Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(54)

He wanted it to be perfect. And it was.

“Rose?”

Turning towards him, the new duchess smiled, igniting the passion Stefan had been carefully keeping at bay for the past few days. “I was wrong.”

Stefan laughed, unable to help the jolly sound resounding from his belly. “Oh, those words sound so beautiful from your lips m’dear. Care to explain?” His hands fell to her soft skin on their own accord as he brought her lips closer to his own.

Rosalind leaned in and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Oh madness, take him now! He was so on fire for her; surely his body would burn up before he was able to take her the way he wanted.

“You,” she said again drawing his attention back to conversation. “Are able to be romantic.”

“Yes well,” Stefan stuttered unable to focus on anything but her lips. “I did write a sonnet just in case the roses didn’t work.”

“Oh, did you now?” Rosalind laughed.

“Yes, and I must admit I had Samson waiting in the back tied to a tree in case you needed more convincing. He can, at times, be very persuasive.”

“Not unlike his master.” Rosalind’s eyes glanced at his lips and back into his eyes.

“Not at all like his master, Rosalind. Not at all…” His lips crushed hers forcefully and with a hunger he’d never experienced until that very night. With a growl, he had her in his arms pressed against the same door they had just entered.





Chapter Twenty-one


Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey—Lord Byron



Rosalind couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so many emotions at once. As Stefan’s body pressed tighter against her, his arousal and passion evident. She could do nothing to stop the surge of joy that escaped her lips, nor the brazen ideas her body had.

Her mind told her she was doing this for the curse, that she merely needed to consummate the marriage and be done with the whole ordeal.

Her heart, however, was having a hard time believing that sounded logic. It cried out for Stefan’s heart and soul in a way more dangerous than she ever thought possible. For she knew the moment this fairy tale was over, the ending would be nothing but heartache. For every happy ending in existence spoke of love—not curses.

Soft yet powerful lips nibbled her neck. Strong masculine hands tangled in her hair. Dizzy with excitement, she didn’t even realize Stefan had stopped kissing her until the warmth of his body left her.

Opening her eyes, she scanned the room. He was on the other side pouring a glass of wine.

“I promised I would woo you, and I will if it nearly kills me.” Stefan said.

“But,” Rosalind looked around the room. “We’re already married, the wooing is done.” She fought to keep her mind from focusing on such a tragic thought.

With a laugh, Stefan brought the cup to his lips, but did not drink, instead he placed his goblet next to the bed. “I have much to teach you, my dear. For the wooing has just begun. I pity the man that believes a courtship must die with marriage.”

Chills ran up and down Rosalind’s body as her shaky hand reached out to grab the wine he held out for her. “So tonight…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Tonight,” Stefan raised his glass in a toast. “Is just the beginning.”

Forgoing her wine, Rosalind reached out and skimmed her fingers lightly over Stefan’s broad chest. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he hastily threw the wine glass to the floor, shattering it before his arms reached out and grabbed Rosalind by the elbows, pulling her into his frame. Trapped by his embrace, Rosalind was unable to move away as he closed his eyes.

His breath fanned across her lips as he leaned down and merely breathed in her scent. Allowed his lips to roam down her neck, no kissing, no nibbling, almost as if he wanted his mouth to memorize the way her skin felt merely pressed against them.

Stefan’s warm hands slowly moved from her elbows up to her shoulders and slowly, delicately pulled down the loose sleeved dress, causing her shoulders to be bare. A chill ran up and down her spine as she watched in fascination as Stefan’s hands continued their torturous exploration and caress of her smooth skin. The temptation to moan was so extreme, she didn’t know if she could stay silent. Yet, the man was only touching her. Nothing more; nothing less. The very thought that he had so much control and power over her left her feeling vulnerable. Deciding to take things into her own hands, she smoothly put her hands across his and slid them up his arms noticing his muscles flex beneath the curve of her fingers. Fear numbed her fingers making it difficult for her to do much else but touch him.

His wicked smile widened. “What are you doing?”

Voice trembling, she answered, “You’ve been teaching me lessons, have you not? What kind of student would I be if I didn’t learn from my teacher? I’m merely mirroring your actions.” Her hands moved to his jacket, but they betrayed her, shaking as she helped him out of it, softly pressing her palm to his chest feeling the warmth through his shirtsleeves and trying with all her might not to tremble with desire as his eyes turned black. His teasing gaze was all but gone, and in place of it something far more fierce. Fear fought with excitement as Stefan grabbed her hands and thrust them above her head, tumbling her onto the bed with little effort. His hands still held hers. Breathing ragged, she noticed how her breath seemed to come out in shorts gasps as he gazed upon her face then lower and lower until she knew she had to be bright red. Never had she been more nervous. Not knowing what to say, she merely stared at his muscular form as he hovered over her.