He didn’t wish to share more. He had opened himself, and was ready to close the door. Revealing the painful part of his past, had cost him. He was asking without words—and somehow, she, who was wretched at prevarication, understood. Understood him.
Just as she knew Gregory needed to feel some measure of control in his life.
And she yearned to give him the pleasure he had shown her so freely, even as he denied it to himself.
The floorboards dipped behind her.
Daria felt Gregory’s presence before he touched her. His command of a room carried the same quiet authority as his hands—the way the very air seemed to alter, even before he settled his palms at either side of her shoulders. Her eyes slid shut.
His hold was gentle and firm in equal measure, possessed of an innate steadiness. The sort Daria had never known—and never would—save with this man.
Gregory brushed his lips along her throat.
Her eyes grew heavy as Daria reached behind her, threading her fingers through his luxuriant blond hair, faintly curled. The softness belied his strength, like a halo granted to mark his worth.
Gregory’s palms glided along her arms. Shivers followed in their wake.
“This time, love, not even God himself will interrupt our joining.”
Love.
The gravity of his promise, coupled with that seductive endearment, sent a dangerous swell of emotion through her chest.
Unaffected—unbothered, unaware—he kissed his way along the swath of skin he exposed, stealing more of Daria with each lingering touch. Pieces for which there would be no recovery.
Gregory, with capable fingers, loosened the black silk ties of her day dress. Effortlessly graceful, almost reverent, he drew the fabric open. Slowly, he edged the dark material back, revealing the white muslin beneath.
Not as a man who feared refusal and uncovered her body gingerly, lest he startle her into retreat. No, her confident husband, a skilled lover, did not doubt her surrender.
He slid the muslin sleeves from her arms until she was free of them, and the thin layer of protection—against both the chill and his touch—fell in a whisper-soft rush at her feet.
Against her back, she felt the ridge of his manhood, long and hard as steel.
Warm wetness gathered at her womanhood. Daria shifted and squirmed, seeking relief from the ache he had stirred.
Gregory brushed his lips over her shoulder blade.
Her breath caught on a hiss.
“You are so responsive, Daria,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. Want for her.
With a sorcerer’s patience, he traced a path of kisses along her shoulders. As his mouth worked its slow spell, his hands coaxed her shift downward. The fabric slid to her hips just as Gregory sank to his knees behind her.
Taking her by the hips, he let his tongue dart along the length of her spine, alternating between lingering kisses and teasing strokes. The tip of his tongue traced the center of her back,where she was already bare, until she stood wholly exposed before him.
“Look at us together this time, Daria,” he commanded raggedly.
Unlike before, Gregory turned her with near-violent urgency until she faced them both.
No. Not forced.
She would shatter worlds for the sight of herself with her magnificently crafted husband. She wanted to watch as he touched her.
A slow smile curved his lips. “Tell me what you want.”
Naturally, he knew. But he would have her say it. Give voice to it.
“I want you to hold my breasts.”
