A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(46)

Using just the pads of her fingers, she cautiously skimmed every contour of his chest, his shoulders, his upper arms. Such light caresses, so devastating in their tenderness. His every nerve, every capillary pressed to the surface of his skin, eager to meet her seeking fingertips. He felt alive, in ways he’d never felt before.

Her fingers skimmed up his neck, pausing against his throbbing pulse.

“Kiss me there,” he said, realizing too late that his tone was a bit brusque. To be ordering his wife about on their wedding night, without so much as a “please” … he’d always prided himself on being a patient, solicitous lover. But Toby was several inches deep in paradise, and his hands were full of Isabel’s generous curves, and charm was simply not within his grasp. She didn’t seem to mind. Without so much as a blink, she craned her neck and pressed her lips to his pulse—once, then again. His low moan of pleasure earned him a third.

“Like that?” she asked, her breath tickling his throat.

“Yes. More.”

She trailed light kisses over his neck and chest, and the torture of her velvet-soft lips was even more exquisite than that of her fingers. Impatient with need, his hips drove home of their own accord. Startled, Isabel fell back against the pillow, her swollen lips parted in invitation. And Toby was never one to refuse an invitation.

He kissed her hungrily as he began to thrust again, relishing the sensation of pressing himself into her two ways at once. Her lovely, fresh scent wreaked its familiar havoc on his senses, but now that hint of verbena mingled with the heady aroma of arousal—his, hers. Theirs. Oh, this was good. So good. Better than he could have dreamed.

And still he wanted more.

“Isabel.”

“Yes.”

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” She obeyed. Another terse command, another accommodating response. It drove him wild, to know that she would comply with his every wish, willingly. Even eagerly. It seemed the more curtly he spoke, the more aroused she became. Those serious eyes were now heavy-lidded, drugged with desire, and her breath was a shallow tide in her chest, lifting her bosom as it ebbed and flowed. He growled, “Hold tight to me now.”

Yes, she loved it. She ground against him, her mounting desire evident as she laced her fingers behind his neck.

What more would she do for him, if he only asked? A thousand erotic possibilities overflowed his mind, forcing all awareness down to his groin. They would all have to wait. His body clamored for release— now. He took her hard and fast, raising up on his arms for better leverage, and she clung to him tightly. Just as he’d told her to.

Rebalancing his weight, he worked one hand between them. He found that small, sensitive nub at the crest of her sex and covered it with his thumb, circling lightly. Her eyes flew open. Her neck rotated back and forth, as if she were shaking her head no.

“Yes,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Yes. Come for me again.”

And she did. Just as he’d told her to. Crying out and convulsing around him in hot, satin waves, pulling him deeper. Pulling him closer.

Toby clenched his jaw tight, silencing his own passion. The only words that came to mind now were unspeakable, coarse and profane. And then there were no words at all—just a harsh, primal growl of release as the pleasure ripped through him.

It had never been like this. Not ever.

He collapsed onto her, panting into her silken hair. He felt wrung out, exhausted. He felt blissful and blessed. He felt like starting from the beginning and doing it all again. And again. But most of all, he felt inexpressibly fortunate in his choice of a wife. Or more accurately, in his wife’s choice of him.

“Isabel, my darling.” He kissed her brow, damp with perspiration. “Thank you.”

She made a muffled squeak in response, and Toby realized his weight was crushing her into the mattress. God, what a boor he was. He quickly withdrew from her body and rolled aside, smoothing her hair away from her face and murmuring apologies.

“Please don’t distress yourself,” she said, her tone one of strained formality. “I’m sure there is no need for apology, or gratitude.”

No need for gratitude? “Isabel—”

“No, please don’t thank me.” She rose up on an elbow, pushing her nightgown back down her legs. “I haven’t even given you your wedding gift yet.”

And she was up out of bed, before Toby could argue that she’d already given him the greatest gift he could possibly imagine. While she disappeared into the adjoining room, he took the opportunity to straighten his trousers and run a hand through his hair. He sat on the edge of the bed when she emerged, her dressing gown now wrapped tightly around her body. Her hands were behind her back, and her eyes were downcast.

“It’s really nothing,” she began. “I didn’t have any idea what to get you. You’re … you’re very difficult to shop for, you know.”

Toby smiled. Her anxiety was adorable. Combined with her disheveled hair and flushed complexion—the effect was utterly enchanting. She could have pulled a lump of coal from behind her back, and he would have treasured it.

But it wasn’t a lump of coal she withdrew. It was a walking stick, topped with carved ivory and inlaid with gold leaf.

“Is it the style you wanted?” she asked, holding it out to him.

“Yes, the very one.” He took it from her hand and laid it horizontally across his palm, testing its balance. “I can’t believe you remembered. I thought you held walking sticks in the highest contempt.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “An embellished stick, which a perfectly healthy gentleman carries about for no other purpose than to indicate his wealth …?”