Chapter 57
Elsedora
Make it good?
I’d kiss him senseless.
Since waking at dawn, all I’d wanted was to kiss him. After my foolish, flighty show the night prior, I’d thought I’d lost that chance.
I could make this wanting side of him my permanent residence and happily live under his hungry gaze and feel the weight of him against me for eternity.
He closed the distance between our lips, and I dug my fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth hard to mine. We should have done this hundreds of times by now.
His hand wrapped around my neck, and his thumb brushed my pulse point before tilting my chin up to deepen our connection. Our tongues collided with exploratory eagerness, and heat gathered in my core.
My thigh climbed up onto his hip as I sought more friction. I wanted to tear the pesky, unnecessary clothing away and have him here on the kitchen floor. He lifted me against the wall, allowing me to wrap my legs around him.
Unable to repress a moan, I ran my nails down the hard planes of his muscular back. Touching him indulged my senses and left me needing more.
We’d kissed once already. But this was an admittance of so much that I’d denied myself. I gave everything to him, diving headfirst into waters I’d never treaded.
When he dug his fingers into my hair and pulled away from my wanting lips, I whimpered defiantly.
“Again,” I demanded.
He had the nerve to smirk and shake his head. “You owe me baked goods.”
I huffed. “That’s archaic.”
“You enjoy letting me cook for you. I want the same treatment—it’s my birthday, after all.”
I laughed and tried to tug him to me again, but he braced. Damn his strength.
“Admit it—you love watching me in this kitchen. You love being with me here,” he said.
I licked my lips, still clinging to him, not willing to back down yet. “Pet, I love watching you all the time and being with you anywhere. It’s a terrible affliction.”
He eased me down onto my feet. I wouldn’t stoop to pouting, but I would resort to petty actions to get what I wanted. I undid a button on my tunic, and his brows rose as he stepped back toward the butcher block.
“You can cook naked if you’d like, wildflower. I’m still not kissing you again until this shortbread is out of the oven. I may be ravenous, but it’s your turn to wait.”
Sources.
This man.
Kneeling, he cleaned up the mess I’d made; I undid another button for good measure. He looked winded as he moved around the space, preparing a new baking tin and collecting what we needed. He didn’t have to open the blue book.
“What happens the next time you kiss me?” I instigated, letting the shoulder of my tunic drop. He watched me, biting his lower lip. “I can play domesticated and bake for you. But I need a compelling incentive.”
His nostrils flared ever so slightly as I rounded the butcher block.
I’d win this game.
His self-control would break.
I stepped into his space and trailed a finger from the soft spot below his ear to the apple of his throat.
Abruptly, he grabbed my wrist and spun me to face the butcher block, stepping up behind me. I huffed in surprise when he leaned against my back and said, “You’ll just have to see. Maybe I’ll have you right here.”
One of his boots kicked my legs apart to place a knee between my thighs. My hands flattened on the flour-coated counter.
I gasped and threw my head back into him as he trailed his lips up my neck.
“But more likely, I’ll carry you up to that soft bed of yours. Because I want to take my time with you.”
I’d never survive hours of baking when he kept talking like that. I couldn’t help but grind down on his knee with an arched back.
I breathed out, “Fine. Domestication suddenly appeals to me.”
The world melted away.
Nothing beyond him, beyond this moment, mattered. I’d gone so long denying myself the hope of his love.
“I’ve kissed you twice now before properly courting you. And I plan to do so much more,” he said. “It’s not very gentlemanly. We’ll need to fix that. Later.”
Three times. I didn’t correct him.
I shook my head and tried to turn toward him to object. He planted his palms atop mine on the counter, pinning them there, and lifted his knee higher. Could I come undone just like this? My hips rolled as I chased release.
Just as the tension in my core grew to a peak, he removed his knee.
“You don’t need to court me,” I panted out. “What more can one know about another?”
He took my hands in his and forced me to measure the flour. “There is still so much I’m eager to learn about you. But right now, consider this courting. We’re doing an activity that I love together.”
I sighed, accepting my fate. I’d bake the damn cookies, but I’d grind my ass against him the whole time for putting me through such torture.
A low growl left the back of his throat, a huff of air hit the top of my head, and his length hardened against me. “That’s mean,” he mumbled.
When he reached around me to cut a plum and start the jam, it made my knees weak. He sliced the fruit, twisted and parted it. When he stuck his finger into the ripened flesh to pluck the pit out, my mouth felt dry, my arm hairs stood on end, and I did not fight the urge to lean into him.
He had to know what he was doing to me, yet he carried on, encasing me in his muscular arms and the scent of the rosemary soap he liked. I had no escape.
Then a faint laugh rumbled in his chest before he said, “Do you still dislike cooking?”
“No.” It was all I felt capable of saying.
“Why are you so stiff, Elsedora?” he teased.
“Because if you pit another stone fruit in front of me, I am going to use all the wind within me to blow your clothes off and have you right here on this work table.”
He chuckled again. “Not until we’re done. We still have to knead the dough.”
I groaned.
My heart rate increased as he set the fruit aside. His fingers threaded through mine, guiding me to knead the pastry dough. Every touch, an overload to my senses.
“What now?” My impatience mounted.
“Now we let them proof before adding the fruit, and then we’ll bake them.”
I might drown in my lust by the time we finished baking. “How long?” I demanded.
“An hour or so.” His deep voice sounded so casual that I nearly collapsed against the counter.
Finally, I did what I had wanted the whole time. I spun to face him. He rested his palms on either side of my hips. All it would take was a few inches and his lips would be mine again. I’d never felt possessive before—never thought myself capable of it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“That I don’t want to let you go. Ever. And about how much I want you.”
He braced there; the intensity of his stare grew. It made me want to squirm out of the room. Maybe I’d miscalculated what he wanted. My flight instinct threatened to take over.
With a deep breath, he said, “Go wash up.”
Fuck.
I’d ruined it.
“Alright,” I answered with bated breath.
“Quickly. Now.” He ushered me over to the sink and pumped the spigot. We washed our hands with the bar of soap, and he wet a rag to gently wipe away the flour from my face and hair.
Reeling as we dried our hands, I said, “I shouldn’t have said—”
He interrupted me by bending down, grabbing me around the waist, and hoisting me over his shoulder. I squeaked in surprise and dropped the rag.
“Emmerick? What are you doing?”
“You win,” he huffed. “I can’t wait an hour for those to proof.”
I laughed, clinging to him as he carried me out of the room and up the stairs.
I faced him as he set me down at the threshold of my bedchamber. Our breath mingled, quickening.
As soon as the turn of the knob creaked, I pulled the front of his tunic hard, catching his lower lip between my teeth.
He groaned into my mouth and lifted the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head as we stumbled into my room.
I swallowed the decadence of his desire; it fed me everything I’d longed to find in a lover for so long.
What bloomed between us had not been rooted in a tryst or petty seduction—it felt more solidly planted, more intimate.
We broke only to catch our breath, but the freedom to touch one another was too new to avoid barreling ahead, and my fingers found the buttons of his breeches as he pulled his tunic off.
I’d savor him later.
I pushed his bare, chiseled chest until the backs of his knees buckled against my bedframe. Half undressed, with his forearms flexed, his palms splayed down on my sheets, and his hair a mess, he looked too divine for my own good.
My nipples pebbled through the thin silk of my brasier. He noticed and bit his lower lip before he said, “Why were you so insistent on me taking other women to bed when all I want is this?”
His abdomen curled up, and he wrapped calloused hands around the small of my waist before placing a kiss between my breasts. His touch outmatched my expectations.
“I thought it would be easier if I saw you with another on your arm,” I admitted. “Easier to move on.”
He hummed as his stubble scratched down my stomach; it sent goose bumps along my spine. “Was it? And have you?” he asked, digging his fingers into my hips the way I’d daydreamed about since that first morning. He pulled me closer to him between his open knees.
“No, I hated every moment of it,” I admitted.
“Are you still planning an escape route, Elsedora? Still wanting to push me to another?” The smoldering stare that met mine through his dark lashes made my core tighten.
“I’m afraid you had your chance for others, my King. You’re mine now, and I plan to ruin you for anyone else.”
With a smile, he tugged my hips, toppling me forward. As I fell to straddle him, his hands found the clasp of my brasier, quickly discarding it.
“I’ve wanted to hear that for so fucking long. Wanted you just like this so many times.” His palm cupped my breast.
My skirt bunched as I rocked my hips, eliciting a delicious, unsatiated groan from him as he searched my expression.