Tonight, his darling wife had her cannons loaded.
And they were pointed straight at him.
“What is it that you want, Lavinia?”
“You, Nicholas. I wantyou.”
His brandy froze halfway to his mouth. Surely he’d misheard her. But the way she was staring at him, the sheerheatin those magnificent gray irises, told him that he hadn’t. Finishing his drink in a quick swill of liquid courage, he slammed the glass down with more strength than necessary and it cracked up the side, little splinters branching off in every direction. “I don’t understand.”
Her plump lips curled in a derisive sneer. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because you don’t understand anything if it’s not in a neat, tidy row of numbers. And I’m not a number, am I, Nicholas? Or a ledger. Or a bloodycontract.”
“Of course not,” he said, confused. “Why–”
“Maybe if I were those things, you’d look at me long enough to notice me.” What remained of her coiffure came undone as she threw back her head, sending a cascade of coffee-colored locks tumbling across her shoulders. “I’m not happy, Nicholas.”
Obviously.
“I want us to be like we were,” she continued, stepping further into the room. She closed the door behind her. Not with a slam, but with a quiet, deliberateclick,and that sound–the finality of it–made his bollocks tighten.
His voice was noticeably hoarse when he said, “What does that mean, Lavinia?”
Dark lashes skimmed across the top of her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. “Don’t you know?”
Yes, he did.
Hethoughthe did.
She wanted them back to Bath, where they’d made love too many times to count. On the bed. Against the wall. In the tub. Where intimacy was as natural as breathing and they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. Where he’d caressed her breasts and she’d grazed her nails across his abdomen. Where he’d licked the sweet nectar between her thighs and she’d run her tongue along his cock.
“Turn around,” he demanded, and when she complied he went behind her and made rapid work of the pearl buttons that lined her spine. When the last snagged on a piece of thread he cursed under his breath and tore it loose, the thin fabric rending easily and revealing her long, slender backside to his ravenous gaze.
When was the last time he’d seen her dressed in nothing more than the flimsy silk of her undergarments? When was the last time he’d peeled those undergarments away? First with his hands and then with his teeth, his impatience growing with every second that passed and she remained partially clothed.
There was anger still simmering there. He felt it as surely as he tasted the wine on her lips when he spun her around and kissed her hard and fast, then slow and deep, fingers sinking into all that heavy, voluminous mane. But under the anger was passion. Hot, wild, frantic passion that spread across their skin like the burning of an open flame when his tongue coaxed a moan from the depths of her throat.
Their momentum carried them to the desk that dominated the room, scattering his carefully organized papers to the wind as he lifted her onto the edge and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. She yanked at his cravat, half-strangling him in her attempt to divest him of his clothing. He sucked in a greedy mouthful of air when she managed to rip the thin ribbon of fabric free of his neck, only to expel it on a hiss when her thighs tightened, drawing his loins into her soft, moist center.
Never in all his life had Nicholas taken his trousers off as quickly as he did in that moment. Had he shears at his disposal, he would have cut them to rags. As he just had his hands, the best he could manage was pulling, and tugging, and then kicking the offending garment to the side.
Pants?
Who the devil needed pants when you had a glorious mermaid sitting naked on your desk? For in the flicker of torchlight, with her tumultuous curls unbound and her eyes heavy with lust, Lavinialookedlike a water nymph sprung from the mysterious pools of Atlantis. That being said, Nicholas far preferred his wife to have legs…and a silky wet quim that clenched around his finger when he gently eased inside of her.
A pot of ink rolled along the flat surface of the desk and then fell to the ground with a splatter of black dots when he toyed with the curls between her thighs and she leaned back, shamelessly parting herself for him whilst he petted and stroked her pink, plump flesh.
Aside from their initial wedding night, Lavinia had always been a creature of desire. Those first few months had been spent in all manner of positions and Nicholas had taken dark, secret pleasure in the fact that his wife, so properly composed out of bed, was an absolute harlot when she was in it.
When had they stopped?
Whyhad they stopped?
A few days hadn’t seemed like that many. Until those days had turned into weeks. And what was three months when two had already gone by? He’d had his hand for when the need arose and couldn’t be ignored. A hand that hadn’t required emotion. Or asked questions. Or filled him with guilt. But now that he had Lavinia sprawled in front of him, her head lolled to the side and her magnificent breasts thrust into the air, he was forced to acknowledge that his hand was a pitiful substitute for the real thing.
He kissed her again, his tongue plunging in unison with the fingers he had positioned to slide in and out of her. She lifted her hips off the desk, thrusting herself in the heel of his palm as a whimper stole from her lips, revealing that she was already close.
The storm grew, invisible snow lashing at the windowpanes of the study while the fire within it erupted into a blazing inferno. On a growl, Nicholas grabbed Lavinia by her waist and turned her around, fingers digging painlessly into the curve of her hipbones as his cock, already damp with seed, nudged at the hot, slick seam in the middle of her legs.
Casting her head to the side, Lavinia braced herself on her left hand while she reached behind her and wrapped the right around his pulsing member, summoning a groan of sheer bliss. She guided him into her, her thumb and index finger wrapped firmly around the base of his cock as her bottom went back, allowing him to slide a few scant inches into her tight little sheath before she arched forward, permitting only the tip. Back and forth she went, using his staff as a toy. A plaything for her own personal pleasure while Nicholas’s ardor grew to a fever pitch.
