Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(122)

This time when he moved to undress her, Justine helped him. And even though her hands trembled a little, the heat in his gaze and the hungry cast to his handsome features unleashed a growing desire inside her that warred with her nerves.

With surprisingly little fuss, Griffin soon had her out of her garments. She perched on the edge of the cot, clad only in chemise and stockings, her half boots pushed under the cot. He’d piled her clothes neatly onto a nearby rush chair, as if he helped her undress every day. But the look on his face as he inspected her, his hands clenched into fists, turned her breath ragged. Nothing about this moment was like anything she’d experienced, or had hardly even imagined.

“Now what?” she asked in a thin voice as he rose to his feet.

“Now I get undressed.”

He’d already discarded the heavy wool greatcoat, and now pulled off the rest of his clothes but for his breeches. He quickly folded his shirt, coat, and neck cloth, stacking them on top of her riding habit. Justine wanted to giggle, struck by the oddly cozy domesticity of the scene. Who would think that a reprobate like Griffin Steele would so casually undress his inexperienced bride and then fold their clothes in a tidy stack? It made him seem almost like a normal man, as human as anyone else, and not the least bit exotic or dangerous.

But when he turned back to her and started to unbutton the fall of his breeches, the lie was given to that notion. His body was hard, lean, and well-muscled without being coarse, and possessed a tough, masculine elegance that was as far from safe as she could imagine. A stripped-down, almost primal sense of power wrapped itself around him like a second skin.

And then there was his tattoo. The beautifully inked creature in shades of blue and black was both graceful and fierce, with its sharp-beaked head reaching over to Griffin’s breastbone, its wings spread wide and its long tail curling up to his shoulder. Both exotic and evocative, it defined the man who wore it with a strange perfection, highlighting a balance of skin, bone, and muscle. Justine had always found him to be a handsome man, but only now could she fully appreciate why the girls at The Golden Tie had been so eager to lure him into their beds.

But it wasn’t just his body that seemed designed to undermine a woman’s self-control. His dark eyes, so knowing and wicked, his arrogantly elegant features, his hard sensual mouth—all seemed to touch something deep in her core, something that clicked smoothly into place. Just looking at him made the hidden parts of her go soft and damp, and she blushed at her eager response to him.

Then again, he was her husband, so she supposed it wasn’t a bad thing to desire him, despite her nerves over the . . . mechanics. For once, Justine was more than happy to engage in conduct that might count for less than respectable, at least by her terms.

Griffin made short work of his breeches and then stood before her dressed only in his smalls, which she suspected he’d kept on to protect her modesty. He needn’t have bothered, since his erection pressed thick and long against the fabric, the wide top of it straining up and out the top like a tempting piece of smooth, forbidden fruit.

“Would you like to touch it?” he asked in a husky rumble.

“Ah, perhaps later,” she said. She did, but she hadn’t quite worked up the confidence for that yet. “But it’s very kind of you to ask,” she finished, trying not to seem thoroughly flustered.

When he laughed at that spectacular piece of idiocy, she dropped her head in her hands and groaned.

A moment later, his hands were on her body. He stretched her onto the cot and came down next to her, crowding her to the edge. Justine squealed and flailed her arms, convinced she was about to topple over the other side. But with superbly controlled strength, Griffin lifted her and a second later had her straddling his hips while he settled onto his back.