And when her voice finally returned, it was no more than a breath. “Yes, Dash. Please.”
As though he’d been waiting for those words, his hips began to move, slow and steady, and then?—
Oh. Oh…
Just as he had led her through the dance under swaying lanterns, he led her now, their bodies learning a rhythm all their own. He watched her as he moved, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t rush. He didn’t hide. He gave her time to feel everything.
The friction, the lovely friction, ignited her nerves like flame to dry kindling. The sinewy muscles in his arms flexed beneath her touch… His body… It was all heat and strength, pinning her in the most beautiful way—not to trap her, but to hold her together as she came undone.
He murmured in French—words she didn’t quite understand, but felt. She responded with her body, her breath, the whimper of his name on her lips.
He teased her. Slowed. Stilled. Kissed her deeply.
Built her up again. Brought her closer, only to hold her back, making her want—making her need—to break.
“Please,” she whispered, though she didn’t know what she was asking for. Only that she could no longer bear the waiting.
“I have you,” he said, low and steady. “Je te tiens.”
And then—it took her like a storm. A lightning burst behind her eyes, a cry ripped from her throat. It was more than pleasure. It was everything she had ever denied herself, everything she had feared she might never feel.
Her body trembled around him, but he didn’t let go.
He followed her, groaning her name as he lost himself too. His mouth crushed to her shoulder, his hands gripping her as if anchoring them both to this moment—this impossible, perfect. Now.
And when their breathing slowed, when her eyes fluttered open to find his again, she knew:
She would never forget the way he made her feel.
Cherished. Desired. Seen.
When he finally lay back down beside her, pulling her close and drawing the cover up, Ambrosia sighed. She would sleep. They would rest. And then they would have tomorrow to be together again.
She could hardly wait for the sun to come up.
WHAT WAS NEVER PROMISED
Wakefulness came slowly, like sunlight creeping through half-drawn curtains. Ambrosia sighed as she stretched, her limbs pleasantly sore. A smile curled at her lips before her eyes even opened. Last night had not been a dream. It had happened—every whisper, every kiss, every breathless surrender.
Her fingers reached across the bed instinctively, seeking warmth, connection.
But the sheets were cool.
Frowning slightly, she opened her eyes.
She was alone.
She blinked up at the ceiling, trying not to let her heart stumble. Dash had likely risen to take Mr. Dog out.
Still, the silence in the room felt… loud.
Her gaze swept the small space. No boots by the hearth. No coat tossed across the chair. No Mr. Dog snoring on the rug.
Of course. Dash must have been downstairs having tea with the Wootens, charming them with that half-French wit of his, the same way he’d charmed her.
Ambrosia sat up slowly. There was a faint ache between her legs, a tender throb that made her blush even though she was alone. She had not expected that—the way her body had sang under his touch, the way it had responded to him like it had always been meant to. Her marriage had taught her to expect discomfort, duty. But Dash had shown her something else entirely. Something she hadn’t known she was allowed to want.
Last night, he had made love to her.
