Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(61)
He removed a hand from her bottom to stroke her thigh, calming her, letting her adjust to the onslaught of sensation. Sweet. She was so bloody sweet. Musky and feminine and something else uniquely her. She filled his senses, surrounding him, until there was nothing else that existed. There was only Daisy on his tongue, Daisy’s breathy sounds of helpless desire, Daisy’s fingers in his hair, her thighs soft against him, the wet, delicious heat of her.
Mine. He found the prize he sought, his tongue probing through her slick folds to discover her pearl. He flicked over that exquisite bundle of sensation, working it with his tongue. Mine. He blew a stream of hot air over her.
“Oh,” she said, and then, “oh, Sebastian.”
Very gently, he bit, catching her between his upper lip and his teeth before raking over her pearl again and again. He sucked her, looking up to find her watching him, her expression slack and unguarded, her lush mouth partially open, her chest heaving with each labored breath.
Their gazes clashed and he allowed her to slide from his lips with a lusty pop. “Spend for me, Daisy. I want to make you come with nothing but my tongue.”
This was all he could offer her until he was free of the League: his body and her pleasure. He could make her fly, could give her release, and he wanted that for her now more than anything. She deserved so much more, so much better. She deserved his honesty and his love, and he would give her both as soon as he was able.
For the moment, he could only run his tongue over her slit again—once, twice, five times, more—before sinking it inside her as deep as he could. Pointing his tongue, he thrust it inside her again and again. His hand traveled up her thigh to the skin revealed beneath her corset, directly above her womb. Here, she would carry their babes. He flattened his hand over her. Mine. And her hand came to rest upon his, their fingers tangling.
“Please,” she said.
Her plea spurred him on. Back to her pearl he went, licking, sucking, nipping, learning what she liked best. The particularly sensitive spot below that sweet bud and slightly to the right made her buck and go wild. He closed his mouth over her, raking her with his teeth until finally, she exploded. He watched her as she came, her back arched, head thrown back in ecstasy to reveal the graceful column of her throat, her breasts straining against her bodice.
“Sebastian,” she cried. “I love you.”
The rush of her release was liquid and instant, and he lost his ability to form coherent thought.
Mine. Bloody, fucking hell. Mine.
Had she said that? Those three words? He didn’t dare to hope, to believe. Just when he was convinced he’d been mistaken, he heard her low moan, and it was undeniable. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Ah, Christ. This woman would be his undoing. He tore his mouth from her at last, hauling her into his arms for a tight embrace. If he’d been able to pull her inside himself, he would have, so fierce and unexpected was his reaction to her words and his need of her.
“Thank you, my love,” he said into her ear. “Now let’s get the hell upstairs so we can finish what we’ve started.”
She kissed his jaw, her arms tightening around him. “Yes,” was all she said.
He withdrew and helped her restore her dress into a semblance of order. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her to her chamber. Once there, he made love to her twice, once with frantic abandon and once with slow, tender passion. With his body, he told her the words he wasn’t yet free to say. Words he wouldn’t say until this godforsaken mission was over and he could be truthful with her. Words she deserved to hear after he was freed of the shackles of his oath, and his only duty was instead to her.
When at last he lay in the darkness with her curled against him, both of their bodies spent, Daisy’s even breathing indicating she was asleep, he kissed her bare shoulder.
“I love you, too,” he whispered into the night.
he next morning, Sebastian broke his fast in his customary fashion: close to dawn, alone, and with The Times ironed and laid out beside his plate. He forked up a bite of oeuf cocottes and chewed thoughtfully as his mind drifted from parliamentary matters and news of the world abroad.
To hell with everything ordinary. Today was no ordinary goddamn day. Today, everything had changed. The sun rising to break London’s bleak fog had seemed unnaturally bright. His coffee tasted better than it ever had. His chest felt lighter, and he couldn’t bloody well stop grinning like a fool.
Daisy loved him. And he loved her.
Yes, Christ help him, as sudden and strange and ill-advised as it seemed, he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his days loving. His relationship with Daisy was cordial and easy. She possessed intelligence and determination and wit, all enhanced by a lively sense of humor. When he was irritable, she made him laugh. When he was arrogant, she subtly reminded him. When he reached out his hand, she took it.
She’d been tardy for dinner every bloody night, and he hadn’t even minded, although he was certain she kept him waiting by design. When she arrived, a teasing smile on her lips, resplendent in her evening finery, it was all he could do not to take her in his arms, carry her back up the staircase, and make love to her all night long.
She was like sunlight after a torrent of rain. Something about the woman was impossibly charming, and it wasn’t just her beauty. It was some indefinable quality he’d never known another female to possess. Or perhaps, it was her, Daisy who affected him so. She’d had him at war with himself, from the start, half of him wanting her desperately and the other half of him determined to keep her at arm’s length where she belonged.