But it did matter. Hypocrisy be damned, he wanted his wife to only be his.
Skimming his hand down her chemise, he caressed her thigh until her legs relaxed. He drew his hand up, bringing the linen with him, and danced his fingers along her upper thighs. Across the edges of her triangle of tight curls. Along the crease where thigh met hip.
She remained silent the entire time, her gaze locked with his, her expression undisturbed.
A mask.
He’d learned enough in his line of work to know when someone hid their true face, and his lovely wife was a skilled practitioner of the art.
He couldn’t wait to crack the facade.
“Spread your legs wider.” His voice was a rough growl, one he almost didn’t recognize. Christ, even with the lady-birds at The Black Rose he showed more charm. His wife deserved no less. But the thought of her spreading those legs for another man—
After a moment’s hesitation, she complied, soothing his beast a fraction. “Should I be touching you?” A faint divot appeared between her eyebrows. “If there’s something you’d like me to do, please tell me.”
He grunted. Still so damned polite. Although the invitation wasn’t unwelcome. He pushed images of her hands, her mouth, away. “Tonight is about you.” He slid his index finger between her folds, finding her core and pressing his finger the slightest bit inside. He drew back and found her sweet little nub, tracing a circle around it.
Her throat rolled with her swallow.
Sin took her mouth, keeping the kiss soft, undemanding. He nibbled on her lips, pulling softly on the plump flesh, until she parted her mouth on a soft exhale. He slid his tongue inside.
Muscle by muscle, her body relaxed under his. And when she tentatively met his tongue with her own, triumph coursed through him.
Her slit grew wet. He traced his finger along her seam, pressing inside her opening to his first knuckle. When he tried to add a second finger, her body resisted.
He sucked at a silky patch of skin on her throat, marking her. She was his. He didn’t have to kill anyone. Because one thing he knew was his wife’s body was for his eyes only.
He circled his thumb around her clitoris, increasing the pressure and waiting for her breaths to quicken. He kissed his way down her throat, scoring her with his teeth for good measure. That faint citrusy scent he’d come to associate with her wafted off her heated skin, making his mouth water. Her breasts heaved beneath his face, and he accepted the invitation. He lapped at her nipple through the thin linen until the fabric became sheer and wetly clung to her skin.
His cock throbbed. Damnation, but he wanted her. The waiting would surely kill him. He rubbed his hard length against her thigh as he sucked that sweet berry of a nipple into his mouth, drawing hard.
A strangled gasp escaped from his wife’s mouth, and he pulled harder. He circled his thumb faster until her hips thrust up to meet his touch. Then, slowly, he eased his fingers into her narrow sheath.
Her body went stiff, and her legs closed around his hand. “Wait.”
“Shh.” He licked across her breast, hoping the rough scrape of wet fabric felt as good against her nipple as it did against his tongue. “A bit of pain now so there will be nothing but pleasure when we consummate our marriage.” He dipped in farther, kissing her eyelids when she squeezed them tightly shut. But she relaxed her legs. “That’s it,mo ghrâdh. Open for me. I swear before the night is over, I’ll make you feel such pleasure.”
She clenched the sheet in her fists as a cry tore from her. That dark place inside, the one that was never civilized, roared in delight as he pushed through (the resistance, breaking her maidenhead. Shewashis. Not only legally, but in body, as well. He’d never been possessive of his lovers before. But he’d never had a wife before, either. It changed things.
He flicked his thumb over her clit as he added a third finger. He watched as the fine muscles in her face loosened when her pain eased. Saw when they knitted back together as the first whispers of her crisis built.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lip going red around the two white teeth she bit into it. His wife truly was pretty. When they’d met, he’d found her pleasing to the eye. Handsome enough, but nothing remarkable about her looks.
He’d been wrong. Spread out before him, roused with her first taste of pleasure, she was lovely.
His nostrils flared, smelling her musk. More than lovely. She was delicious. She smelled of spice and oranges and honey, and he couldn’t wait to taste her.
“I … I think we’re done now.” She stared at a point on his throat, avoiding his eyes. “I believe you’ve accomplished your purpose tonight.”
He snorted. “Not hardly. Have you ever brought yourself pleasure, wife?” He increased the pressure of his thumb. “Ever used your own fingers to rub this sweet little nub?”
Her gaze flew to his. “Of course not. That would be …”—her back arched—“… would be …”
He slithered down her body until his face was inches away from heaven. He inhaled deeply. “That would be beautiful to behold. But tonight, I get to taste.” Bending his head, he licked beneath his fingers, lapping at her outer lips, tugging on them as he slowly fucked her with his fingers. Like his poor, weeping cock wanted to. Thrusting his hips in time with his fingers, he ground himself against the bed, the pressure not nearly enough to bring relief.
He needed the torture to end. Sin encircled her clit with his lips, swirling his tongue around and around. He wanted to break her control, see the woman beneath the mask. He wanted to hear her scream, watch her come undone.
Alas, a man didn’t always get what he wanted.
