“Oh.” She worried her lower lip as she paused, considering him in the earliest strains of dawn. “Forgive me.”
With her apology issued, she rolled away from him, landing on her belly and folding her arms beneath her cheek as she turned toward him. Lord save him, she even gave her rump a delightful wriggle.
“Is this preferable, husband?” the minx dared to ask.
This side of her—bold and teasing and unabashedly erotic—was yet new to him. And he bloody well loved it.
Words abandoned him, so he settled for touch, slipping his hand beneath the wild tangle of her chestnut hair. He began at her nape, where she exuded vitality and warmth. A woman’s body had never enthralled him with its mysteries the way Elysande’s did. He may have shared his bed with lovers before her, but each time he was intimate with Elysande, he found new marvels. The dip behind her knee, the silken skin at her nape, the gentle curve of her shoulders, the delicate protrusion of her hip bone, the arch of her foot, the swell of her bottom. The hollow indent of her lower spine, the seam of her lower lips, the Cupid’s bow of her mouth. Every place in between.
He caressed down the slope of her back next. Her skin was so smooth and sleek and flushed, from the combination of sleep and passion. He moved to join her then, straddling her hips, absorbing her delicate sigh. His prick settled against the furrow of her arse, and she made a sound of surprise at the new sensation.
Hudson pressed his chest to her back, allowing her to feel him in the same way he absorbed the undulations of her feminine curves and dips and hollows and planes. She was so silken, the scent of the oils they had used in their bath the night before teasing his senses, mingling with the beautiful musk of her desire. He shifted so that his cock found its home lower, sliding against her wet lips.
“Oh,” she said. “Are you certain this will work, Hudson?”
This time, he could not stifle his chuckle. It fled him in a low rumble as he kissed the shell of her ear. “Certain, love.”
“But this position seems inordinately awkward given the mechanics of what must happen next—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, staying the rest of her words. “Hush.”
True to form, she nipped the pad of his forefinger with her sharp teeth. “Did you tell me to hush?”
He kissed her cheek, bracing himself over her on his forearms, then took her mouth in a quick peck. “You are thinking too much, love. Tell your mind to go to the devil for a bit and let me love you.”
“I always think too much,” she said, her tone steeped in regret. “I fear it is rather a fault of mine.”
“Your mind is not a fault but a strength,” he reassured her, for he greatly admired her intelligence. She was the most brilliant female he had ever known, without doubt. No one could hold a candle to her bright light. “However, there are occasions when allowing yourself to be free of worry and thought are necessary.”
“Yes,” she agreed, nodding. “You have taught me so.”
That he had taught this woman anything at all seemed miraculous. She possessed more intellect in her pinky finger than he could ever dream of accumulating, he was sure. But he was grateful for her candor. Grateful for her belief in him, for her trust, for the tangible proof of her body, relaxed and nude beneath his.
“I want to make love to you in a new way, Ellie,” he told her, kissing her again with all the tenderness he possessed before he relented and dragged his lips to the aristocratic cheekbones he had so oft admired. He kissed her there, then her temple.
“Oh,” she said softly. And then the most beautiful word. “Yes.”
He kissed her ear once more, then tongued the sensitive place behind it. “Yes?”
“Yes please,” she confirmed, breathless.
With pleasure.
He did not think he said the words aloud. They may have been in his mind. The combination of Elysande’s willing submission, so trusting and tempting beneath him, along with her words, made something within him break.
Lust surged.
But so did love.
They blended, melded, until he could not discern one from the other. There was merely everything he felt for his wife, which was love and desire and passion and admiration and awe.
“It will be good for you,” he promised in a rasp, desire rendering speech difficult. “I will be so deep inside you.”
“Mmm,” was her only response.
He guided her into position, helping her to cant her hips and bottom toward him, to slant her body toward the bed. As he did so, he could not resist worshiping every part of her body his lips could find. He kissed the indentation at her nape, the fluttering pulse at the side of her throat, the sweep of her shoulder. Down her spine. When he reached the ripe swell of her arse, he lightly bit one smoothly rounded cheek.
But there was not sufficient time to linger, because his need was growing more acute by the second.
