He ducked his head and pressed his mouth to hers. It was the first time he’d kissed her since they agreed to marry days before. Doing it again was like coming home. He sank into her, reveling in how she opened to him with a shuddering sigh, how her hands gripped his lapels, how she lifted against him with that natural response of desire and need. The woman was a revelation and he intended to delight in all of it.
He broke the kiss, loving how her expression was dizzy, off kilter. “Will you come upstairs with me, Mrs. Cavendish?” he whispered.
She didn’t hesitate, but jerked out a nod. He took her hand and led her from the parlor. The time had come to truly consummate this union. And he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
* * *
Hannah looked around the master bedchamber with a smile. It was a pretty room that looked out over the park across the street. Someone had decorated the place—she could not imagine it was Duncan who’d made the choices, for it wasn’t just hard and masculine, but lovely.
Still, it was hard to focus on the details when there was a big bed across the room. One where her new husband stood, just watching her. He had shrugged from his jacket, removed his waistcoat, tugged out of his cravat. He looked…disheveled. He looked good enough to lick.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
She nodded.
He arched a brow. “We have done this before. We’re quite good at it, actually.”
She laughed at the quip and took a long step closer. “That wasn’t us. It was two strangers in masks, with no bond to support…or to destroy.”
He inclined his head as if to acknowledge that. “I can put on a mask if you’d like,” he said. “But I must tell you that there is no way we could destroy our bond tonight, Hannah.”
She wasn’t as certain of that as he was. After all, so much had changed. They’d vowed to base this union on mutual benefit and pleasure. But every time he every time he looked at her across a room, she feared that he was capable of making her want more. When he touched her?
Well, that was even worse. Falling in love with this man would be a mistake. He’d made it clear he didn’t want that. She had to remind herself of that fact and keep what happened tonight separate from her heart.
“Will it be like last time?” she asked.
He unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it over his head. She blinked at the muscled expanse of chest. God, she hadn’t imagined just how perfect this man was. Her heart pounded so loudly, she almost could not hear him over its rattle.
“Better,” he promised. “I’m going to make it so much better.”
She shivered because the memories of him taking her had sustained her for days. The idea that tonight could be better was almost…terrifying.
She moved forward again, stopping just before him. “May I…touch you?” she asked.
His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Oh yes, I would very much like it if you touched me.”
Her hand shook as she pressed it flat against his chest. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers and he sucked in a breath as he stared at her hand. She traced the lines of his body, raking him gently with her nails as she smoothed her hand down his chest, over his stomach. She worried her lip with her teeth as she glanced up, finding his gaze.
“I want to touch…it,” she said, cheeks burning.
His eyes widened. “My cock.”
She nodded.
He was perfectly still for a moment, then he unbuttoned the placket on his trousers and shoved them away, kicking them aside so that he stood utterly naked before her. Naked and delectable, while she was fully clothed. It was amazing how much power that dichotomy made her feel.
She took a deep breath and looked down between them at the hard thrust of muscle that curled against his stomach. His cock. She’d been too nervous, too overwhelmed the first time to really examine it, but now she did, licking her lips as she made a study of this part of him that was so very different from herself.
Her hand shook as she glided it farther down, letting her palm stroke him at the thick base. She jolted at how soft the skin was, wrapped around unyielding steel. As she took him in her palm, he let out a garbled groan.
She forced her gaze back to his face. “Was that wrong?”
“Stroke it,” he ordered, voice trembling.
She held his stare, watching his throat work, his muscles strain as she did just that. She stroked him from base to head, and he rocked forward into her with a thrust that mimicked how he’d taken her the first time. Her sex twitched at that memory of how he had felt positioned against her from behind. How he’d promised to be rough and hard and make her quake before he’d realized she was a virgin.
She wasn’t a virgin anymore.
