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He lowered his lips to the soft flesh behind her ear and kissed her there. Not stopping at one kiss, Graeme ran a trail of them down her neck and toward the front of her gown. He scooped her up into his arms, stood, and carried her toward the bed.

Rather than lay her down, he lowered her to her feet and spun her around.

“I’ve often wondered why a lady’s gown should be laced at the back when she clearly cannot reach there.”

He watched her shoulders rise and fall as he unlaced the ties, her breathing becoming heavier.

“What do they call this?” Finished with his task, Graeme reached around and ran his hand from her shoulders down the front of her gown, just barely brushing her breasts.

“Embossed cloth,” she whispered.

He continued to allow his hands to wander, feeling the raised gold fabric beneath his fingers, less interested in the material than he was in the woman beneath it. He stepped toward her, so close they were touching, and reached for the linked gold circles around her waist, the belt clasp the final maddening barrier before he could rid her of the surcoat.

While he unfastened the belt, Graeme whispered, “And why do they make these so very difficult to remove?” He kissed her ear as the clasp finally came undone.

“I do believe,” she said, her heart hammering below the hand he’d splayed across her chest, “’tis not meant to be unfastened from behind.”

When the surcoat dropped to the floor beneath them, Graeme gave his attention to the plum-colored kirtle beneath it.

“Such fine fabric.” He ran his hands along her arms and toward the front before bending down to grab the hem of the kirtle.

In one swift motion, he’d pulled both the kirtle and the cotton shift beneath it up and over her head, tossing them aside. Gillian began to turn, but he stopped her, removing his own shirt and trewes as quickly as his hands would allow.

Why did his heart hammer as if he were an untried lad? It was as if she were a queen in truth. As if she were an unobtainable beauty and not his wife, whom he’d enjoyed hours before.

His cock stood at full attention, begging for relief, but he was determined to wait. To hold out for her pleasure. To give her every pleasure she deserved in the bedchamber.

“Graeme?”

He’d been about to move his hands, but at the sound of her voice, they stayed in place instead. “Aye?”

“What are you doing?” She began to turn, and he stopped her once again.

“Seducing you, my queen.”

Her head still turned, the adorable pert nose that he suddenly had the desire to kiss scrunched up. He watched her expression turn from confusion to understanding to . . . that was what he waited for.

Graeme moved closer, pulling his wife toward him. Encouraged by her gasp, and trying to ignore the feel of her buttocks against him, he reached around to tease her taut nipples.

“I need to know,” he murmured against her neck, “what you enjoy.”

Kissing her, Graeme lowered his hands until he found the curls that guarded her most precious treasure.

“Tell me,” he said, slipping a finger inside, not surprised by the slick wetness there.

“All of it,” she breathed out.

He moved his fingers at an increasingly fast tempo that soon had her panting. Not good enough. He wanted her out of control. Wild for him. With his free hand, he caressed her breast, his chest and manhood pressing against her from behind.

“That,” she whispered.

“’Tis a climax you seek,” he said, “and I will give you one. In the future, you can simply ask. For my touch, for release, for anything you want. In here, I am yours.”

To prove it, Graeme brought her to the very edge.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I—”