e was a handsome devil, the Duke of Trent.
Not the duke any longer but Sebastian, and she really must remember that.
Her husband, she thought again. It was still so new, a fresh connection to which she’d yet to grow accustomed. How sudden and foreign her married state was to her, though not without its own allure. Having a husband who kissed the way Sebastian did was no hardship. But that she was installed in his home, laughing with him in bed, seemed a dream from which she would wake too soon, finding herself back in her chamber at the rented Belgravia home with Aunt Caroline.
It wasn’t a dream, however, for he smiled back at her now, unleashing his rakish dimple while his fingers closed over hers at the knot on her robe. “I’m glad we’re in accord.”
That was one way to describe the molten sensations rushing through her. So dry and chaste sounding, and not at all a proper means of conveying the way he made her flush hot, every part of her tingling as though jolted by an electric current. The flutter of her pulse, the ache in her womb, the frenzied way her body longed for his, all made a blatant lie of accord.
Without employing much effort, he brushed her hands aside. She didn’t protest this time, for any initial embarrassment she may have felt at being completely nude before him had been extinguished by the raw, aching need he evoked within her. She liked this side of him, the darkness she sensed within him dashed away by rare light.
The knot came undone. He stared at her intently, his grin fading, and she reached out to trace his fleeting dimple. With the pad of her index finger, she worshipped that lone groove until it was gone. His whiskers proved a shiver-inducing abrasion against her skin.
He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “Now it’s time for me to do penance for being a churl.”
She bit her lip, feeling not a hint of contrition for making light of his earlier arrogance. “At least you admit it.”
Oh how she reveled in this newfound freedom. Living in the absence of fear, no longer beneath someone else’s thumb, exhilarated her. Sebastian had helped her to achieve such liberty. The man who looked at her now as if she were a present he dearly longed to unwrap.
As if on cue, her dressing gown parted, exposing her flesh to cool air and her husband’s smoldering gaze. His hand lowered to the bare skin of her waist, sweeping slowly upward until he cupped her breast. She followed his lead, arching into him, her already hard nipple pressing into the center of his palm. He rewarded her by rolling his thumb over it in lazy circles before gently pinching and pulling.
“They do match your lips,” he murmured, flicking his gaze over her bare breasts in a manner that felt like another sort of caress.
Her cheeks went hot. Good heavens, was he talking about…
“Your nipples.” His drawl was languid. “They’re the color of wild rose blossoms just like your mouth.” As he spoke, his free hand found her other breast, visiting the same sensual torture upon it. “The loveliest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.”
The way he spoke, the way he looked upon her, a blend of reverence and raw desire, undid her. She framed his handsome face with her hands, needing to touch him as well. Something shifted inside her, and she knew she would never again be the same. Nothing would.
“Sebastian,” she said, loving his name on her tongue, one word that had come to encompass her entire world in the span of a few days.
The old Daisy would have questioned her feelings, would have been incredibly guarded with her heart and her honesty and her body. The new Daisy, however, had blossomed, and she was unafraid and bold. She was a married woman now. He was her husband, she was his, and nothing between them was wrong.
She wanted to begin again, to rise from the ashes of the woman she’d been. To believe in tender touches and gentleness. She wanted happiness and safety and even love to be within her reach. Because she deserved those things, and she always had, but she’d been too frightened to know it.
She pulled him to her, and she couldn’t care if her actions were rough or gauche. All she cared about was his mouth crashing down, warm and supple, skilled and insistent. He fitted his lips over hers, and no other kiss had felt as right as this one, in this moment, with this man. She knew instinctively that she would remember this kiss for the rest of her life.
It was the kiss that changed everything.
He seemed to sense the sudden shift as well, for his mouth pressed harder into hers, his tongue sinking inside her mouth on a rough groan she felt between her thighs. His hands left her breasts, one skimming up her throat to the base of her skull, fisting in her hair and angling her to better receive his kisses. The other traveled down her belly to her hip bone, learning every curve and shallow and dip. He touched her as no one ever had, in places no one else had seen, and with such attention and care that her heart couldn’t help but notice. His tender reverence filled her with wonder.
Farther still that wicked hand went as he fed her kisses, trailing across her mound and dipping into her folds where he found the part of her that clamored for his touch the most. That secret little nub she’d found on her own. It had been wicked of her, and she knew it, but like all iniquity, it had called her back for more. And more was what she yearned for now. How could she have imagined the bone-melting pleasure of a man’s hand replacing hers?
And this man—good, sweet heavens. He knew what she wanted, his fingers working over her in a back and forth motion, softly at first until she jerked her hips upward, seeking. The time for reticence was gone. She wanted Sebastian, wanted him in ways she couldn’t even fathom, ways that her body knew better than her mind. He understood her wordless plea, applying more pressure, and it was her turn to moan into their kiss, her tongue playing with his before slipping into his mouth for the first time.
He tasted of whisky and sin and Sebastian, and she couldn’t get enough. His fingers continued their expert play, working her into a frenzy. Her heart raced, her body humming with energy and desire. She held her breath as the first wave of release threatened to break over her, pleasure sparking from her center and burning outward until every bit of her—even her toes—tingled.
He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her throat, his breathing harsh, lips against her skin. “Yes, love. Fly for me.”
Harder, faster. She thrust her hips against his hand, helpless and mindless in her need. “Sebastian,” she bit out, and she wasn’t sure if she meant it as a plea or a curse. One word thundered through her lust-fogged mind. More.
She didn’t think. Didn’t question. The time for reserve and fear was long gone. That lone word spurred her on. More. More of him. More of anything he would do to her. Simply more.
She caught the knot of his robe and tore it open. The twin sides of the fine fabric went slack, falling open to provide a glimpse of his bare chest from the way he’d angled his body. And oh what a glimpse it was. Daisy hadn’t ever seen a bare male chest, and Sebastian’s was a sight to behold. Perfectly sculpted, slabbed with muscle, lightly dusted in hair. His nipples were dark and flat, so different from hers, and she couldn’t resist touching one.
He groaned and kissed her neck. “Curious little buttercup. You’re playing with fire.”
She traced the circle, rubbed her thumb over the tip as he’d done to her. He withdrew his hand from its task of pleasuring her and flattened her palm over his chest before guiding it lower. Down over his taut, ridged abdomen and lower still, until together they reached something long and hot and hard.
Surely it could only be his manhood, but it wasn’t at all as she’d imagined it would be. Here was a part of him that was firm like the rest of his body and yet soft as velvet. Her fingers closed over him, and he was large. Impossibly large. She was not ignorant of what passed between a man and a woman, thanks to Aunt Caroline. How would they ever fit together?
As he showed her how to touch him, moving her hand up and down, tightening her fingers over his shaft, she cast the uncertainty from her mind. For touching him, feeling his strong body jerk against hers, hips thrusting, hearing his gravelly moan, sent an answering pulse of heat and wetness flooding between her thighs.
And then his fingers were once more upon the flesh he’d so tortured, circling and playing, at first lightly and then harder. Her entire body tightened, anticipation a delicious trill up her spine. He kissed a path to her breast, closing his mouth over a nipple and sucking, nipping, licking until she thought she’d go mad. Every part of her was unbearably aware, from the way his scent engulfed her to the sensation he rung from her with his mouth and fingers. It was too much.
It was everything.
And she wanted…
“Sebastian,” she whispered his name again, almost a benediction. Lord, how she wanted. For the first time in her life, she felt alive. Felt it with such exhilaration, that wild surge of something primal and invigorating speeding through her.
He tore his mouth from her breast, breathing heavier even than before, his gaze meeting hers. “Spend for me, love.”
There was something about his command—laden with authority, knowing and dark and decadent—that sent her crashing over the edge. A burst of violent, delicious pleasure assaulted her. She cried out, fingers tightening on him reflexively, twisting her lower body into his. Tremors seized her, little bursts of dark stars flashed through her vision, and she came undone as she never had before. Shaking, heart hammering in her breast, the world swirling around her, she clutched him to her in a half-embrace.
“My God, you’re so bloody beautiful.” His fingers slipped from her pearl down across the seam of her folds, seeking. He kissed his way back up her throat, worshipping every part of her with that wonderful mouth of his. Her chin, her cheek, her jaw, the tip of her nose. “I want you so bloody much I ache with it.”
“Yes.” She stroked him the way he’d shown her, knowing that even with the release he’d already given her, she wouldn’t feel complete until he had fully joined with her. She wanted him inside her. She was hollow and aching. Needing. “I want you too.”
His tongue found the dip behind her ear, that miraculous place only he had ever discovered, and when he ran it over her skin, she nearly climaxed all over again.
“I shouldn’t,” he muttered, alternating between kisses and licks.
She didn’t know what he meant, but she was also sure she didn’t care. Her capacity for reasoning, logic, and any sort of thought that didn’t involve him and what he was doing to her, had long since fled. “Please, Sebastian.”
She wasn’t even certain what she pled for. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but him and her and the depraved passion they unleashed within each other. She didn’t want a courtship. She wanted him. The absence of fear was a thrilling, ridiculous thing. She felt so giddy that she would have laughed if he had not taken her fingers from his shaft and if he had not run his length over her wet, sensitive flesh where she wanted him most.
“Forgive me,” he said into her ear, and then the head of him, hard and thick and demanding, thrust inside her.
His entry robbed her of breath. Pain, burning and sharp, stabbed through her. Her body stiffened beneath his, a gasp tearing from her throat. She’d known there would be pain. Aunt Caroline had warned her, but it had still taken her by surprise, lost as she’d been in the heady pleasure he’d already visited upon her.
“Bloody hell,” Sebastian swore, holding himself over her and scouring her face with his concerned, dark-blue gaze. He remained still within her, rigid and hot and not at all unwanted in spite of the unfamiliar intrusion and its accompaniment of discomfort. “I’ve hurt you.”
In truth, she had been more startled than anything. Her father’s fists and boots had inflicted far more damage upon her over the years than Sebastian ever could. With this pain would come great pleasure. With the other pain had only come the fear of more, inevitable pain and suffering
“I shall survive. I’ve been hurt far worse in my lifetime.” She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, his warm breath fanning her lips. “I’m so sorry, buttercup. It will only ever pain you the first time. Let me make it better for you. Please?”
Sebastian raised his head again, searching her eyes. He trailed the gentlest of touches over her cheek. His beautiful face had softened, his expression tender, etched with concern. She would have given him anything in that moment. There was a darkness inside him that she sensed, for she had the same darkness dwelling within her. Sebastian was the first person who had ever made her want to drench the darkness in light—both his and hers. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, as strange and incomprehensible as it seemed, they had been meant to come together. Just as she couldn’t shake the feeling that he could and would make anything better for her.
He was the man who had rescued her from ruin, and she would never forget that.
“Yes,” she told him, for in truth, she wanted him still. The pulsing pain had abated. She moved beneath him tentatively, drawing him deeper, and though some lingering discomfort remained, her need for him revisited her in a great flood of sensation. “Yes, Sebastian.”
He kissed her, long and lingering, plundering her mouth as he moved. Tentatively, slowly. His fingers dipped between them, finding the nub at the center of her folds again. The burning gave way to small licks of pleasure that began at her core and radiated throughout her body. Her inner muscles adjusted, her body naturally becoming accustomed to his. He stretched and filled and claimed.
And she liked the feeling of him, potent, male, demanding. His mouth took, his kisses bruising and carnal, wild with need, open, hungry, and unashamed. He bit her lip, thrust his tongue against hers. His body gave, those wicked fingers on her knowing where to touch, how much pressure, when to increase his pace and when to slow to a torturous rhythm that left her gasping into his mouth and arching against him.
He tore his lips away, as breathless as she. “Daisy, sweet Christ, you’re going to be the death of me.” He kissed her neck again, tongued the hollow behind her ear. “Spend again for me, buttercup. Make it worth everything.”
There was an undercurrent in his words, a hint of accusation, a whole lot of fire. She didn’t know what he meant, and further examination would need to wait, for he was moving again, faster and deeper. It consumed her. He consumed her. She angled her hips against him, allowing her thighs to fall open more, bringing him even deeper. Nothing had ever been more right. He was everything, and she was everything, and the world was exploding with color and light and sound and smell, and oh dear Lord…
“Again, buttercup.” There was his voice, low and demanding, his tongue resuming its exploration of her skin as though she were a delicacy laid before him. Behind her ear, down her throat, probing against her pulse, the curve of her breast, teasing a nipple. He caught the stiff peak in his teeth, nipping, his fingers working faster over her pearl, his manhood sliding in and out with delicious friction.
She gasped. Moaned something. Perhaps it was his name. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Her breath came faster, heart galloping, entire body aflame, and she was hyperaware of every connection between his body and hers. Ready to come undone.
Bliss crashed over her, sudden and overwhelming, like the sea in the grip of a hurricane. It was fierce, magnificent. Nature at her most violent and passionate. Daisy shook, crying out, gripping his broad shoulders, sinking her nails into him, straining upward, seeking more as pleasure burst within her.
He gave her what she wanted, sliding home deep and quick, moving in long, pleasurable thrusts that had her tightening around him even more. And then, his large body went utterly stiff as he drove himself into her again, a curse slipping from his lips before his mouth came down on hers once more. A new sensation, hot and wet, blossomed inside her.
He rocked into her a few more times, prolonging the moment and the pleasure both, before breaking the kiss to stare down at her. “Damn it.”
And then he withdrew from her body, rolled away, and left the bed.
“Sebastian,” she protested, feeling the loss of his touch—the loss of him—like an ache.
He stalked away from her, his dressing gown billowing behind him like a dark, angry cloud. She realized belatedly that neither of them had entirely removed their robes. As he opened the door joining their chambers, she flipped the ends of hers back over her, covering her nudity.
How foolish, an attempt to preserve her modesty after sharing her entire body with him. After he had known her and pleasured her so intimately. But as she watched him leave, she was acutely aware that, husband or no, he remained very much a stranger to her, and she was beginning to fear that it wasn’t just her body he had claimed.
The thought left her more chilled than the cool night air and the London damp combined. Indeed, it chilled her straight to the marrow.