“That is because you are a wicked minx, Lady Aylesford.” His grin deepened, until he was smoldering with sensual intent. He placed the biscuit upon the plate before taking her into his arms. “Fortunately for you, I am wicked too.”
She wound her arms around his neck. They were both clad in nothing more than dressing gowns. Her hair was damp from her bath, and his was too, the long ends tickling her fingertips.
“I think it is time for our debauchery bargain to begin anew,” she murmured.
“Bloody hell, I love you,” he said.
And then, his mouth was on hers, before she could even tell him that she loved him, too. But it did not matter, because he was kissing her with such fervor, her capacity for thought fled. Because this was the moment she had been waiting for all through their betrothal.
The moment she had been waiting for, it seemed, since that first kiss in the moonlit gardens back at Abingdon Hall.
His tongue was in her mouth. Their hands were everywhere, caressing through the barrier of their silken robes. Fingers finding knotted belts and plucking them open. All the obstacles between them fell away. Their kiss deepened, becoming ravenous. Laden with promise.
They fell onto the bed together, their mouths fused. His body was hot and hard against hers, and it turned the ache between her thighs into a steady throb. She knew what she wanted, and it was him inside her.
But it would seem her rakish husband was determined to torment her, because he was in no hurry. He left her lips to trail a series of kisses across her jaw to her ear.
“I love you, Grace,” he whispered. “So very much.”
“I love you,” she said, so eager for him she could not keep herself from arching her back and thrusting her breasts into his chest.
Her nipples were already taut, eager buds, but the light abrasion of his chest hair against them coupled with his warm strength was enough to make her even wilder for him. And then he licked her ear and caught it between his teeth, and a wild torrent of desire ran down her spine.
She could already feel the evidence of her need for him pooling between her thighs. His knowing fingers parted her there, dipping into her folds.
“Mmm,” he rumbled into her ear. “You are dripping for me, love.”
He found the most responsive part of her, the bundle of need that never ceased pulsing in his presence, and worked his fingertips over it in slow, maddening circles. Her hips jerked from the bed in response. She was coming undone for him with such ease.
She thought he could make her spend with a single look.
He licked behind her ear as he worked her flesh, rubbing harder. The desire inside her tightened. She felt as if she were drawn taut. As if at any moment, she would lose herself. These past few weeks of waiting and wanting had turned her into a wild woman. And there was only one cure for what ailed her.
“I want you inside me, Rand,” she said, running her nails lightly down his back.
He felt so good. Too good. As if every part of him had been fashioned just for her.
“Damn it, I am trying to be a gentleman,” he growled, kissing his way down her throat, lingering on a particular patch of flesh. “This heart-shaped mark haunts me in my dreams.”
“I do not want you to be a gentleman,” she urged. “And the heart-shaped mark, like all of me, is yours now. Yours to take. Yours to claim.”
With another low rumble of approval, he made his way to her breasts. He was still working his fingers over her in seductive strokes that brought her nearer and nearer to oblivion. Each rotation brought her closer to the abyss. When he sucked a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, she was lost.
Her release was sudden and powerful, bursting like a fireworks display in the night sky. Brilliant and beautiful and breathtaking. He bit her nipple lightly, then moved to her other breast, flicking his tongue over the peak.
Ripples of pleasure were still rolling through her by the time he kissed a path of fire down her belly and settled between her thighs. She offered no protest this time, knowing there was no more decadent pleasure to be had than this man’s mouth and tongue upon her. She spread her legs wider, her fingers slipping into his hair. The first touch of his tongue, one long lick up her slit, was so wondrous, she could not stifle her own moan of approval.
He licked over her engorged bud, alternating between quick little lashes of his tongue and long, slow flutters. White-hot desire rocketed through her. Already, she was close to spending again. He buried his face deeper in her sex, an answering moan rumbling from him. He consumed her as if she were a feast. As if he were a starving man.
There was no more erotic sight than that dark head bent between her thighs, intent upon giving her pleasure. She lost control once more. This time, her spend was faster, more potent than the last. She was still shuddering beneath him when he rose, positioning his cock against her throbbing entrance.
“Are you ready, love?” he asked, his breathing ragged and harsh. “I have to be inside you now.”
“Yes.” She moved her hips urgently, seeking him. “I have been ready for you forever.”
And indeed, it seemed to her that she had.
His beautiful face was a study in restraint as he rocked against her. Just the tip of him entered her at first. The sensation was exquisite. She was stretched, aching, and hungry in a new way. But he was going so slowly. And she was impatient. Grace moved, rocking her hips, bringing him deeper. There was a stinging burn as her body adjusted to him. A pinch.
