“Do you have any idea what you have been doing to me this past week? You flirted with me in the most ridiculous ways, and yet, instead of wanting to laugh, I wanted to drag you into my bedchamber and have my way with you. That is absolutely not me. And yet...”
“D-did you like it?” she asked, daring to hope. Her body did not care anymore. It had its own mind, with her head falling back. Weightless as his lips trailed kisses on her throat.
That throat.
The one that her grandmama said she should show the duke. Perhaps she had been right all along.
“I suppose you can say that I both loved and hated it,” he replied, as his hands found the curve of her hips. “I knew it was a game to you, and yet I was entertained. I missed the woman who tore through her ledgers, the one with ink on her fingers. Now, I have to deal with a woman who seduces me only because she is afraid of ruin. Yet, I want any version of that woman. I want all of you.”
Tristan pulled away only to look at her with his green eyes, turning dark with desire. He reached for the pins in her hair, the ones that Lottie had carefully positioned to create the tousled curls. Then, he pulled each pin from her hair. One by one. He dropped each one on the rug. She bit her lip as she watched them fall to the floor. Soon, her hair fell down her back.
“I suppose you want to show me that you are more than just ledgers and practicality,” he whispered, as he let his hands thread through the strands of her hair. With one hand, he tilted her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Show me, then. Show me everything.”
Then, he kissed her.
The kiss was not gentle, but Cathy had never expected it to be. It was wild and hungry, just like their first kiss. This time, though, there was something more that she could not explain.
She pulled him by the neck again, grabbing the hair at his nape. She wanted him closer and closer until there was nothing between them.
Tristan was becoming just as frantic. There was an urgency that he had not shown before. His hands spanned her body from her waist to her ribs, with his thumbs rubbing the undersides of her breasts. Cathy could feel the thrumming between them as she arched into him, letting go of unholy moans she could not believe came from her lips. He was making her feel things that she could not understand, but longed to know better. It started with a sweet ache in her chest, the one that felt like a burst of joy tinged with something sharper. Longing, perhaps? The sensation moved downward quickly to the spot between her legs that was quickly getting sodden.
Tristan moved her across the room and backed her against the edge of the couch. His body was like a furnace against her.
“Cathy,” he rasped, as he seated her on the velvet.
“Your Grace?”
“Not Your Grace. Call me by my name,” he groaned, as he tugged her bodice down to expose her heaving breasts.
Cathy’s eyes widened, looking down at her own exposure. She should be ashamed, surely? But she did not feel shame, then, just a feeling of inevitability and excitement.
“T-Tristan?” Her voice trembled.
“You were right,” he replied. “How can we have an appetite for the food when there are other things to be hungry for?”
Cathy’s cheeks burned. She gasped when she felt the tip of his tongue trace paths around her nipple. He licked around the hardening bud over and over, until she whimpered and almost begged him to do something about the wetness between her thighs. Then, he sucked her nipple hard, taking it deep inside his warm mouth. Her head fell back against the couch as she let her husband feast on her breast. When he was done with one, he shifted to the other breast to give it the same lavish attention.
“Tristan...” she sobbed.
“Hush, my love,” he murmured, “lest you disturb my meal.”
As he continued licking and sucking her, his hips spread her thighs apart, and a hand went under her skirts, searching for something until he found her aching spot.
The man was relentless. He moved his mouth back to hers, nudging her lips apart with his tongue. Cathy did not know a kiss could feel like a melding of souls, as he rubbed along her seam. Her legs trembled with both surprise and pleasure. When he slipped a finger in, she stiffened.
“Do you want me to stop, Cathy?” he asked, moving his finger in and out of her.
He knew what he was doing to her, his movements slow and deliberate.Her breath hitched, but he did not give her any reprieve. He crooked his finger, touching a nerve within her that made her back arch. Her husband took it as an invitation to suckle her once more until she was writhing.
“I need... more, Tristan,” she admitted, her voice sounding ragged.
“I know you do,” he murmured, his breath so close to her skin. His thumb caressed her jaw possessively.
She did. She wanted this, and it made her a creature of pure sensation. His hand picked up the pace, and soon, she found her hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusts. She did not want him to stop, but he pulled away, and she almost screamed in protest.
“Do not be so hasty, wife. I know something you will like even more. And you are going to let me give it to you.”
Before Cathy could even process his words, Tristan gripped her by the waist and pulled her toward the edge of the couch. He hiked up her dress and parted her thighs.