“Good night, my lady.” Daisy eased out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Felicity remained sitting in front of the dressing table, eyeing herself in the mirror. Heart pounding, she wet her lips and tried to slowher breathing as she turned and looked at the door connecting her bedchamber with Drake’s. This was home now, the home she and Drake would return to its former glorious state and fill with love and laughter.
She went to the door and took hold of the latch. How in heaven’s name could she be so eager to run into the arms of the man she loved, and so reluctant at the same time? Were all brides this way, or was she simply mad? Well, if she was mad, then mad about Drake she would be.
After a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and squeezed the latch, only to find it locked. Locked?
“Drake?” She hesitantly rapped on the door.
“Come in, my angel.”
“I cannot. The door is locked.”
“Locked?” The soft thud of his footsteps grew louder, then the latch rattled. “Bloody hell.” It rattled again, harder this time. “Damn and blast it all.”
Felicity couldn’t help but giggle. Their entire relationship had been fraught with mishaps. Why should their wedding night be any different?
The door shook with a hard bang as something quite solid hit it. “Damned English oak. You worthless piece of…”
Before Drake injured himself and swore any more profusely at the stubborn door, Felicity rushed out into the hall and hurried to his bedchamber door, which, thankfully, was not locked. “Drake?”
He had the iron rod from the hearth hooked through the latch of the connecting door and was about to pry the thing free of its frame. “Felicity.” He dropped the rod and brushed his hands on the seat of his breeches, looking as sheepish as a schoolboy caught being naughty.
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Did you hurt yourself when you hit the door? I assume you rammed it with your shoulder.”
“I used my good shoulder.” He ambled closer, making her catchher breath at the sight of him with his shirt open at the throat. “That door will be opened tomorrow,” he said as he gently pulled her into his arms, “and it will never be locked again.”
She hesitantly ran her hands up the ridges of his muscular chest, her breath hitching. “I know we are married, but this still feels quite scandalous.” She brazenly pressed closer and offered up her mouth to him. “I do not mean to shock you, but I am most ready for more of your delectable kisses.”
He grinned as he bent to brush teasing nibbles across her lips. “Delectable, you say?”
“Indeed, most delectable.”
As he obliged and cupped her bottom with both hands, her senses reeled. She returned his kisses with a wildness that shocked her, but dear heavens, to be in his arms felt so indescribably right and made the room overly warm.
“Clothes,” she whispered against his mouth.
He drew back and arched a brow. “Clothes?”
A furious blush had to be staining her cheeks, because they burned as hot as a stoked oven, but she pressed on, determined to be the passionate lioness rather than the skittish mouse. To force herself out of her temporary shyness, she cleared her throat. “We are wearing entirely too many clothes. Do you not agree?”
“I do indeed.” He eased back a step while untucking his shirt, then stripped it off over his head.
She had seen his bare chest before while tending to him after the shooting, but this…this did not compare. The candlelight lent a golden glow to his skin that made her palms itch to touch him.
He unbuttoned his falls and let his breeches drop to the floor, revealing a masculinity the likes of which she had never seen in any painting or sculpture.
“Oh my.” She pressed a hand to her throat, unsure exactly how they could possiblyfittogether.
He hurried back to her, pulling her into his arms and whispering, “It will be all right, my angel. We shall take our time and discover every joy we are meant to know.” Ever so gently, he untied the neckline of her chemise and slid it off her shoulders, kissing a trail along her collarbone as he let it crumple lower. “My goddess,” he murmured against her while teasing her to distraction with artful flicks of his tongue. “My angel.”
Without warning, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, easing her down among the pillows. “I love you, my darling wife, forever and a day.”
“I love you more.” She reached for him, aching for more, longing to lose herself in his embrace. She buried her fingers in his thick hair as he kissed his way back down her throat and worshipped each of her breasts. “Oh, dear heavens.” She wrapped her legs around him. The feel of him sliding against her inner thighs drove her mad.
Then he kissed and nibbled lower still while stroking his hands the length of her. Crouched between her legs, he paused long enough to blow a tickling breath of air across her most private curls while sliding his fingertips through the wetness in the place no man had ever touched before. Heaven help her. What kept a person from dying of such pleasure?
But then he slid a finger inside while closing his mouth around a part of her that felt ready to explode from such undeniable bliss. The more he touched her, the harder he sucked, the more the aching throbbed, making her heartbeat pound in her ears. A shriek burst free of her as the ecstasy spiraled out of control, reached its pinnacle, and shook through her in crashing waves of pleasure.
