But there had been no need to feel nervous. Sebastian’s gaze burned.
It was a brand, fixing hernow, in this moment, as the woman she was. He knewthiswoman. He lovedthiswoman. Even as heat swirled harder through her, liquid and throbbing and mad, she felt he’d caught her soul again. He made her alive in the present…he held out the shape of a future.
His hand ran a worshipful path down her side, shoulder, breast, belly, and it was the shape of who she was to him. A different woman to the memories she’d been. A real woman. Alive. Free.
“Sebastian…”
Her voice was weak with need. He heard the fear in it, the realisation, the hope. He eased her down to lie on the bed, lying beside her, dragging the scratchy blanket free. It was a tiny bed, narrow even for one, but they didn’t want space. They lay tight against each other, touching everywhere—ankle, calf, thigh. The hardness of him was a hot promise against her stomach. She wanted it. Needed it. But first was the bliss and wonder of this…touch and touch and touch… His hand in her hair, on her cheek, on her breast. He kissed her, deep and drugging, the softness of his lips holding the edge of a bite, the tangle of his tongue against hers holding out a hand to sin…
She accepted. Let him lead her there, a dance both familiar and not.
Because this was darker, harder. Sebastian demanded more, took more, gave more. He nipped her lip, grazed teeth along her throat, pinned her wrist with infinite strength. Submit, submit… But it was tender violence. It was worship of a primal kind. His fingers skated down her body, claiming, but with a touch like silk, gentle as petals. He touched between her legs, a delicate swirl, treasuring her as though she was a virgin. She might as well have been. Nine years had been long enough for her body to forget.
“I love you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. He’d breathed it between kisses. The kisses had said it themselves.
“What have you done to me, you witch?”
He whispered it with wonder, sweet and hard, the way he always was. She knew him… She’d always known him…
“Fair revenge for what you’ve done to me.” She hardly sounded like herself.He’dwoken this knowing, sultry version of herself, equal to doing battle with him.
His fingers still explored the secret heat of her, stroking the centre where she’d turned liquid for him.
“Is this what I’ve done?” he murmured, pleased with himself, as men always were. She liked it, that in this moment he was just as male and mortal as anyone else.
She knew how to press her advantage. She stroked down his chest, down the taut lines of his stomach, and took him in her hand.
His eyes shut for a moment, his fingers stilled. The breath he let out had the flavour of a curse.
But even so, he was still himself. He wrapped his hand around hers, closing her tight with fingers wet from touching her. He showed her how to stroke him, his grip firmer than anything she would have dared.
She’d seen the size of him. He felt even thicker in her hand. And then he took her hand away, pinned both her hands above her head and kissed her in a way that showed he’d been holding back before.
He let go her wrists as his kiss headed down her body. She trembled, knowing the path, wondering if she’d survive it. He praised her breasts with the soft sweep of his mouth before he took her nipple between his lips.
Oh…she had certainly forgotten a great deal. Perhaps he taught her something new. Teeth, tongue, lips, until she was writhing, panting. He released her only to continue south. She knew this too, but—
The first touch of his tongue made her forget everything. Her name? The year? Did it matter? His hands circled her thighs as he spread her and tasted her, no hesitation, no uncertainty, no apology as he ate his fill.
She broke, of course she did, climaxing with a cry, wave after wave of it. He lapped at her, gentle, easing her through it, staying there with her until she was done. When he moved back up the bed, she hid her face against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around her, and that haughty voice was all hoarse softness as he hushed her, holding her tight, staying with her through that moment too, the release after the release. A final letting go.
“We fit.” His voice was a whisper against her hair. She thought he might be speaking to himself. Fractured words from a fractured prayer. “We’re good. This is good. Be mine.” His lipsfound a patch of skin at her temple, kissed it, coaxed her face from his chest. “Be mine, Madelaine. You know I’m yours.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Thirty-Four
Yes.
She said it again as he moved over her. Madelaine lay under him, naked and new. He’d never seen a woman before. This skin, this body, those eyes…
His wife.
“Yes.” She touched his cheek. He lay over her, his knee spreading her wide as he held himself there for a moment.
