He worked with agonizing slowness, as if savoring the revelation of her. When the gown was finally cast aside, he turned his attention to the ribbons of her stays. Madeline watched him, mesmerized by the sight of his elegant, masculine hands navigating the intricacies of her dress. As the laces loosened, she felt her breath come easier and her pulse run hotter. When he finally drew the chemise over her head, the cool air hit her skin for only a second before his vast hands came up to cup her.
The sensation of his palms against her bare, aching softness sent sparks racing through her, lighting her from the inside out. His thumbs began a slow, rhythmic sweep across her nipples. The slight friction made her breath hitch in a jagged sob. She watched, her head falling back against the pillows, as he used his teeth to graze the sensitive, burgeoning points, sending a jolt of electricity straight to the core of her.
He began to tease her relentlessly, plucking at the hardened tips until Madeline’s back arched off the mattress. A low sound of pure need escaped her as he replaced his fingers with the wet warmth of his tongue. He swirled around the aching circles, drawing one deep into the heat of his mouth. The suction was so intense it made her toes curl into the linens.
He moved with a hungry, focused intent. His hands slid down to the narrow curve of her waist and the flare of her hips, his touch marking her skin like a brand while his mouth continued its exquisite worship of her breasts. Madeline pressed closer, her body responding with a desperate immediacy. She had never been touched with such reverence, yet such unmistakable hunger.
As he trailed kisses from her breasts back to the column of her throat, making Madeline feel as though she was coming undone, thread by careful thread. Wilhelm seemed acutely aware of her undoing. He slowed when she trembled too violently. His lips hovered just an inch from hers as he murmured her name—a low, gravelly prayer that grounded her even as he drew her deeper into the abyss of sensation.
His hand slid lower, past the swell of her hips to the silkier heat between her thighs. His fingers found her already slick and yearning, and at her sharp, indrawn breath, he shifted. He moved down the bed, his weight a comforting pressure against her legs, until he knelt between them.
Madeline’s breath hitched as he parted her, his gaze intense and unwavering before he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a revelation—wet, warm, and shockingly direct. She cried out, her fingers knotting in the bed sheets as he began a relentless, rhythmic worship of her most sensitive depths. He used his lips and tongue with devastating precision, circling the tiny, hardened center of her pleasure until the world narrowed down to the friction of his mouth and the mounting pressure in her blood.
The sensation built until it was unbearable, her hips arching off the mattress, seeking more of him. Wilhelm didn’t pull away; he surged forward, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady as he accelerated the pace. The feeling turned into a white-hot burn, and suddenly, the cord snapped.
Madeline shattered. A ragged, high-pitched sob broke from her lips as her body convulsed in the throes of a violent, beautiful release. Waves of heat crashed over her, over and over, while he stayed with her, drinking in her cries until the last of the tremors subsided.
When he moved back up the bed, her chest was still rising too fast, her breath uneven as she reached for him without quiteknowing how. His face was flushed, his eyes dark and soft with something that made her throat tighten.
“Wilhelm,” she whispered, unsteady. Then, after a pause that felt impossibly vulnerable, “What… about you?”
Her hand hovered, tentative, uncertain where to go, how to touch him properly, only knowing that she wanted to give something back for what he had given her.
He caught her wrist gently before she could falter further and leaned down to kiss her, and his lips were tender enough to still her entirely.
“No,” he murmured against her mouth. “This night was meant for you.”
She searched his face, still breathless.
“I took my pleasure in watching you,” he said low. “In hearing you. In feeling you come undone for me.”
His arm slid around her then, firm and protective, drawing her against him as though there was nothing left to prove. He pulled the heavy linen covers up over them both, tucking her close with a quiet finality that felt less like refusal and more like care.
“Sleep,” he said softly, his mouth near her hair.
Her body was loose now, heavy with satisfaction, her thoughts blurred and drifting. She curled instinctively into him, fitting herself into the hollow of his shoulder, and his arm tightened slightly, anchoring her there.
Madeline drifted into sleep to the slow, powerful rhythm of his heart beneath her cheek, wrapped in his warmth, the knowledge settling deep and sure inside her that she had been cherished.
She woke in darkness. For a moment, she did not know where she was, only that she was comfortable and held. Then she became aware of Wilhelm beside her, the solid weight of his arm around her waist, his breathing deep and even as he slept.
Her heart clenched. The reality of it all came rushing back with startling clarity. The kiss. The bed. The way she had let herself forget, if only for a handful of precious hours, everything that waited beyond these walls.
She lay very still, careful not to wake him. Her gaze traced the familiar lines of his face softened by sleep. He looked younger like this, less guarded, and the sight of it hurt more than she had expected.
She had never seen him like this before. The realization made everything sharper; as long as she remained in his life, this peace was fragile. And if she allowed herself to belong here for even a moment longer, she would be the one to put it at risk.
Her mother would not stop. The thought came unbidden, cold and relentless. A woman who had poisoned her own daughter would not suddenly discover mercy. The scandal sheet was only the beginning. Already, Wilhelm’s name had been dragged into it, his reputation questioned, his household scrutinized. And Tessa—sweet, unguarded Tessa—stood dangerously close to the edge of it all, innocent and unprepared for the cruelty of society’s judgment.
Madeline’s breath hitched. She had known, even as she kissed him, that this moment could not last. She had simply lacked the strength to turn away from it.
She shifted carefully, easing out from beneath his arm. He stirred slightly but did not wake, his hand clenching briefly in the sheet as though reaching for her even in sleep. The gesture nearly undid her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She rose quietly, gathering her clothes and dressing by the faint light of the dying fire. Each movement felt weighted, as though she were walking away from something sacred. Her chest ached with every breath, but her resolve hardened with each passing second.
She could not stay. She would not let him keep paying the price for loving her.
