silent—a breathless, shuddering surrender.
She pulled Evelyn up, still shaking, and flipped her with a sudden, practiced grace. Evelyn landed with a gasp, arms splayed, eyes wide.
"You fox," Evelyn whispered, smiling even as her chest heaved.
Vivienne climbed over her like a storm, her hands trailing fire down Evelyn's sides. "You forget who taught you how to burn."
Evelyn tried to reply, but Vivienne kissed her deeply, stealing breath and words both. Her mouth was everywhere—on Evelyn's neck, her shoulders, her sternum. She traced Evelyn's scars with reverence, her fingers gentle, her tongue teasing.
"Beautiful," Vivienne whispered. "All of you."
Her mouth traveled lower. She kissed the space beneath Evelyn's ribs, the rise of her hipbones, the small, sacred stretch of skin where Evelyn still flushed like a girl.
"You still blush here," Vivienne said, trailing a kiss just above her navel.
"Stop talking," Evelyn groaned, arching.
Vivienne didn't. She slid lower, kissing her way between Evelyn's thighs with a slowness that left no mercy. Evelyn cried out softly, biting her knuckle, every nerve ablaze.
When the crest came, Evelyn broke apart with Vivienne's name on her lips—half moan, half plea.
The room quieted again, shadows longer now, dusk deepening outside. They lay tangled together, sweat-damp and flushed, limbs woven, hearts racing. Evelyn's head rested against Vivienne's chest, their legs knotted beneath a light sheet.
"You," Evelyn said hoarsely, "are dangerous."
Vivienne smiled lazily. "You make me soft."
"I don't believe you."
"You shouldn't."
They lay like that for a long time, letting the air cool their skin, letting the afterglow settle into something quiet and tender.
Then Vivienne tilted her head, brushing a kiss into Evelyn's damp hair.
"Say it again."
Evelyn blinked up. "What?"
"Say it like Eva did."
Evelyn rolled her eyes, chuckling. "You're unbelievable."
Vivienne only raised a brow.
Evelyn sighed, then reached up to trace a line from Vivienne's chin to her collarbone. Her voice softened, like she was speaking from the same dream Eva had fallen into earlier.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered. "The sun must've made you."
Vivienne stilled. Her fingers closed gently over Evelyn's hand.
"You mean that?" she asked, quieter now.
Evelyn turned her palm and laced their fingers. "I've always meant it."
Vivienne kissed her again—softer now, more an embrace than anything else. The kind of kiss that tasted of forever.
And then, from the next room, a sleepy little voice called out.
"Mère… Manman…"
They both groaned.
"No," Vivienne muttered.
"She wants kiss number sixteen," Evelyn said, smiling.
Vivienne buried her face in Evelyn's shoulder. "She's dreaming."
"She knows."
"I can't move."
Evelyn laughed. "I'll go."
She started to rise, but Vivienne pulled her back. "Not yet. Let her wait."
And so they did. For just one more moment. Tangled in breath and warmth, in love that had weathered time and trial and still found its way home. In the hush of that moment, they belonged to nothing but each other.
And beyond the door, Eva waited, small and bright and full of stories—proof of the magic between them.