Chapter 9 #2
“Let me finish.” She held his gaze. “I won't apologize for Kit.
I won't apologize for the shelter or for wanting a life that's bigger than what society deems acceptable.
But I'm sorry I didn't trust you with the truth.
I made the choice for you instead of giving you the chance to hear it from me. And that wasn't fair.”
The carriage rocked. Wesley sat very still, his eyes on hers.
“I don't want a wife who blindly agrees with me and does as she's told. I want you. And if the title doesn't fit around that, then the title and the whole of the ton can hang.”
“I love you, Wes.” She uncrossed her arms. “But if you ever tell me what you will and won't allow again, I will make you regret it. Duke or not.”
His mouth tipped at one corner—that half-smile she'd been in love with since they were kids climbing trees. “That's fair.”
She gave him a fake pout. “Aren’t you going to kiss me now?”
He was across the carriage before she'd finished the question. His mouth found hers and she tasted the whiskey on his breath. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and his hands gripped her waist through the men’s coat she wore.
“I've been going mad with the way we left things,” he said against her lips.
“Good.” She bit his lower lip and felt him groan. “You deserved every miserable second.”
“I know.” He kissed her jaw, then her throat, his breath hot against her skin. “I know I did.”
His hand slid inside the men’s coat and found the waistcoat beneath, fingers working the buttons with an urgency that made her pulse race.
She shrugged the coat off her shoulders, and he pushed the waistcoat open and pressed his palm flat against her chest. The binding was still there, flattening her curves beneath the linen shirt, and his fingers traced the edge of it.
“How do I—” He tugged at the wrapping and she laughed, the first real laugh in days.
“There's a pin at the side.”
He found it, fumbling in the dim light, and unwound the binding with a care that made her chest ache for reasons that had nothing to do with the snug linen.
When her breasts were free beneath the shirt, he cupped one in his hand and ran his thumb across her nipple through the thin fabric.
She arched into his touch and bit back a sound.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured against her throat. “I’ll show you how sorry I am.”
“Then get on your knees.”
His eyes darkened. In the close quarters of the carriage, he sank to the floor between her legs. The sight of the Duke of Greystone kneeling before her in a hired hackney, while she wore breeches, was a moment she intended to remember for the rest of her life.
His hands went to the fastening and he paused, looking up at her with an expression caught between desire and bewilderment. “I've never removed breeches from a woman.”
She laughed as his fingers found the buttons and worked them open, and when he tugged the pants down past her hips, his breath caught. She wore nothing beneath them.
“Christ, Thea.” His voice was rough, and his hands gripped her bare thighs.
His mouth was already pressing against her inner thigh, and every nerve in her body was focused on the path he was tracing toward her center.
He didn't tease. He buried his mouth between her legs, and she gripped the edge of the seat, her head falling back against the wall of the carriage. His tongue was hot and deliberate, stroking her in long, slow passes before circling the place that made her hips jerk against him.
“Wesley—” His name came out broken. She fisted her hand in his hair and held him there. He groaned against her, the vibration sending a wave of heat through her entire body.
He slid two fingers inside her while his tongue worked, and she couldn't keep quiet. The carriage was rocking from the road while her body moved against his mouth, and she didn't care if the driver heard. She didn't care about anything except the man between her legs who was driving her wild.
“Look at me,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak, his fingers still curving inside her. “I want to see your face when you come.”
She looked down at him. His lips were wet, his eyes were dark, and he was watching her while his tongue circled her bud. Her Wes, on his knees for her.
“Wesley—” His name was the only word she could manage, and he sucked the sensitive flesh before his tongue flattened against her.
His fingers thrust deeper, and the pleasure wound tighter until she couldn't hold it.
She came with his name on her lips, her body shaking, her fingers gripping the seat.
He didn't stop until the last tremor had passed through her and she had pulled him up by his hair, because she couldn't bear the distance.
He climbed back onto the seat beside her and she kissed him, tasting herself on his mouth, pulling the breeches back over her hips. She reached her hand over and found the hard length of him straining against his breeches.
“Your turn,” she teased, rubbing him through the fabric.
He caught her wrist, his breath ragged. “We’re almost there, and I want to take my time with you.”
“Much like you took your time making me yours,” she murmured against his mouth.
“I already said I was a fool.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Marry me tomorrow.”
“What of our mothers? There’s no way they will go along with that.”
“Am I a duke or not? I’m getting a special license, and I’m marrying you tomorrow, or I’m taking you to Gretna Green. You choose which.”
“There’s my Wes.” She cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Get the license, Your Grace.”
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Consider it done.”
The carriage rocked through the dark streets, and Thea leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. Wesley's arm came around her, and his thumb traced circles on her hip through the fabric.
This time tomorrow she’d be in bed with the love of her life. And nothing in the world had ever been more right.