Sin turned for the door and palmed her arse to steady her. Mostly. “You have nothing to apologize for.” A servant skittered around the corner of the hall, no doubt mortified at seeing his laird carrying away the marchioness. Sin didn’t care. “This isn’t a punishment, wife. This is a man who’s missed his wife’s touch and is looking to rectify that situation.”
She sagged, her body curving around his in apparent relief.
He gritted his teeth. He’d show her she had nothing to fear from him if it was the last thing he did.
Sweet words and tender touches would most likely by the most effective way to earn his wife’s trust.
He didn’t do sweet. Nor tender. It wasn’t something he was capable of, not when presented with his wife’s flushed body, the heat rolling off her skin, her parted lips. All control seemed to desert him when she was in his arms.
He’d just have to show her he took care of what was his in his own way.
His feet ate up the floor, taking the stairs and the hallways to his chamber in record time. He pushed open the door to his bedroom and kicked it shut behind them. With a twitch of his shoulder, he sent his wife tumbling off and caught her about the waist. Slowly, he let her body slide down his until her feet hit the floor.
Strands of her honey hair drifted about her face, pulled loose from its knot. He couldn’t wait to see it in a messy halo around her head on the pillow.
He tossed his jacket on the ground. “Remove your clothes.”
He yanked off his shirt and kicked off his boots. He was down to his trousers and she’d only removed her shawl. “Too slow.” Spinning her away, he ripped the row of buttons from their holes, tearing the gown from her body. Her stays and shift met a similar fate before littering the floor.
When she turned to face him, the skin above her chest was rosy, her nipples just beginning to peak. The pink buds just begged for his teeth to nip them a shade darker.
A whisper of unease slipped between his shoulder blades. He liked it rough, but these feelings he was having toward Winnifred weren’t normal. There was something, someone, different lurking just below the surface, clawing to get out. Something savage.
And, God help him, Sin wanted to let him free.
“It’s been three nights without my cock in your cunny. Has it missed me?” He advanced until his bare chest pressed against hers, then kept walking until her back hit the wall. He slapped his palms on the wood by her head and leaned close, breathing her in.
“Tell me you missed me.”
“I …” She swallowed. “Of course, I missed you, husband. What wife wouldn’t?”
Like it was her damn duty to miss him. “Don’t give me the words of a dutiful wife. Tell me.” He cupped her mons, rubbing the heel of his hand into her clit. “Did Winnifred miss me?”
Her breath wavered, caught. She nodded, the knot of her hair scraping against the wall, loosing even more strands.
Gripping her shoulders, he turned her around and yanked the remaining pins free. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders, thick and heavy on his hands. He wrapped it around his palm and tugged her head back.
“I missed you, too.” He ran his tongue along the top of her shoulder. Jesus, she tasted faintly of oranges, too. “The way your forehead creases when you think, the way you stretch in the morning then curl back into my side for five minutes more of sleep.” He pressed his hips forward, nestling his hardening length against the crease of her arse. “The way you open to me so sweetly even as you fight your responses with every fiber of your being. And always lose.”
Her resistance sent a deviant thrill through him. He hated the reason, that it came from a place of fear, but he couldn’t deny he loved the battle to make her succumb. The feeling of power it gave him when she finally submitted to her base needs.
He might be a very disturbed man.
Winnifred pressed her palms flat against the wall. She curled her fingers, scraping her nails against the wood. “I’m glad I please you,” she said evenly. Like she’d just served him a hot cup of tea.
He narrowed his eyes. Pushing back, he replaced his cock with his hand, running it over her round arse, squeezing the meaty part of the flesh, before moving lower.
He found her slick, and the animal in him howled in relief. His need to push, dominate, had found a willing target. She could try to hide behind her words all she wanted, but her body didn’t lie.
It liked his beast.
He yanked at his falls with his free hand, freeing his prick. “Spread your legs,” he ordered. “Push that sweet arse our for me.”
She took too long, her ideas of respectability getting in her way, no doubt, and Sin brought his hand smartly down on that arse he owned.
She whimpered and did as he said.
Sin stroked higher, circling her clit as he eyed his spoils. Winnifred was stretched out, her palms glued to the wall, her back arched, and her bum thrust back and up. Bending, he pressed his mouth to the base of her spine and licked his way up her backbone.
