Bite Me, Your Grace

He only had a second to enjoy the enchanting scene before Madame DuPuis spotted him and curtsied low. “Your Grace.”

 

 

The room echoed with feminine gasps as the seamstresses saw him and curtsied with wide eyes. “Your Grace,” they chorused.

 

“Your ‘wedding present’ is a fierce hunter.” Ian grinned at his wife, wishing more than anything that they could be alone. “He attacked me the moment I came into the house.”

 

Angelica smiled, displaying a fetching dimple on one cheek before she chastised her new pet. “Loki, you naughty kitten!”

 

Ian laughed at the clever name. He had expected something simple like “Blackie” or “Custard.” He scratched the kitten behind the ears once more. “Loki, the Norse trickster god. What, pray tell, was the inspiration for that?”

 

Her voice was rife with laughter. “He likes to feign sleeping before he assaults the seamstresses’ skirts.”

 

“Very clever. Still, I have my doubts about his ability to solve the rodent problem. Many rats are his size or larger.” Ian fought to keep his attention on the conversation, but the sight of Angelica in her underclothes was most distracting.

 

“He will grow.” Her eyes shone with adoration as she looked at the kitten. “Isn’t he the most precious thing you have ever seen?”

 

He looked down at the kitten, curled up in the crook of his arm, Loki was either fast asleep or doing a commendable job of feigning repose. “Not as precious as you, though I admit he is an interesting little fellow.”

 

But not as interesting as you, Ian thought as he gazed at his bride. His life had been bland and cheerless before she came into it, bringing light and laughter. He didn’t know how he would continue on without her.

 

While the seamstresses finished up and departed, Angelica regaled him with her adventures of the day and plans for decorating the house and hosting her first ball. She was so anxious to show him her “writing room” that she leaped off the platform and ran out of the salon in nothing but her chemise and drawers. It took all of his effort to keep a dignified expression before the scandalized servants as he followed her up the stairs, admiring her pert backside.

 

“Isn’t it magnificent?” she cried, smoothing her hands along the cherry wood surface of the desk with unabashed joy.

 

“I think you are magnificent, Angelica,” he whispered. Her happiness warmed a heart that had long been cold.

 

“And look at this!” She bent over to open the cupboards, revealing the drawers. Ian nodded, his trousers tightening at the sight of her. She didn’t appear to notice. “Isn’t that clever? I will be able to store more projects than I can write at one time.”

 

When she pointed that heart-shaped derriere in his direction, Ian was undone. With a low growl, he grabbed her from behind, cupping her breasts in his palms and grinding himself against her body.

 

“A man can only take so much temptation,” he whispered, and nibbled along her neck, gratified to hear her soft moan of desire. “If you do not want me to ravage you, you should put on more clothing next time.”

 

“And if I do want you to ravage me?” she whispered breathlessly.

 

He turned her around to face him. Her lips were deliciously full and moist, her pupils dilated with desire. “Anything my duchess pleases.” He claimed her lips, reveling in the sweet taste of her before he reluctantly stepped back and locked the door.

 

She gasped and turned a delightful shade of pink as he removed her chemise. “Here?”

 

He nodded and took one firm nipple into his mouth. “Yes, here. I can wait no longer.”

 

His hands and mouth explored her delectable body like he was a starving man. This woman was intoxicating; she invaded his blood. And the fact that he only was able to enjoy her for a short period during his long life made him more determined to savor every moment with her.

 

Her blush deepened when he slid her lacy undergarments slowly down her hips and slender legs. He lifted her onto the desk and knelt between her parted thighs.

 

“What are you going to do?” she gasped, shuddering.

 

“I am going to taste you,” he whispered between light kisses on her delicate folds.

 

With the first flick of his tongue, she cried out and her hips nearly bucked off the desk. He had to pin down her thighs as he languorously explored her secrets with his mouth. The heady musk of her arousal soon permeated the room. Her taste was a delicate bouquet, ambrosia fit for Eros himself.