The kiss deepened, his grip tightening at her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them at all.
Her body responded with a helpless immediacy, heat flaring, desire coiling tight and insistent. Every fear, every doubt, every carefully constructed barrier burned away beneath the intensity of his touch.
She kissed him back with equal desperation, pouring into it all the longing she had never allowed herself to voice, all the nights she had lain awake thinking of his hands, his mouth, the safety of his presence.
CHAPTER 26
“Stay,” he said against her mouth, the word low and rough, as though it had been torn from somewhere deep in his chest.
Madeline scarcely had the presence of mind to answer him. The world had narrowed to the pressure of his hands at her waist, the press of his body against hers, the heat of his mouth moving with unmistakable intent against her own. If she spoke at all, she thought she might shatter whatever fragile restraint still held her upright.
She made a small, breathless sound instead, something closer to a plea than a word, and his grip tightened as though he had understood it perfectly.
Wilhelm kissed her again, slower this time, as though he was memorizing and laying claim to her. His mouth traced the shape of hers with a patience that undid her far more thoroughly than urgency ever could, coaxing rather than demanding, inviting herto follow where he led. She did, helplessly. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
She had wanted him for so long that the realization itself felt old, worn smooth by weeks of denial. Wanting had been easier when it was silent, when it lived only within the careful distance she kept, in the moments she allowed herself to watch him without being seen. Now, with his mouth on hers and his body so close she could feel the strength and heat of him, there was nowhere left to hide from it.
Her pulse raced beneath his touch, loud and unsteady, and she felt it when his thumb brushed again over the inside of her wrist, as though he were acutely aware of it too. The intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with cold.
“Madeline,” he murmured, her name shaped with care, and something in the way he said it made her chest ache.
She answered him with another kiss, this one less tentative. Her lips moved against him with a hunger that surprised her. She felt him respond immediately, a low sound escaping him as his hand slid from her waist to her back, pulling her closer until the space between them vanished entirely.
Her thoughts scattered, dissolving into sensation. The firm line of his chest beneath her palms. The faint scent of him tickled her nose, leather and soap and something unmistakably his. The awareness, sharp and thrilling, of how easily he held her, hownaturally she fit against him, as though her body had always known this was where it belonged.
She had lived so long with her desires tightly leashed that the release of them now felt almost overwhelming. Every touch seemed magnified, every brush of skin sending heat pooling low in her body, coiling until she had to bite back another sound.
Wilhelm broke the kiss only to press his mouth to her jaw, then her throat. She tipped her head back without thinking, offering herself to him in a gesture so instinctive it startled her even as she did it. His lips lingered there, reverent and unhurried, as though he were acutely aware of the trust in that simple movement.
His hand slid beneath the fall of her hair, fingers curling at the nape of her neck, and the sensation made her knees weaken. She clutched at him more tightly, a quiet, desperate laugh leaving her before she could stop it.
“I have wanted this,” she admitted, the words slipping free on a breath she could not quite control. “For so long.”
His mouth curved faintly against her skin. “So have I.”
The shared confession sent a sharp, almost painful jolt through her chest. She had imagined his desire in a hundred careful, restrained ways, but hearing it spoken aloud stripped away the last of her composure. She kissed him again, fiercely this time, as though she might pour into it everything she had been holding back.
He responded in kind, lifting her with an ease that stole her breath and carrying her the short distance to the bed. He set her down carefully, as though even now he was mindful of her, and for a brief moment they simply looked at one another, the firelight catching in his eyes, his attention making her feel exposed and utterly seen.
“This is not an obligation,” he said quietly, as though he sensed the hesitation flickering at the edges of her thoughts. “You owe me nothing.”
“I know,” she replied, and she meant it. She did not feel trapped or pressured or indebted. She felt chosen. Wanted. Safe in a way that made her throat tighten. “I want to.”
Whatever restraint Wilhelm had been clinging to snapped like a frayed silk ribbon. His kiss deepened, a primal claim, his tongue sweeping against hers with a sudden, devastating hunger.
The world beyond the heavy bed curtains dissolved into shadow. Wilhelm pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with a heat that made her feel scorched. His large fingers moved to the high neckline of her gown. One by one, he began to undo the tiny, stubborn buttons, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her throat with every movement.
For a fleeting, traitorous instant, her attention turned inward. She became acutely aware of the fullness of her chest and waist, of the softness there that had once been corrected with cool remarks and watchful eyes. She remembered being told not totake so much, not to fill her bodice so completely, not to invite notice where modesty was meant to prevail.
Her shoulders drew in by instinct, as though she might make herself smaller even now, as though desire itself were something she ought to apologize for.
Then his hands stilled her.
“You are trembling,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration she felt in her own chest.
She met his eyes, bracing for the familiar flicker of assessment she had been trained to expect, but it did not come. What she found instead was quiet devotion, entirely free of condition. He looked at her as though she were something precious rather than something to be corrected. The instinct to make herself smaller slipped away entirely.
“I need you, Wilhelm,” she whispered, though her breath hitched as he peeled the bodice away, exposing the cream-colored silk of her chemise.
