“Yes,” she answered.
He entered quickly, turning the lock behind him, before he stopped dead in his tracks, making every inch of her flush hot.
He slowly walked about her, inspecting every angle. “I am pleased you now follow my orders without prompting, wife.” He slipped her spectacles off her nose. “We wouldn’t want these damaged during our … endeavors.”
“I will remember to remove them next time.Sir,” she added softly.
He inhaled, as if about to speak, but then walked to his dresser and opened a drawer. “It is good you address me as sir in the bedroom, Lizzie, though I’d be even more gratified if you addressed me as master.”
She choked on a cough, to imagine herself as willing as that. Yet Elizabeth remained deferential. She’d not push him this night. She wished to discover how he behaved ifshebehaved.
He approached her from behind to sweep aside her braid and clasp something weighty about her neck. Though she longed to touch it, she kept her gaze down and her palms pressed into the carpet.
“This necklace belonged to my mother and is by rights now yours, Baroness. Someday, you will pass it down to our daughter.”
He wanted daughters, too, not just male heirs?
“I will give you more jewels, of course, but these will be the first our Barony holds.”
There was that need of his again, to claim all he’d been denied. It was admirable, his desire to grow a dynasty, to protect what he built.
But only jewels could be owned, not people.
Milton traced the gemstones at her neck, his touch deliberate yet light. She shivered when his finger landed between her breasts, where the heaviest stone nestled. He traced the slope between both swells, then rolled one nipple into a knot. He palmed her breast lovingly, his other hand resting at her shoulder before his knuckles slowly stroked up and down her neck, achingly soft. In all her life, Elizabeth had never felt so … worshipped.
Milton whispered, “Come to bed, wife, and let us make a family.”
She was awakened by a warm, wet pull. Something was pulling at Elizabeth’s left breast, sending sparks straight to her gut, where a fire simmered low in her belly. She was beginning to spark all over in short bursts of…
Her eyes flew open to her husband’s head at her breast, his lips enveloping an entire areola, suckling and laving as if he wished to milk her dry. “Milton!” she gasped. “What are you—?Whyare you—?” She looked down at his tousled dark hair in shock.
He released her orb only to blow across the glistening tip, sending a fresh jolt to her loins. “I can’t wait to drink my fill.” He looked up at her, propped on one elbow, his muscular, scarred chest staring her full in the face.
Elizabeth flushed only more.
“It is sweet, you know, mother’s milk.” His fingertip traced the same throbbing nipple, making her loins tense with ache. “I was allowed a taste once.” He smiled at the memory. “And I never forgot, always wanted more.” His finger slipped to her other, unattended breast. “Like liquid sugar, Lizzie. Oh, to be a babe!” He laughed. “Here in this bed, you will feed our child and feed me, your husband. I’ll stroke my heir’s soft head”—he stroked her breast—“as you stroke mine.”
Presuming those words permission, Elizabeth cautiously touched his locks, unbearably soft. How often did her husband bathe that his hair should feel so silken?
He straddled her torso to give both orbs his undivided attention while she squirmed beneath his bulk, her hands releasing his hair. She remembered his rule. “Permission to touch you more, sir, please?”
Milton’s voice purred like a contented beast. “My back, woman. That is all you may touch. Only my back.”
Elizabeth’s hands scored the length of his flesh, feeling him shudder in response.
He roughly spread her legs and impaled her with one swift thrust.
She welcomed the rough ride.
After, she lay on her side and watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, his eyes closed to the sun’s bright rays, a grin dimpling his mouth. She wanted to kiss that mouth but wasn’t sure she was allowed.
She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, too, not least of which washowhe knew how to render her … speechless.
She let her eyes traverse the litany of scars that riddled his chest since her fingertips could not. Some were superficial, but some cut very deep. One long, nasty tear went clear from rib to abdomen, as though he’d been sliced wide. She shivered to imagine it.
“Are you staring at me, wife?” Milton’s dimples deepened, though he kept his eyes closed.
“I am enjoying the view,” she boldly answered.
