Tu Es Ma Lumière

23 - Mornings

"Mmm." Mary moaned against my chest. Her head slowly moved off my chest, leaving the area cold. I smiled softly at her form, the one only I get to see, slowing my fingers' gently stroking lines up and down her arm. She made another small noise, her eyes opening slowly. I smiled into those beautiful golden orbs, running my fingers through the knotted tresses.

I leaned down, capturing our lips for what felt like the thousandth time. She made another gently sound, absentmindedly running a few fingers through my own hair. Last night was magical. Unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I was been so willing to stop at any point, but she told me not to. Giving me her body, as well as her heart and her soul. I don't know what I did to deserve her.

"It's morning," she whispered upon my lips. I smiled at her again, nodded.

"I know," I murmured, the light seeping in from the closed curtains. She made a kittenish sound, accepting another kiss that I was so readily giving. Her lips mould onto mine like the jigsaw pieces we used to play with as children. So unlike anything I had ever experienced with anybody else. She puts all women to shame. Of that, I am certain.

I lean my body down on top of her own. So soft and supple, virginal and pure up until only a few hours ago. My lovely Mary, my beautiful Queen, the one only I get to see. The only one she will ever see. The only one I will ever see again. She makes another noise as I kiss her again, slowly, lethargically, like we have all the time in the world, like nothing else matters besides us. I run my fingers down her bare sides, worshipping every nook and cranny like they were always meant to be worshipped.

For all I belittled paganism, I now completley understand the urge to fall down and worship the feminine form. In Mary's body alone I find myself holding everything I could ever want. In her body alone, I have no use for any Cebelle or Isis. Every inch of her was perfect, made for my hands and lips alone to worship and devour.

She is not a possession, like some would make her out to be. Owning her body and nothing else is not on my list of wants or needs, like it had been for her great Uncle and her cousin, like Tomas or that Scottish farmer boy. I do hold her body, yes, but that is because she gave herself to me willingly. She is mine, yet she is no possession. A Queen in her own right, so beautiful and fruitful and unbelievable. I am hers. And she is mine.

Mary lets out another delicate whimper as my lips skim over her womb. I press a kiss to it, gently adoring her soft, supple skin with my unworthy lips. I curse each and every time I had had another woman, and I make a silent pledge to the almighty lord that I will take no more. Only her for the rest of my life. Of that, I can live happily.

"I hope you're pregnant." I admit softly. She gasps playfully.

"Francis!" she gasps, leaning up on her elbows, shamelessly letting the sheets cover her breasts fall back to the bed. The time for shame and embarrassment is now gone.

"What?" I grin, cocking a brow. "It would force the wedding sooner, you know how much more my father prizes the alliance with Mary Tudor's declining health and how you've proved your worth," I smile against her lips, coming up to slide my body over hers until our noses touch. She smiles beautifully at me and my heart stops.

Mary playfully kisses at my lips. "Are you sure we're not doing this wrong?" she asks, leaning up more after I balance myself on my knees in between her thighs. A firmilar position now. What was no unknown is now so completley known. "After all," she pauses. "we are not wed yet." she berates, but the smile she wears tells me that she does not regret our earlier actions. I smile, picking up her body and holding it to mine. So beautiful. So precious.

"After we rule," I pause. "for a great, long while," I pause again, running my lips over the curvature of her jaw. She sighs in bliss, leaning her head back to give me better access to the previous skin of her neck. "and we leave France and Scotland to our children and grandchildren," I pause, unable to resist the temptation of kissing at the soft, sweet skin that is now decorated with purple bruises from my passionate attack. I am not unmarked. I am sure her nails decorated lines upon my back, her own kisses mark my skin. I am hers now. I always have been. I always will be. "and we meet our maker," I reluctantly pull myself from her sweet skin to look her in her beautiful eyes. "You can ask him yourself." I finish, pushing her back onto the bed, swallowing her giggles with my lips.