Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(89)

“It’s not just for you. I might like to try living in a place where I’m not surrounded by wenches, drunken swells, and thieves all the time. Maybe I’d like to sleep at night without keeping one ear out for a police raid.”

“What about your business?”

“I’ll still have my thumb on it. Worthy will watch over the place when I’m not here.” He began to tug the sheet away from her. “Give me this.”

“Where are you planning for us to live?” Sara asked warily.

Derek gave a casual shrug. “I thought we’d start by touring the places we already own. If none of them please you, we’ll buy something. Or we’ll have it built.” In a sudden move he snagged her ankle in his hand and began to pull her toward him. “Come here…You have wifely duties to attend to.”

She grabbed the edge of the mattress to stop the inexorable slide. “I’m not finished talking!”

“I am. Let go of that.” He yanked gently at her leg.

Sara rolled to her stomach, gasping with laughter as she felt him crawl over her. His considerable weight lowered enough to keep her pinned flat. The startling male length of him, roughness, heat, and sinew, pressed from her shoulders to her feet. She giggled suddenly. “You can’t do anything this way,” she gloated. “And I’m not going to turn over.”

Derek smiled at her innocence. Pushing her long hair aside, he kissed the downy nape of her neck. “I don’t want you to turn over,” he whispered. He hoisted himself up enough to settle his hands on her shoulders, manipulating the soft muscles. His touch was deft and easy.

Sara sighed in pleasure. “That’s nice. Oh…don’t stop that.”

The soothing pressure traveled over her back, his thumbs finding vulnerable points on either side. She turned her head to the side, breathing deeply. He crouched over her again, his strong hands resting on the swell of her hips, his mouth at her ear. The tip of his tongue edged the fine curve and then ventured inside to flick in a shallow, delicate thrust. For a second all sound was blocked. Sara quivered at the peculiar sensation. After his tongue withdrew from her moist ear, the heat of his breath and the low timbre of his voice seemed more acute than before. “Do you like that?” he whispered.

“I-I don’t know.”

He laughed quietly and did it again. Sara would have turned over for him then, her body filled with restless impulses. But he kept her face down and forced his hand gently beneath her hips. She gasped as he found the damp triangle between her thighs, his fingers searching expertly. When she tried to twist around, he sank his teeth into the back of her neck, holding her still. “Stay there. I like this view of you.”

“Don’t,” she murmured, thinking he was teasing her.

His voice was vibrant with lust. “Round, sweet, firm…You have the prettiest backside I’ve ever seen.”

Her protesting laugh ended in a groan as he goaded her with his hips, pushing her down against his hand. She reached forward and curled her fingers around the mattress, digging deeply. The provocative devil on top of her kept whispering, praising her with earthy accolades, nudging her in a slow rhythm. Caught between his body and his tormenting hand, she felt the tension build inside until a frustrated whimper broke from her throat. Instead of turning her to face him, he straddled her from behind. She floundered in a moment of confusion as she felt his thighs brace against hers. “This way,” he said quickly, pulling her h*ps high. “Let me…my sweet Sara…I won’t hurt you.”

He pushed inside her, a heavy, exciting surge. Shocked and aroused, she curved her spine to make it easier for him. He rode her gently, the muscled force of him surrounding her while his hands coasted over her br**sts and smooth belly. Sara dropped her head, smothering her cries against the mattress. A few strokes more, and she cl**axed in shivering ripples that emptied her of all strength. His hands tightened powerfully on her h*ps as he followed her into the depths of thoughtless rapture.

It wasn’t long before their marriage had taken on a wilful character of its own. Having never experienced family life, Derek didn’t know how to behave like a husband, at least not the ordinary kind. He seemed like a half-tamed creature to Sara, unaware of regular hours for eating or sleeping. The only structure in their life was what she imposed. Sara tried to make the changes gradual, unwilling to require too much of him at once.

One night after waiting up for him past two o’clock, she dressed in a simple gown and ventured out of their private apartments, wondering what kept him downstairs. The club was infused with particular excitement, the drone of voices punctuated with exclamations and encouragements. Standing inconspicuousy at the edge of the doorway, she watched the tightly knit crowd around the hazard table. All of them concentrated on the roll of ivory dice as if life or death depended on it. Derek’s slim, dark form was visible in their midst. He was laughing quietly at some quip that had been made to ease the tension.

“Mrs. Craven.” Sara heard Worthy’s voice beside her, and she turned with a smile. She had come to rely on the factotum almost as much as Derek. Worthy had been more overtly pleased about their marriage than anyone else, reassuring her in his quiet way that she had made the right decision. They had talked for a few minutes at the reception the Raifords had given after the wedding. Together they had watched Derek’s attempts to wheedle her elderly mother into a dance. “I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he does you,” Worthy had told Sara. “After you left, it was like watching a man crumble inside. The only reason he went to the weekend at Raiford Park was because he was too pickled to protest when Gill and I loaded him into the carriage.”