“Sleep long and well, sister,” Deborah said, hugging Hester tightly again.
“You as well, sister,” Hester replied warmly, squeezing her tight.
“Do you require a maid?” Deborah asked, “Or could I help you get ready for bed?”
Hester let out a light laugh.
“I have grown quite accustomed to tending to myself; I shall be fine,” Hester assured her, pulling back. “However, I will keep borrowing your lovely dresses and nightgowns for a while, if that is alright. Until I am ready to visit a modiste.”
“Of course,” Deborah readily agreed, then blushed, thankful that she had decided to put the particularly revealing nightgown she had bought for Cedric in a separate place. There was still much she and Hester had to discuss- but she was not sure if they needed to discuss that particular subject just yet or even at all.
Once they let go, Hester wiggled her fingers in farewell and went into her room. For a moment, Deborah just stood there, debating whether or not to follow. She had just gotten her sister back, and the fear of losing her again so soon was still great. Yet if Hester had wanted her to come in, she would have asked. Just as Deborah had been through a tumultuous few days, so had Hester, and she wagered there was nothing wrong with her sister taking the night to herself.
Still, just because Hester was willing to spend the night alone, that did not mean Deborah was. So instead of going to her door, she went to Cedric’s. Her nerves frayed as she raised her knuckles to the door, only thinking at the last moment that she might be disturbing his sleep.
The thought dissolved quickly, however, as the door immediately swung open, giving her a delicious view of her husband, naked from waist up. She blushed, heat spiking in her veins as she greedily eyed him up. There was no denying it. Her heart had missed him, yes- but so had her body.
“Deborah,” Cedric said, his relief evident in his voice as he opened his door wider, “I am so glad you knocked.”
Deborah forced her eyes from the muscledVof his hips and back to his eyes, telling herself to breathe.
“I hope I did not wake you,” she said softly, obeying the beckoning motion he gave her to step inside.
“Not at all,” he answered quickly, quietly shutting the door behind them, “I am far too restless to sleep. Plus, I wanted to stay up in case you needed me. Do you? Need me?”
Yes.
The thought was instant as they stood facing one another.
“You must be completely overwhelmed over seeing and speaking to Hester again,” Cedric said, but she barely heard him. Her focus was centered on his lips. How they formed his words. How his deep voice sent tingles of need shooting through her fingertips and up her arms.
“Would you like to sit?” Cedric offered, waving a hand toward the settee they once kissed on. “I could pour you a drink? We could talk. About Hester. About us. Whatever you would like.”
Cedric turned, as if he was going to go to the drink cart, but Deborah caught his hand as she shook her head. He turned back to her, glanced at her around him, and then up to his eyes, his dark gaze glittering with willingness to do whatever she wished.
“We should talk,” she agreed, licking her lips as she took a step closer, “And we will. About everything.”
She reached out with her other hand and tentatively traced her fingertips between the valley of his pectoral muscles, reveling in the way those warm, hard ridges twitched and trembled beneath her touch.
“For now, though,” she whispered, their lips growing closer together, “I want you to kiss me, and I do not want you to stop until we both faint from pleasure.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“For now, though, I want you to kiss me, and I do not want you to stop until we both faint from pleasure.”
Deborah’s words had haunted his dreams. Through the many nights she had been gone, such a fantasy request had echoed over and over in his mind- as did the fear that he would never hear her say them. It brought him to an edge, one sharp as a knife, on which he was forced to balance as he worked to find Hester and bring Sylvester justice. Now, as he heard them, his mind and body rejoiced as he was finally able to fall over that edge and into the abyss he craved to be in with Deborah.
His movements were fast. Too fast, and clumsy, too, as if he had not spent years being a young Lothario and was instead an eager, inexperienced boy who was about to have his first time. He yanked her into his arms, his mouth covering hers possessively as a pent-up groan unleashed from his throat, and his hands began to shake.
If Deborah minded, though, she did not reveal it. Instead, her hands fisted into his hair and kissed him back with equal fervor; their lips smashing together and coming apart as if they were both starved. He consumed every whimper, reveled in every expanse of flesh that their bodies were pressed tightly together.
“I missed you,” he rasped, lifting her onto his hips so her ankles could cross around his back.
Deborah pulled back, her beautiful face flushed pink and her green eyes hazy with need. His breath hitched as she caressed a hand over his cheek, sending thousands of tiny jolts of pleasure through his flesh.
“I missed you, too,” she whispered, tracing lightly over the curve of his dark brow, the shell of his ear, over his cheek, and the outline of his lips; each stroke of her fingertips driving his desire higher.
His desire had reached such heights he’d never experienced before, and while it of course filled him with longing, it also filled him with something new: anxiety.