I nod, chest tight. “Lead on.”
I follow, one step behind, watching the sway of her hips, the soft dip of her spine where her blouse hangs loose. Her skirts are pooled downstairs, so all she’s got on is that blouse. The hem barely covers the round curve of her backside. She hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already half crazed with want. But it’s more than that. It’s need. It’s months of hunger, loneliness.
My voice comes quiet. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
She pauses at the top of the stairs, turns her head just enough for me to see her smile—soft, tired.
The bedroom door creaks open. She steps through and halts at the edge of the bed—the same bed that held the man she was bound to by name only, and later, the scoundrel we dragged down to the root cellar.
I catch up to her, slide my arms ’round her waist from behind, and kiss her shoulder. The scent of her clings to my mouth.
“This all right?” I ask, voice hushed against her ear. “This room?”
She nods. “It doesn’t belong to them anymore. It’s ours now.”
I press in closer, resting my cheek to her hair. My hands splay across her stomach, thumbs brushing slow.
“You tell me what you need, lamb,” I murmur. “How you want it.”
She takes my hands and guides them up—over her ribs, her breasts, her throat arching just a little. Her body knows mine. Missed mine.
“Slow,” she says. “I want to feel every part of you.”
She leans into me, like she’s certain I’ll catch her.
“You want me to lead?” I whisper, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Want me to take care of you proper?”
Her breath shivers out. “Yes,” she whispers. “Take care of me.”
I turn her gentle and stop her hands when she reaches for the buttons of her blouse.
“Let me.”
She lowers her arms, lets me do the honors.
I take my time, each button a small undoing. I kiss her as I go—her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her throat, the soft curve of her breast. She trembles under my mouth, breath catching like she’s near forgotten what this feels like.
When I slide the blouse from her shoulders, she stands there bare, the dim lamplight dancing across her skin. Her nipples are drawn tight from the chill, gooseflesh crawling up her arms. I cup her chest, my thumbs rolling gentle over those pretty peaks. She gasps, bending into me, and I lower to her—tongue flickingsoft at first, then firmer, sucking her into my mouth while her fingers curl into my shoulders.
“You feel that?” I whisper, moving to the other. “That’s me takin’ my time with what’s mine.”
She’s breathing harder now. Her fingers tremble where they grip me.
I let go, slide my hands down her waist. “Bed,” I whisper. “Go on, lie back for me. Nice and easy.”
She does, careful of her hip. Helping her down, I guide her until she’s settled—flushed, bare, eyes wide and waiting.
I step back and start to strip. Hook my thumbs in the suspenders, let them fall slow, one at a time. “You miss me?” I ask, the corner of my mouth curling.
“I dreamt of this,” she says.
I shrug off my shirt, one shoulder then the other. My belt’s already loose, trousers hanging low. Her eyes drop, lingering on the trail of hair, the heavy shape of me straining beneath the fabric.Christ—how it aches for her. I grip my rigidness through the cloth just to hear her breath hitch—watch that slight needy roll of her hips.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to see,” she says, voice like silk. Thighs parted, her arousal glistens in the lamplight.
I toe off my boots, fingers working the buttons of my fly one by one. When I push the trousers down and step free, her gaze don’t leave me, not for a second. Wrapping a hand around the base of myself, I stroke slow, thumb passing over the crown. A slick bead of desire wells there, and her lips part as I smear it in a slow circle until the swollen head glistens wetly.
