“N-no. Is it… is it done?” A bit of uncertainty quavered in her voice.
Her stepmother’s education had not gone this far, then. He nuzzled her curls. “It is. Shall I show you?”
“Mm.” More a primal sound than a word.
“What was that, Caro?”
“Mmm.Please.”
Please.He liked that. “Say it louder, love. With all that confidence that is your due.”
He looked up in time to see her bite her lip. Indecision. No good. He surged upward, taking a kiss, holding her tight. “Say what you want. Say it clear. Never fear it.”
Her little face wrinkled. Bloody adorable. “I… could we… have a plan?”
Bloody hell. “No.”
“B-but it would help to know what comes first, then next, and so on.”
He nipped her earlobe. “No fun in that.”
“I like to know… especially when…I do not know.” Heated cheeks and hesitation in her eyes. Nervous about discovering things she’d not read about in books, things her stepmother’s education had left in the dark?
“Trust me, Caro-mine.” He tilted her chin up. “Trust me?”
She bit her lip, nodded.
“No plan.”
She huffed, but she nodded again.
“Good.” He kissed her navel, breathed into her skin. “No bloody plan. Only you and me and whatever pleasures our bodies conjure.”
“Yes.”
Good God. He’d never been so hard. And not because she was naked before him or because he touched her every curve. He hadn’t yet. No, she controlled him with a single, husky word. He eased her back down, anticipation sparking across every inch of him. The tie of her wrapper was already loose, and he undid it completely. The little ribbon at the neck of her shift suffered the same fate, and he dragged that neckline down, down, each inch of exposed skin making him even, impossibly, harder.
She shivered when he dragged his lips across her neck, her chest. He wanted to stop everywhere. Nibble across her collarbone, luxuriate in the hollow between her breasts. He did take time to love those perfect things, nudging the fabric of hershift below them, a white muslin frame from a bloody work of art. Plump with pink nipples he needed to see in daylight. The perfect weight in his hand. He traced his tongue in teasing circles around each nipple, closer, closer, until he sucked one between his teeth and rolled it gently. She arched, moaned, and he might actually die if she did that again. He could spend all day at her breasts, but she’d asked for something else.
He’d never deny his wife.
Hiswife.
Those two words gave him as much pleasure as her body did. He’d been saying them more and more since they’d wed, even in those first three months when he’d tried to put her out of his mind.
At the coffee house:My wife is out of town.
In a letter:My wife would agree.
To his sparring partner at Jackson’s:My wife will not thank you for this bruise.
He rested his forehead on the lowest expanse of her belly, inhaling deeply as he grasped her hips with both hands. “Such a perfect handful.” Then he tasted her, licked her seam, the entire length of it. And shuddered.Bliss.
Impossible to control.
But he did his best, holding her tightly as he kissed and tasted, dragging his teeth along her, dipping his tongue inside her. His hands so large across her hips, his smallest finger flirted with her hipbone while his thumb played with the little pearl that was—what a damn delight—driving her mad.
Drivinghimmad. He’d stayed away so long. Because she’d always been so damn easy to love. It felt like stepping into the sunshine. Required no effort.
