The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 591

**Military 591: Devotion In Quiet Fire**

Without a moment’s hesitation, Julius swept Quinn into his embrace, holding her tenderly against the warmth of his chest. He walked purposefully down the dimly lit corridor, each step echoing with a silent vow that this night was theirs alone to claim.

As he gently laid her down on the mattress, he caught a glimpse of something flickering in her eyes—a spark of desire that ignited the very instant their lips had met. It was an unquenchable flame, one that had been kindled by their shared kiss.

“I… my body isn’t really up for… for that right now,” she whispered, her breath hitching as uncertainty laced her words, a hint of vulnerability evident in her voice.

“I know,” he replied, his voice gravelly, roughened by the weight of his restraint. He swallowed hard, feeling the tension in his throat as he fought to control the fire that their kiss had ignited within him.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he carefully removed her slippers, his fingers brushing against her skin as he wrapped one calloused hand around her delicate ankle. The contrast between his roughness and her softness was striking, a reminder of their differing worlds.

Lowering his gaze, he let it linger on her bare foot, as if he were an archaeologist studying a rare artifact. Each curve and line told a story, one he wanted to uncover.

“Don’t stare,” she murmured, attempting to pull her foot away, a blush creeping up her cheeks, the warmth of embarrassment coloring her skin.

“Relax. For you and for the baby, I promise I won’t cross any lines tonight,” he reassured her, his voice low and steady, a soothing balm against her insecurities.

“That’s not it. I… I just don’t like how they look,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, the heat rising in her throat. A woman always wishes for her lover to see her at her best, to admire her without reservations.

Years of rigorous training and the remnants of past injuries had left their marks—faint scars and hardened calluses adorning those slender feet, silent trophies from battles fought in solitude, battles no one else had witnessed.

“Not at all. Your feet are beautiful,” Julius asserted, each word dripping with conviction.

He recalled the day she had heroically carried him through a burning building, those very feet stumbling yet refusing to yield until they were both free from the flames.

“Quinn, you’re beautiful—every inch of you,” he added reverently, as if he were paying homage to a goddess.

With an almost worshipful devotion, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the arch of her foot, a feather-light touch that sent ripples of warmth through her.

Quinn stared, momentarily speechless, at the man before her, kneeling like a knight pledging his loyalty.

Wherever his lips made contact, her skin flared with warmth, as if his kiss had left an invisible mark, a claim that was both tender and possessive.

After what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head. His midnight-dark eyes met hers, filled with a love so intense it seemed almost sacred.

She opened her mouth, desperate to find the right words, but they fled her like startled birds, leaving her in a breathless silence.

“All you need to know,” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips, “is that in this world, you are the one I cherish most. For you, I would do anything.”

Even if it meant sacrificing his very life, he would do so without a second thought.

Throughout the night, he held her close, exchanging gentle, lingering kisses that tasted of patience and unfulfilled longing.

Even that simple tenderness threatened to overwhelm him, a sweetness so profound it felt as if it could steal his breath away.

Now, as a permanent resident of the manor, she could indulge her insatiable appetite for literature whenever the mood struck her.

“Oh?” A soft gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it, her eyes narrowing in intrigue as a particular row inside a glass-fronted cabinet beckoned her closer, like a whispered secret begging to be uncovered.

“What caught your eye?” Julius’ voice emerged from behind her, low and sudden, breaking the hush that enveloped the stacks.

She turned, the mild surprise melting into a smile. “I thought you were at the office handling work!”

“I finished handling them,” he replied, shrugging off his suit jacket as if shedding the last layer of distance. “Once it was done, I came straight home.”

Today, he discovered that the phrase “homeward bound” could resonate within him like a living pulse, a rhythm that thrummed in time with his heart.

All afternoon, he had attacked the workload with a fervor bordering on obsession, driven by a singular urge—to sign the last document, shut the laptop, and race back to her.

He found himself wondering if the next thirty, forty, or fifty years would follow the same melody, each dawn beginning with duty and each dusk culminating in the need to see her face.

All he desired was to reach her sooner, to linger beside her longer. Only within the serene orbit of her presence did his restless soul finally find peace.

“By the way, what had you so surprised just now?” he asked, breaking the silence as he followed her gaze toward the bookcase.

“The covers,” she murmured, lifting one gloved fingertip toward the glass, her curiosity piqued. “They’re stained with blood.”