“That’s not fair—”
“Fair has nothing to do with it. This is about trust, control, surrender.” His finger circled her navel. “Can you do that?”
She wanted to protest, to argue, but the heat in his eyes stopped her. “I can try.”
“Good. Second rule—you don’t hide your responses. If something feels good, I want to hear it. If something doesn’t, you tell me immediately.”
“And the third?”
“The third is the most important.” He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “You don’t unravel until I give you permission.”
Heat flooded through her. “I don’t— I can’t—”
“You can. You will.” He pulled back to look at her. “Those are the rules. Break them, and there are consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?”
His smile was wicked. “The kind that will make you break them again just to see what happens.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m your husband.” He traced his finger lower, along the curve of her hip. “And right now, I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”
He started slowly, mapping her body with his hands and mouth, learning every sensitive spot, every place that made her gasp or arch. He was methodical, thorough, driving her to the edge of madness with touches that never quite satisfied.
“Adrian,” she gasped as his mouth traced the delicate underside of her breast. “Please—”
“Please what?” He looked up at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want—I need—”
“Yes?” His tongue circled, teasing, always just shy of where she was most sensitive. “Be specific, duchess.”
“I need more.”
“More what? This?” He blew cool air across her heated skin, making her shiver. “Or this?” His hand skimmed down her stomach, stopping just short of where she ached for him.
“You’re torturing me.”
“I’m teaching you.” He moved back up to kiss her, deep and consuming. “Teaching you that your pleasure belongs to me now. That I decide when and how and how much.”
Finally, his hand moved lower, and she nearly came off the bed at the contact.
“So responsive,” he murmured against her mouth. “So perfect. But remember the rule—not until I say.”
What followed was the sweetest torture she’d ever experienced. He played her body like an instrument, bringing her to the edge over and over, only to pull back at the last moment. She was sobbing with need, her hands fisted in the sheets to keep from touching him, when he finally positioned himself above her.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She opened eyes she hadn’t realised she’d closed, meeting his intense gaze.
“This will hurt,” he said softly, his control finally showing cracks. “But only for a moment.”
She swallowed hard. “All right,” she whispered. “Go on.”
“Do you trust me?”
The question hung between them, weighted with more than just this moment.
