“I…”
Whatever she’d intended to say trailed off.
He rested his palms on his knees, bringing her attention down—to the dense, defined musculature of her husband’s thighs, all an impressive display of masculine grace and beauty. But the enormous ridge tenting his trousers captivated.
Daria’s breath hitched. She’d seen a male member, accidentally. Midnight, the black barn cat, birthed a litter, and one kitten hadn’t survived. With the tiny creature still wet from his entry into the world and wrapped in a blanket, she’d headed to the lake for a proper burial ceremony—just as Lord Landon and Lord Scarsdale stepped out of the water. Their members hadn’t been rampant and thick as Gregory’s, outlined in his fawn breeches.
Heat spiraled lower, languidly easing to that intimate place between her legs.
“Never say, my sweet Daria—”
Cheeks aflame, Daria snatched her focus from his manhood.
“You, who faced down my anger and mistrust, convinced me of the wisdom in wedding you, and who stood up to an irate brother and brokenhearted mama, should lose your courage now.” His blue eyes glittered with amusement.
He’d caught her staring. How could he not have?
But instead of proper humiliation, her body burned for a different reason.
My sweet Daria.
Daria traced her tongue along the seam of her lips.
Mirth died quick in Gregory’s eyes. The black circle of his pupil expanded.
The heat pooled between her legs became a sharp ache. Unbearable. Even with a virgin’s innocence, she felt the burn of desire in his eyes.
Desire…for her. Nothing feigned or false about it. What reason should the duke have to pretend? To know she’d somehow stirred him left her weak inside.
Her lashes fell heavily. “The kiss,” she whispered. “After our marriage.”
“That is right, wife. We are married now.”
Daria was already arching toward him at the same time he came forward.
Gregory’s palm found her nape, his long, powerful fingers forming like a silken manacle about her neck as he dragged Daria nearer.
His mouth covered hers, burning her. Marking her. Singing her. Stealing her breath.
On a soft sigh, she slipped under his spell.
Her body felt as if it were soaring—and then she was. Gregory brought her down gently upon his lap. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this?” The roughness of his voice was at odds with the gentle love he made to her mouth.
Dizzied, Daria shook her head frantically. There’d not been a shadow of anything but disdain from him until here.
“J-Just now?” she ventured, her voice thin and breathless from the intensity of his kiss.
The deep rumble that rose from her husband’s chest reverberated against hers. “Longer,” he said, trailing his lips along the corner of her mouth, and lower.
“We’ve only known one another tw—ooohh.” The rest of Daria’s reminder broke into a great moan as Gregory tipped her head, granting himself greater access to her mouth.
His chest moved wildly, and the evidence of his desire caused a deeper tightening between her legs.
Moaning, desperate to be free of the ache, her hips took on a will of their own.
Gregory glided his fingers along her jaw. “Open for me, little raven,” he crooned.
Biting at her lower lip, she nodded and granted him entry. She’d allow him anything.
