Gregory complied at once, filling his large hands with her pale flesh. Her breath caught.
A master of her body—as Poussin had been of his pastorals—Gregory lowered his head and rested his chin against her shoulder. “Is this what you mean, love?” His tone teased, his expression no less so.
She bit her lip, squirming.
“If you are obliging enough to tell me,” he murmured, “I shall stroke you between your legs as a reward.”
“Touch my nipples,” the words rasped out of her.
“Touch—?”
Crying out, Daria dragged his hands where she ached for him. “Pull them,” she begged, her body jerking with frustration. “Rub them.” She worked his hands in hers.
Gregory’s playful look faded. Desire darkened his eyes. “Good girl.”
A low, wanton moan spilled from her lips.
“Watch me, Daria,” he coaxed. “Watch me touch you.”
As though she could look away.
With a few firm pulls of his fingers, the tips hardened into aching peaks. “See how good we are together.” One hand continued its work while the other settled low on her belly, just above her curls.
Her breath caught and held. Of their own volition, her hips moved, eager—seeking the promise he had made.
“I am very pleased with your honesty, love,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble against her back.
Boneless, her head fell against his shoulder.
Gregory palmed the damp curls between her legs.
Crying out, her body buckling, she arched violently against his hand.
Her husband caught her hard and fast against him, the oak-like strength of his thighs unyielding.
The harsh rasp of her breathing against her ear betrayed him. “I’m going to help you, little raven.” Gregory rubbed the flat of two fingers over the seam of her entrance.
Another cry ripped from Daria’s lungs. With an intuition as old as Eve, her hips undulated.
“You are fire in my arms,” he hissed. Sweat beaded at his brow.
Whimpering, Daria pressed herself backwards. His shaft throbbed and pulsed against her taut buttocks, and he rubbed himself in slow, smooth circles over her silken skin.
“God, you are magnificent.”
Gregory placed a tender kiss at her temple; tears threatened at his unexpected gentleness.
“I love how wet you are for me,” he crooned.
His naughty praise drew her lust higher. Daria arched back against the broad wall of his chest and thrust her hips hard at his fingers.
A sharp hiss sailed through his teeth.
He didn’t relent. He stroked her until the slow slide of his fingers left her incoherent. Her speech dissolved to a plaintive keening.
While he pleasured her with those long, strong digits, his other hand cupped her breast.
Daria bit her lower lip.
