Faustus would never grow tired of watching the soft pink of a blush splash itself across his wife’s features. And he would never get tired of calling her his wife. He was already grinning at her, but he burst out laughing at her cheekiness. Reaching out, he captured her chin and leaned forward to brush a kiss against her lips. “Too right, you are, my love. I am yours.” He responded, his voice low. “And as yours, I am entitled to spoil you however I may see fit.”

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