Chapter Thirty-two
Heathcliff kicked the door closed with a resounding thud, and debated whether to set his wife down gently down on her own two feet, or if he should carry her to the bed, toss her upon it, and devour her immediately.
He had wanted her since the moment he saw her, and now that the moment was upon him, he was both ravenous and resilient. It was ironic to be sure, but he thought it was, perhaps, a good thing.
“The bed is in that direction,” Samantha remarked in a teasing tone. He turned to her then, delighting in the dancing expression in her eyes.
“Thank you, I had quite missed that fact.” He arched a brow, then, to prove his point, he strode up to the bed and tossed her upon it, thankful for the sturdy build of the walnut frame as she bounced gently, offering him a mock glare.
“Is that how this goes?” she asked, all sass and light.
The thought of living without her pierced through him like a lance, and he forced the chilling thought to the back of his mind. To think he had been so close to walking away; no, running from her affection. So much of his joy was because of her, because she brought light into all the dark recesses of his heart.
“Heathcliff?” She spoke his name softly, and he shook his dark thoughts from his mind. They were useless, and he was thankful. He had avoided a terrible mistake and, as such, deserved enthusiastic celebration.
And he knew just how to begin.
“Do you know, I’ve never done anything so proper in my life?” he started, circling the bed lazily, the anticipation filling him with heat.
“Oh? And how am I to respond to such a statement?” she replied, her gaze taking him in, darkening as he took a step toward the bed.
“Aren’t lovers to disclose secrets in the bedroom? I thought I should start with the first.”
“You’re implying that there will be more secrets?” she asked
“Indeed. A great many, ones we shall share with a smile when others look on, confused.”
Samantha’s answering smile was all the response he needed. He continued. “Even your most innocent of smiles makes me want to be ever so wicked.”
“And after charging me with being temptation personified! You, sir, have a strange reaction to temptation. Rather than be wicked, as you imply, it makes you quite resolute to be good. Odd, that.” She arched a brow, an enticing grin on her face.
“Indeed it is.”
“Interesting.”
“Not nearly as interesting as having you here. Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined you here?” He gestured to the bed, taking in the soft pillows behind her, the draped purple velvet curtain around the headboard, the way the coverlet bunched around where she sat, watching him with wide eyes. “I scarcely can believe it, that you are here and not because my black heart seduced you but that all has been satisfied. To believe that it is right, and good for you to be here, in my bed, waiting . . .”
“Waiting indeed. You stand there with all the beautiful words I wished to hear for so long, yet you do not act on them.” She gave her head a little shake.
“Forgive me.” He bowed, earning a slight giggle from Samantha.
“I shall not. I require a token of your true repentance,” she replied, shocking him by her demand. He grinned, thrilled with the way she caught him unexpectedly, thrilled to play the game she initiated. Love and sex had rarely followed one on the other in his life, and the one time they had, it had been one-sided. To be partners with each other, for it to be more; it was strange yet so perfect at once.
“What do you request as a token?” he asked.
Her eyes roamed over his body, setting it aflame with need. Her gaze settled on his neck and she smiled. “Your cravat.”
“Is that the game you wish to play?” He approved.
“If you are willing to accept the challenge.”
“Challenge? What challenge? It is a conquest, it is seduction in every form, and how I eagerly anticipate it . . . every moment.” He tugged on his cravat and sent it to the floor in a whisper of silk.
“Now, it is for you to offer your own token. After all, you have bold words, but your actions do not follow. For that, you should make restitution.”
“Oh? And what do you want me to offer?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
Heathcliff knew immediately what he wished, but he gave a slight pause, just for effect, before answering. “Your hair. Let it down for me.”
