With an ease that shocked her, he slipped his fingers inside her gown and under the layers constraining her, and found her nipple. He teased her with his fingers, fanning the flames of desire that licked her insides and made her core tighten, and then he tormented her with his hot mouth. He suckled and pulled and lightly nipped until she thought she would go mad.
She threaded her fingers in his hair, needing him to do more, pushing him closer, desperate for the hot caverns of his mouth on her skin.
He pulled away and proceeded to do the same to her other breast, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel him, hot flesh to hot flesh, his hardness to her softness, and then she wanted him to enter her, take her, claim her as his wife. But she could not ask! Lord above, no! Instead, she gave a frustrated sigh, and a low chuckle emanated from him before he rose up to his knees, breaking all contact.
His lips curled wickedly, and the look on his face… Heaven above, he was as hungry and desperate for her as she was for him. It emboldened her that this man, this man, so beautiful, so honorable, wantedher, sawher, had chosenher.
“Tell me what ye want, lass.”
It was a command that she was suddenly more than willing to obey. “You,” she said, rising up to run her hands over his corded stomach, steel chest, and massive shoulders. She scrambled to her knees, heart pounding in her chest. “You,” she said again, pressing a kiss against his neck as she fumbled with his shirt, only just realizing all his outer layers were gone.
She drew it upward, exposing his skin, and the temptation to kiss him was too much. She leaned down and kissed his stomach, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. That she could cause such a reaction in him bolstered her even more. She pushed his shirt higher, kissing her way up his chest as she did so until he lifted his arms. She drew his shirt up, having to stand to do so. She threw it, losing her balance and starting to fall backward, but Asher’s arms came around her like bands of steel.
He caught her, his heart pounding against her through her thick gown. “Too many layers,” she murmured.
“Let me help ye with that,” he replied, somehow scooping up her legs and sending one arm under them before standing with them both. He set her on her feet and stared down at her, his eyes blazing with need. “Too many layers, ye say?” he asked, then bent his beautiful dark head to lick a wicked path across her chest at the edge of her bodice.
Her breasts became fuller than they already were, and the ache made her groan. “Yes,” she gasped. “Too many.”
“Then we shall rid ye of them.”
Suddenly, his hands were on the gleaming silk, and he rent it apart, fully exposing her breasts now. Her momentary shock disappeared as he cupped her breasts in his hands, then proceeded to flick his tongue over her left nipple, then her right. All the air left her lungs as exquisite pleasure ripped through her, making her tremble. She ran her hands up the muscles of his back and then down over his perfectly formed buttocks, and gave him a squeeze.
He paused in his ministrations to lift his head and offered her an arresting smile. “So ye want to get playful, aye, ye wee wicked lass?”
His brogue had turned heavy, and it made her belly flutter in anticipation. Asher may be a duke now, but he’d grown up having to fight to survive. He didn’t suppress his emotions as most Englishmen she knew did, which was what had first drawn her to him. There was nothing cool about him. He was an inferno, and she wanted him to burn her, brand her with his body and his love.
“I want to be wicked with you,” she confessed, heat singeing her cheeks at her bold words.
“Ah, lass.” He stroked a hand down between her breasts, across her belly, and to her skirts, which he slowly lifted with both hands. “I’m more than happy to oblige.” And as quick as a few breaths, he had her unmentionables off as well as his remaining clothing. She helped him, of course, with desperate tugs and pulls at his trousers, and when he stood before her, she stared at his beautiful body unabashedly. Every inch of him was virile and honed andhers.
He crooked a finger at her while smiling suggestively. She stepped toward him only to have him reach out and grasp her by the waist and tug her firmly against his body. Desire spiraled through her. His hand was on her thigh, then lifting it and hoisting her leg over his hip, and then her other foot left the ground as he drew her up, one hand under her buttocks and one still on her leg. He moved her backward with ease until her spine pressed against the wall. Her breath came out in harsh, uneven spurts, and his own breathing was ragged in her ear as he leaned forward. “Ye are my wife now, and ye are mine.”
He hesitated long enough for his eyes to meet hers. He hitched one eyebrow, and she knew he was making certain she was ready for him. “Yes,” she said, breathless, unable to manage more than that. “Yes. Yes.” And with that, he slid into her, filling her.
He began to move in a slow rhythm that built the heat within her until she was demanding, in a most unladylike voice, that he go faster. He obliged with a devilish grin, and everything faded but the two of them. The swell of his muscles under her fingertips. The heat of him. The dizzying motions that made her core tighten more and more until everything inside her felt as if it would burst, and her body coiled before wave after wave of ecstasy flowed through her.
Just when she thought she would never experience a greater pleasure in her life, he hoisted her higher and drove all the way into her as his own body tightened, his fingers curling into her skin, a guttural growl coming from him, and then he filled her with his seed as he captured her mouth for a long, sweet kiss.
“Ye are mine,” he said in her ear once more. The words reminded her of what her mother had said about even the most confident men needing reassurance.
Gathering her courage, she pressed her lips to his ear and said, “I am yours. Never doubt it. I love you.”
He stilled completely, and her heart skipped several beats as he drew back and their gazes collided. Would he tell her, as well? He set her on her feet and pressed her hand to his pounding heart.“Mo chridhe.”He cupped her face then, leaving her hand on his chest as his heart thumped against the tingling pads of her fingers. He gave her a soft, reverent kiss, and said, “If ye are giving yer love truly, I will take it, mo ghraidh.”
Truly? If?
Guinevere barely resisted the urge to bite her lip in consternation. He doubted her.
The realization struck her hard. Could she blame him when she coupled the things she’d said to him since his return to England about Kilgore with the skit she had foolishly gone along with and then her lady’s maid being at Kilgore’s house? She could try to explain, but however would she explain sending a note to Kilgore to meet her? Thank God Kilgore had been out of Town, and she’d not risked trying to contact him again. It had been the most dull-witted decision of her life. She would simply have to prove herself, and in time, when he was ready, he would tell her whatmo ghraidhandmo chridhemeant. She would wait. Shecouldwait. He may have not said the words yet, but he was showing her in little ways with his tenderness and his caring looks and gentle kisses. She refused to believe otherwise.
Chapter Eighteen
When Asher had first courted her, Guinevere had imagined what their life together might be like, and the week following their wedding met every dream she had conjured. Asher was attentive in the day and teasing and tempting at night, while being tender when they lay spent in each other’s arms. He would cradle her as they had long talks, making her feel closer to him.
She had embarrassingly told him of her girlhood fantasy to be proposed to in a field of lilies. She knew he had grown up thinking himself a bastard, but she had never known how he’d discovered he was actually the legitimate son of a duke. Her mouth hung open when he started to relay the tale of how his parents met and then came to be divorced, and hearing how Asher’s father had denied him for years until his mother had died made her chest ache.
She propped herself up to better see his face, setting her head against her hand as she lay on her side. His jaw was set and anger filled his eyes, and it struck her just how deep the wound of his father’s treachery was.
