Chapter Ten #2
She’d neither anticipated nor prepared for the surge of desire. Now, if he did not touch her there soon, she thought she might thrash.
As she studied him shyly, a slight smile graced her lips.
“You can touch me,” she repeated his earlier invitation. “If you want.”
“Oh?” The sound he made was part groaning want, part laugh. “Oh, yes, I want.”
She heard the slight rumble beneath his breath and understood the implication. His desire laid bare. She sympathized. The same, torturous need driving him drove her. Earlier, she’d thought she’d gone mad. If she had, two were now locked in the same asylum, and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
She’d expected—no, desperately wanted—him to touch her breasts.
Instead, he loosened the already askew ribbon securing the bottom of her braid. Taking great care, he slowly unbound her hair. When he got to the nape of her neck, he bid her to sit up so he could finish. When he was done, her locks lay wildly about her shoulders.
She never had left her hair like this, not in front of anyone but her mother, sisters, or maid.
His gaze softened and he sighed deeply, as if the sight of her with her hair undone was something he’d desperately needed. Maybe, one day, she would ask him if he wanted to brush her hair before she made the braid.
“Cassandra?”
“Yes?” She couldn’t imagine what he’d ask. Every possibility left her breathless.
“Would you take off your night rail?”
“It’s pretty,” she said stupidly. She’d embroidered the edges herself.
“So are you.”
She blushed, but she held his gaze.
“Please?” He sent her his heart-tumbling smile. “For me?”
Was there a limit to what she’d give him? Right now, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she was hot and achy and wanting desperately to know, well, not what came next…she remembered penetration well enough from the other night.
So, what did she want to know?
She wanted to know the answer to the secret, forbidden promise building in her blood.
He knew, she was sure.
And, if she had to be naked to find out, too, so be it.
She drew her legs in close and shimmied the garment up and over her body. She hadn’t even gotten the thing over her head when he groaned again. She tossed the rail to the side and then lifted her mass of hair over one shoulder.
“Just let me look at you.” He reached out and fingered a lock of her hair. “Looking at you makes me happy.”
She lowered her eyes, all too conscious of the imperfections no one else had ever seen.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
Her answer would depend on what he meant by mind. Cold air wafted over her breasts and her thighs, but a feverish heat was flaming up the side of her neck. A blush, she supposed. A blush—she glanced at her upper arm—making her splotchy all over.
“Not really…but only because you seem pleased.”
He hummed in assent. “More than pleased.”
Mad man. But wasn’t one supposed to humor a person showing signs of losing their mind? Gradually, she relaxed. She tucked her legs to the side, and slowly lowered herself back down, resting on an outstretched arm.
“Venus would be jealous,” he murmured.
Still, she rewarded his praise with what she hoped was a tempting, alluring smile.
He shifted his position. If she reached out, she could touch the part of him about which she was most curious. The part she hadn’t been able to acknowledge, even after…
Well, especially after.
“Would you like me to take off my nightshirt?”
Her gaze flew back to his face. She wasn’t sure she did. But neither would she say no with his brows lifted in such a hopeful fashion.
Slowly, uncertainly, she nodded.
If he noticed hesitation, he didn’t let her reluctance influence his speed. Before she could avert her gaze, his nightshirt was fluttering to the floor, and he was kneeling in front of her in all his Grecian-statue glory.
He was…different from her, to say the least.
“Too much?” he asked.
Her mouth quirked. “A little.”
“Then”—he rose to his knees and lifted her back into his arms—“let us concentrate not on sight but on touch.”
One more bone-melting, twisting kiss and she found herself back in the position they’d been. His weight, all his delicious weight, pressed her down into the mattress.
She turned her face into his shoulder, attempting to avoid another startling look at his manhood. She expected him to proceed directly to the bedding, just as he had before. Instead, his soothing strokes migrated upward to her breasts.
“May I?”
Though his gaze was fixed on her nipples, she wasn’t sure why he was asking permission until he dipped his head. When his mouth closed around the peak, she stiffened in shock. Then, as his tongue swirled, she sighed.
Trusting him to be her guide, she gave up the last of her resistance.
He sucked gently, then more insistently.
When she couldn’t take anymore, he transferred his attention to the other nipple and began the process anew.
She relaxed enough for her hands to wander.
They found their way back into the soft curls just above base of his skull.
Gradually, however, the need building between her legs became so acute, she stiffened.
By the time his hands drifted lower, she was near out of her mind with want. So out of her mind, she didn’t protest at all when he put his hand between her thighs. She expected the contact to be brief—the same brief “check” he’d done before.
If she’d been “ready” on their wedding night, she was certainly ready now.
Instead, his hand lingered, hovering just above her folds while he moved his fingers in ways that left her legs shivering.
She hovered beyond control, in a state of pure sensation, until something inside her cracked, drawing from her a guttural moan.
Behind her closed eyes, a blinding light ushered in a feeling of unfathomable closeness, complete connection.
His breath heated her neck as he positioned himself above her. She clung to him as he entered her. She felt no pain, only fullness, and she moved to meet each of his thrusts. Stars lingered beneath her lids, and then her body trembled with yet another, deeper release.
Soon, he was shuddering too. Shuddering and calling her name.
“Cassie,” he said.
Not Cassandra. Not Duchess. But Cassie.
A name only used by those she loved and who loved her in return. Even as her heartbeat quieted, her emotions continued to mount.
Mindless of his damp hair and the sweat dotting his brow, she clutched him against her breast and softly kissed his crown.
Everything could work. Everything could, in fact, turn out far better than her wildest, most ardent dream.
One day, he might even confess his love.
One day, he might tell her Viv no longer mattered to him.
One day he might confess he’d been a fool to mistake youthful love for what he had with Cassie, for what, together, they could build.
Once he did, only then would she be able to fully unburden her heart.
Only then could she tell him how much she loved him, how much she loved him now, and how much she would love him for the rest of her days.