Chapter Twenty
Drewsmina Trelayne’s Rule of Style and Comportment #15: On the topic of one’s wedding night, you should seek out an honest but tasteful married friend to explain what’s to be expected of you. Absent this resource, we find this acronym, “EAGR,” to be a handy primer.
E.Expecta visit from your new husband,
A.Askhim to be
G.Gentle(but allow for some fumbling),
R.Resignyourself to the act.
“Eager” did not begin to describe Drew’s current frame of mind. Also not applicable: Resigned or gentle.
Voracious was more accurate. Maddened. Shewanted, and shewanted, and shewanted—all the doubts about how she looked or whether she was wanted in return could barely be heard.
This had been Lachlan—his gift to her. He’d liberated her from all of her troubling hesitations and insecurities. She needn’t worry about what to do or how she appeared; she need only follow along. He gave her no room to overthink any of it. It took her breath away.
“Off with the shift,” he said gruffly, kneeing to her on the bed.
“Off?” She’d barely managed to absorb the sight of him, naked beside her on the bed, and now he was asking—?
Surely not.
They weren’t even under the coverlet. The room was aglow with firelight. He would see—
“Off,” he confirmed and then he reached out, grabbed the hem of the flimsy shift, and skimmed it over her head.
Drew gasped, exhilarated by the lack of choice or bother. She closed her eyes when the shift passed over her face; when she opened them again, the silk was gone and Lachlan was dropping on top of her, capturing her mouth in a kiss. She kissed him back, proud of how quickly she’d learned to kiss. She could let her mind go, could kiss him without really thinking about it. This allowed her senses to focus on the strange wonderfulness of having him drape across her. He was heavy but not thick; the absence of clothes revealed lean muscle. The gallery had only afforded her the very surface of his beauty.
He was nimble, not drooping over her so much as aligning his long taut body on top of her own. For how long had she resented her own height and thinness? She and Jericka Tavertine had worked for the better part of a year to develop patterns that made her appear less like a beanpole. But Lachlan made her feel as if her body complemented his; she was tall but he was taller. She was thin and he was strong and totally in control.
“Wait, wait,” he mumbled, moving his mouth from her lips to her neck, kissing his way down. “Let me see you.”
“N—” she tried, a reflex, but he was already on his knees above her, staring down with hot, hungry eyes.
Drew covered her face with one hand. Her other hand flew downward—an aimless, futile effort to cover herself.
He caught her by the wrist. “Please, don’t. You’re perfectly formed.”
She peeked between her fingers, her heart molting at the sight of his expression, rapt, hungry, and adoring.
He swore under his breath, slow and reverent, and droppedher wrist. Scooting back, he grabbed her legs on the outside of each thigh, and then slid his hands up the sides of her body. She shivered as his open palms moved up her thighs and over her hips. His fingers swooped as they rounded the dip of her waist; they bumped up and over, traveling the ridges of her rib cage. The journey left a trail of tingles that radiated outward like the sun and then settled in the most curious of places. It felt so very good, she closed her eyes. If she’d been bolder, more demanding, she might ask him to do it again and again. But she was not so bold, and also she found herself distracted. She felt an urgency, a warm burning in her center. A pool of warmth collected at the end-point of all of those tingles. She bit her lip and let out a little moan.
Lachlan chuckled, progressing his hands up her sides, stopping when he got to the ticklish place below her arms. She thought now he might take her up, or reverse his hands, or any number of—
He flicked his thumbs across the tops of her breasts... once... twice... and the sensation was so very extreme, Drew cried out and arched to him. Pleasure radiated with every pass of his hands. The burning between her legs intensified and she cried out again. Her eyes flew open and she grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Ian,” she gasped, forgetting the title.
“Yes?” he asked, but he was preoccupied, not listening, watching his own thumbs with half-lidded eyes as they swiped across her breasts again.
“Ian!” she said again, if only to keep from screaming in pleasure, to keep frombegging him—for what, she couldn’t say. More. Everywhere.There.
He made a growling noise and dipped down to capture her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. And then, in a flash of white-hot pleasure that stopped her thinking altogether, he transferred his kisses to her breasts. Drew gasped, holding his head, wrapping her legs around him. He’d kept himself aloft, balancing half on one knee, but now he collapsed on top of her. Drew cinched her legs more tightly around him,entwining the two of them in a full-body embrace. His thigh was pressed against her center, and the pressure ignited an entirely new ripple of sensations, unbelievably more pleasurable than before, and she arched against him, seeking more, crying his name.
“I cannot wait, Duchess,” he hissed, rising up. He kissed her again hard. “Forgive me.”
Drew replied with a moaning noise, pressing herself against him again.
