Page 68 of Sinful Bride

We haven’t danced together since our wedding. He’s touched me since then, but it’s always been antagonistic, him tempting me while I try to resist, a battle of wills. That’s not what’s happening now. He pulls me close as we start to dance, my many lessons about tempo helping me figure it out despite the unusual music, and it’s not about fighting each other. It’s just about having fun.

I realize I'm relaxed for the first time in... I don't know how long. Possibly my whole life.

"You're good at this," I say, looking up at him. He looks handsome in the glow of the diner’s lights, the stubble on his jaw a little darker now, all that rugged strength evident as he moves with me.

Declan’s mouth twitches as if he’s surprised at the compliment. "So are you."

"I've had lessons."

"This isn't about lessons." His voice is low as he leans in close to my ear. "This is just... moving. Feeling the music."

I close my eyes and let myself feel the rhythm and the warmth of his body against mine. The alcohol humming through my veins. When was the last time I felt like this? When was the last time I did something just because I wanted to, not because it was expected or required?

I can't remember. I might not ever have, now that I think about it. I’ve never rebelled. I’ve never done things for myself instead of for someone else.

The song ends, and another begins, faster this time. Declan spins me, and I laugh, the sound surprising me. He grins, and for a moment he looks younger and less burdened.

We dance through two more songs. My feet hurt in my heels, and my gown is completely inappropriate for this, but I don't care. I'm breathless and warm, and I feel more alive than I ever have before. Finally, we return to the booth. I slide in, my heart racing and my cheeks flushed.

"That was..." I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"Fun?" Declan suggests.

"Yes." I take a long drink of a beer Rosie left for us. "Fun."

He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read, but makes my stomach flutter. He looks like he doesn’t understand me, but like he suddenly very much wants to figure me out. I look away, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze and the way my body is responding to him. The realization that I enjoyed being in his arms.

This isn't supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to enjoy his company or want to be near him.

We stay at the diner for another hour, just chatting as we drink, about places Declan has traveled and places we both want to go, things we enjoy doing in our spare time. It feels like what I imagine a date is supposed to be, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

When we finally leave, Rosie hugs Declan and then, to my surprise, hugs me too. "You come back anytime, sweetheart. You're family now."

The word sounds strange. Family, to me, doesn’t mean hugs and warmth and comfort. It means duty and obligation and doing unpleasant things because they’re expected, even if you don’t want to.

The car is waiting outside when we walk out, me a little wobbly in my heels now. Declan opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat. He follows, and the driver pulls away from the curb. The partition between the driver and us is up. We're alone in the dim interior, the city lights sliding past the windows.

I should be putting all of what just happened behind me. It was a gesture, a means of mollifying my husband because I need to manage this marriage if I’m going to keep from being dragged down with him. But instead, I’m thinking about how close Declan is. I can smell his cologne and the warmth of his skin, and his hand is resting on the seat between us, close enough to touch.

“I…” I turn toward him, unsure of what I’m about to say, but I go very still when I see that he’s looking at me already. His gaze is hungry, and I feel answering heat flood through me.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in and kiss him.

His stubble is scratchy against my smooth skin. I feel him go still this time, startled. I’ve never made a move on him before, never initiated us touching. I can feel how startled he is, and then, immediately on the heels of that, the vibration of intense desire rippling in the air between us.

And then, suddenly, he’s kissing me back. His mouth is on mine, hot and demanding, and I'm kissing him harder without thinking, without hesitation. My hands find his shoulders, his hair, pulling him closer. I suddenly can’t get enough of his mouth.

His hand slides up my thigh, pushing the silk of my gown higher. I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides against mine, and heat floods through me.

I don't want to stop.

His fingers find the edge of my panties, and I arch into his touch. He groans, the sound vibrating through me. "Elena." My name is rough on his lips, a question and a plea both. He sounds like he’s dying to keep going.

"Don't stop," I whisper.

He doesn't. His fingers slip under the lace, and he groans against my mouth when he feels how wet I am. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he strokes my clit, slow and deliberate, with just his fingertip. He’s teasing me, I can tell, but I’m wound so tight I think I could come if he just keeps going a little longer.

My hand moves to his belt, and I fumble with the buckle, my fingers clumsy. He helps me, groaning again with anticipation. I slide my hand around his cock and get it free of his boxers for the second time in our marriage, but this time, I’m doing it entirely because I want to. He’s hot and hard and straining in my hand, and his hips buck up immediately, his breath gasping against my mouth. I run my thumb over the tip, feeling his arousal leak against it, and he groans, his fingers slipping into me. I clench around him instantly, and I feel his cock throb.