“Yes, here.” He continued to undress her, keeping his eyes on her face. “I’ve a mind to test your premise.”
What premise?
“Stand up.”
She rose on shaky legs. Without bothering to rise himself, he shimmied her petticoat up and pulled it off over her head.
Her chemise ended at her knees. Not that he noticed, absorbed as he was by her fancy stays. He traced the cups, tugged on the ruffed tops. Hooked a finger beneath the laces and compelled her closer, firmly wedging her between his thighs.
She gasped as he roughed his knuckle between her legs.
“Premise proven,” he murmured. “All nice and wet…youdolove my wicked mind, don’t you?”
She wet her lips. “Iliveto oblige.”
He yanked her laces, and she nearly tumbled against his chest. “Do you?”
She’d spoken sarcastically but was no longer sure she hadn’t spoken the truth. What could be better than Rayne’s considerable focus—his terribly vulgar attention—entirely pinned on her? When they came together this way, the external world simply did not exist.
“Iaskeda question.”
“Yes”—her breath caught—“I live to oblige.”
Careful…The word manifested in his probing gaze.
“Do you want proof?” She ran her hands over the boning in her corset. “I made these stays especially for you.”
His eyes glittered. “Mind if I improve the design?”
She swallowed. “As you please.”
He tore away one cup.
“Better.” He spoke to her breast. Then he tore away the other cup. “Better still if you weren’t wearing a shift.”
She smiled on the inside. “Impractical, however.”
“I’m not interested in being practical. I’m interested in my visual gratification. In this case, the palatable presentation of my wife’s breasts.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m also interested in you, on your knees, with my cock in your mouth…” His lip curled. “And then, I expect I’ll be interested in dessert—namely, you, bent over and secured to the table.”
She forgot how to breathe. She had him, now—all of him.
He gripped her by the hips, rubbing his fingers in small circles just above herposterior and below her waist. His touch wasn’t soft but deep, almost painful. And yet, her tension melted into his hands.
“I’ll leave the choice to you, however. Shall I carry you upstairs and take you like a proper wife between proper sheets? Or…are you going to kneel?”
The ache in her breasts wasn’t proper, nor was her watering mouth. Together, they wouldn’t ever be proper…only perfectly imperfect as one.
She sank to her knees, intensely aware of everything—his muscled thighs against her shoulders, the ripped stays, the feel of her stockings, the presence of the table at her back, and the hard wood now beneath her knees.
He made no move to help her with his falls. Instead he leaned back and again draped his hand across his lips, an undulated, positively feudal pose.
Her hands trembled as she undid the buttons—three on each side. She slid her fingers beneath the slit in his drawers.
He hummed low as she exposed him.
Acutely aware of the indecency not only of pleasing him this way—but in the dining hall, no less, she took him into her mouth. His musky, male scent brimmed her senses, leaving awkwardness and hesitation behind.
…
