“Say it again,” he said.
She did, whispering his name against his lips before it was lost in another wild kiss, this one accompanied by his hands working at the front fastening of her riding habit, shucking it to the floor as he consumed her with the caress. He lifted her with him as he came to his feet, turning her in one fluid motion, releasing her lips only to settle his own on the back of her neck, sending chills through her as his fingers found the long line of buttons at the back of the dress.
He began to undress her, her name a litany on his lips, as he loosened the frock with quick, efficient movements, until it came away in a glorious release, falling to the floor in a pool of linen and lawn. He set to work on her corset then, pulling the strings with long, fluid movements as his tongue swirled patterns across her skin, and then that, too, was gone, followed by her drawers, until she was left in her stockings and nothing else.
She should have been embarrassed when she turned back to face him, but the supreme pleasure on his face was like nothing she’d ever witnessed, and all she wanted was to bask in it. To bask in him.
He reached for her, his hand hovering a breath from her skin, his gaze transfixed on her bare body for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she whispered his name, unable to keep the pleasure and pride and self-satisfaction from her words.
His eyes shot to hers.
She smiled. “Are you planning to touch me?”
He swore, harsh and wicked in the quiet room, and moved with impressive speed, lifting her, carrying her to the bed and laying her on it, staring down at her wicked wanton intentions as he shucked his coat and cravat and pulled his shirt from his trousers, sending it flying across the room.
He followed her down after that, pressing her into the soft mattress, his chest warm and wonderful against hers, the crisp mat of hair there teasing her in all the places that had been constricted for a day. For a lifetime.
She opened her legs wide, eager to feel him between her thighs again. It had been so long. He found space there, hard and perfect at the notch of her thighs, and he gasped at the sensation, his eyes sliding closed at the pleasure there. Sera’s, too, closed, and she lifted her hips up to meet him, her body aching for him. Asking for him. As though it knew where he belonged.
He let himself meet her movements. Let himself match them for a heartbeat. Once. Twice. They pulsed together. They rutted. The word, filthy and erotic, whispered past as the movement made her ache with need, and she found she could not stop herself from opening her legs wider. “Please,” she whispered, “Mal.”
He caught the words with his lips. “Anything you wish. Ask.”
She tilted her hips to him.
He understood. Pressing into her. Thrusting. The hard ridge of him making wonderful promises.
She couldn’t stop herself from leaning up and catching his bottom lip in her teeth, sucking at it until he groaned his pleasure. She released him and pulled back, as much as their nearness would allow, and asked him for the only thing she’d wanted since the moment they’d met. “I want my wedding night.”
The words were out before she could imagine their impact, on them both. He froze above her, the truth of the statement, the promise of the moment, the memory of the past, all of it was there, between them, hovering.
She couldn’t stop herself from continuing. “We married, but I was never your bride, Mal.”
It was too late for it, of course. She was no blushing virgin, and had not been that night, either. But she wanted him, nonetheless. She wanted the night, with the hope and the promise and everything she would never have.
She wanted the fantasy.
He opened his mouth to speak, and she was instantly terrified of what he might say. So, instead of allowing it, she slid a hand up into his hair, playing at the nape of his neck as she lifted her hips to his, rocking against him once, twice, a third time before he growled his desire.
“Give me that night,” she whispered.
Perhaps if she had that, she could find the courage to leave.
She pushed the thought from her mind as she took his lips again, mirroring his long and slow kisses, the ones that made her willing to do anything for him. It was a glorious, heady feeling, knowing that he would soon do the same for her . . . until he tore himself away and pushed off her, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting, back to her, ribs heaving with exertion.
No.
He wasn’t going to leave her. Not after the afternoon. Not after his confessions. Not after undressing her and spreading her across the counterpane, making her ache for him. She scrambled to her knees behind him. “Mal?”
He bowed his head, holding it in his hands as he struggled for breath.
“Mal—”
“Will this matter?”
He was not looking at her when he asked, and for a moment she did not understand his meaning. “I don’t—”
He turned back, his beautiful eyes nearly black with emotion. “I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to love you.”
Her lips parted at the word, the way it whipped around them. The way it sent wicked pleasure pooling through her. It should have shocked her, not stirred her.
But it only made her want him more.
“Am I not able to have both?” she asked.
“God help me, I don’t think I would be able to stop myself,” he said, and she heard the self-loathing in his word. “I think you could tell me it did not matter. I think you could tell me it meant nothing at all, and I would do it anyway. I’ve never been able to resist you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to.”
She left the rest unsaid. You matter. This matters.
None of that had ever been at issue.
For a long moment, she thought he might stop, after all. And then he moved, bending to remove his boots before he stood, his hands going to the falls of his trousers, unfastening buttons and sliding fabric down his legs, turning to her, hard and perfect.
Pleasure spooled through her like silk at the portrait he made. “You are beautiful,” she said. “You always have been. From the moment I first saw you.”
Color rose on his cheeks at the words, as though no one had ever told the Duke of Haven he was handsome. He made to reach for her and she shook her head, wanting to watch him more, wanting to explore.
Wanting to give of herself.
“Wait,” she whispered, and the magnificent man did, a muscle ticking like mad in his cheek, the cords of his arms and thighs straining when she sat back on her heels and spread her thighs, testing his resolve, loving the way his gaze fell to the place she so brazenly revealed.
He tore his attention from it instantly, as though he was embarrassed to have been caught staring, but she saw the way he tensed. Knew what he wanted.