Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(53)
She tasted of chocolate and decadence, and he wanted more. Always wanted more. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? His hands tightened on her waist, and he led her backward until they reached his desk. He could never have his fill of her.
He dragged his mouth from hers and trailed a fervent line of kisses to her ear, tonguing the silky patch of skin behind it. She tasted of vanilla and the light salt of her skin. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders. So responsive, his Daisy.
“You’ve bewitched me,” he accused softly into her ear. “I’m meant to be attending estate matters and all I want is to lift your skirts and feel if you’re as wet for me already as I suspect you are.”
She would be drenched when he touched her, and this he knew by the way she strained against him, as if she desired all points of her body to be in simultaneous contact with his. He felt the same. He wanted every inch of her flawless skin naked and pressed against his, from her hard, pink nipples to her pale, curved legs.
“Shall I leave you to estate matters?” she asked, breathless.
He tore his lips from her neck to survey the contents of his desk. Correspondence. A stack of news. Some pens and sheaves of paper. His ledger. To hell with all of it. With one swipe of his arm, he sent it raining to the carpet. Papers flew, somersaulting over themselves, pens clanging together, the news crumpling into a heap.
“I do believe I’ve had enough of estate matters for the nonce,” he decided, grinning down at her like a lovesick fool.
No, surely not lovesick. Nor a fool, he corrected himself hastily. It had only been a week, after all. Love didn’t come upon a man so precipitously, and especially not when the lady in question was suspected of treason. He was sure of it.
In an effort to ward off further maudlin sentiment, he took her mouth with his once more, and this kiss was unapologetically demanding. He sucked on her lower lip, then caught it between his teeth and tugged. Frantic, fierce need speared him. The need to have her, to consume her. His cock twitched against his trousers, his balls already drawn tight in anticipation of flooding release.
Her palms, which had dropped to his chest and had been conducting a slow, torturous exploration over his waistcoat and shirt, gently pushed, putting enough distance between them to break the kiss. Her gaze sparkled into his, the green of early spring rebirth after the barren death of winter.
“You’ve a duty, Sebastian,” she said then.
For a heartbeat, he stilled, the blood pumping through his veins turning to ice. Was it possible that she somehow knew after all? Jesus, why would she repeat the words his own conscience riddled him with every day?
And then she tilted her head in that way he’d come to know meant she was being earnest, cupping his jaw in her hand. “I don’t wish to distract you from your work. I missed you, but I don’t wish to be unfairly demanding of your time. I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to go over the menu with Mrs. Robbins, and I’ve yet to make myself at home in your library. Father thought reading invited sloth, so I haven’t read as much as I would have preferred.”
He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was babbling, and she was adorable, and he was going to come out of his skin if he wasn’t buried deep inside her in the next five minutes.
“Daisy.” He pressed a kiss to her open palm, and held her to him when she would have attempted to make her retreat. “You may distract me any time you wish, buttercup. My time will always be yours, and if you want to buy an entire new library’s worth of books that are to your liking, I won’t blink a bloody eye. Read until you need spectacles. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve made you spend.”
Her eyes widened, cheeks going rosy. Lovemaking remained new to her, though she’d proven an apt and willing pupil. She was still very much an innocent, however, and he would enjoy debauching her for the rest of their lives.
The rest of their lives.
The unbidden thought sent something profound streaking through him. And it wasn’t dread or a sense of futility. It wasn’t guilt or duty. It was… Christ, he didn’t know what it was.
Rather than further complicate matters, he lifted her onto the desk. His hands fisted in her billowing skirts, crushing the fine silk, but he didn’t give a damn. Slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, he drew them to her waist, petticoats, chemise, and all, and lifted them so that they lay atop his desk.
As he surveyed his handiwork, his mouth went dry. She was perfectly coiffed and demure from the waist up, her bodice in place, hair as elegant as when she’d entered the chamber. But from the waist down, she was pure, unadulterated siren. Lacy drawers hugged her hips. Narrow ankles clad in silk stockings peeped from beneath, and her heeled black leather shoes dangling over the floor somehow rendered it all incredibly erotic.
He wished he could keep her here, in this moment, forever.
Beautiful and bold and undeniably his.
“Sebastian,” she said his name quietly, and it held a wary note of protest.
“Buttercup,” he returned, his fingers finding the button on her drawers, just below the point of her corset. He slid it free of its mooring and pushed the undergarment down her legs, leaving her nude from the waist down except for her stockings, garters, and shoes.
He nearly came right then and there as he drank in the sight of her. She was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her. His chest physically ached. And his cock, well, Jesus, that was another matter entirely.