She pushed aside the hesitation. “No,” she said firmly.
“Good,” he whispered, and caught her shoulders. He held her stare a moment, and slowly turned her around so that her back was to him. At first she wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, not until his fingers brushed her neck, pushing away the strands of hair that had come loose from her chignon during the night. His breath was warm on her skin and then his lips were there, gentle, soft.
She shuddered with pleasure, gasped with surprise as those hands moved away from her skin and down to the top button of her gown.
He slid it free carefully and parted the fabric. She blushed as he repeated that same action over and over. She wasn’t wearing undergarments. That had been her other rebellion when she came here. And as he opened the gown fully, he recognized that fact and let out a little mutter of a word she didn’t recognize.
Likely he thought her a whore, but what did it matter? They were strangers, this was a stolen night. She pushed aside her embarrassment and faced him.
Her dress drooped a fraction in front and she held a hand up to hold it here. He was staring at her. Just staring, and she smiled at how wide his eyes were.
“Areyouchanging your mind?” she asked.
He shook his head. “That was the furthest thought from my mind, I assure you.”
His hand trembled as he reached for her, caught her fingers, drew them away from the gown. He looped his fingers into the edge, and then he pulled. It rolled forward, the short, puffed sleeves sliding down her arms, and then she was bare from the waist up.
She felt the heat in her cheeks as he looked at her. Her husband had done this…two or three times at most in the years of their marriage? Usually when he’d touched her it had been a flip of her nightgown, a handful of grunts, and then he was finished. If he was drunk he might touch her a little, but she’d never found real pleasure with him. Only with her own hand.
And now this stranger was staring at her naked breasts. The ones that were too small, according to her husband. Too pink. Too…well, whatevertoocame to his cold lips at the time.
“Beautiful,” he breathed and she jerked her gaze to his face. He wasn’t teasing or taunting.
She pushed the sleeves from her arms and the dress folded around her waist, sliding low on her hips. It was precariously close to falling and leaving her entirely naked, but she didn’t focus on that.
She wanted to see him, too.
She stepped a fraction closer and unfastened the first button on his shirt. Her hands were shaking so hard, she could hardly get it open.
“Here,” he said, pulling it from his waist before he popped open a few of the buttons and tugged the entire thing over his head. His mask was cockeyed when he removed it, and he adjusted it back to its place before he tossed the shirt aside.
And she stared, her breath gone. What was before her was utter male perfection. His body was lean and muscled, his chest hard as granite, with a peppering of chest hair that narrowed into a line that disappeared into the waist of his trousers.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached out and laid her hand on his skin. He grunted and she sighed. He was hot and real—thiswas real. She slid her hand across him, tracing the muscles she found, reveling in hard muscle under softer skin. In that wild moment, she wanted to lick him and touch him and do everything and anything she’d ever seen in the open rooms of the hall.
She wanted to be wanton for him. Wild.
It seemed he wanted the same, for he suddenly caught the gown still around her waist and tugged her against him. Her breasts flattened against the wall of his chest and his mouth hit hers in hungry possession and need. She rubbed against him, her nipples growing hard at the abrasion of his chest.
She was being lifted then. He marched her to the bed and set her down there. They never stopped kissing even as he pushed the rest of her gown away. She kicked at her slippers, and he lifted her to the bed and set her there.
She settled blindly against the pillows as he at last stepped back. She was naked and he was staring at her, his hungry gaze gliding from top to bottom, like he was memorizing her. Like was planning a move against another country.
Then he tugged his boots off and stripped his trousers away, leaving him as naked as she was. She sat up on her elbows to get a better look. Great God, he was perfect everywhere. His hips were trim, his legs muscled and his cock already hard and curling toward his belly.
He leaned over her on the bed, caging her in as he settled over her. She felt the length of him nudge her stomach, and she jolted at how hard he was. How hot and thick and ready. On instinct, she parted her legs, lifting to meet him.
He glanced at her in surprise. “We’re not halfway to that yet,” he whispered.
She blinked with confusion. They were naked on a bed. That was more than she’d usually experienced in this act. She was already wet, she was tingling in anticipation. The next step was for him to join that exquisite body with her own, and then it would be over and burned into her memory forever.
“You look surprised,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her neck.
“I am,” she admitted.
He lifted his stare to hers. “Some husband he was,” he whispered. “Let me show you.”
His mouth glided over her skin, his tongue just barely tasting as he moved down the column of her neck, traced her collarbone, then lower. He leaned back a fraction and watched as he covered her breasts with his hands. She arched as unexpected sensation rushed through her. It intensified as he began to stroke his fingers against her, brushing his thumbs against her nipples until her breath left her.
