Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(85)

He kissed her.



He’d kissed her with the sole intention of silencing her. Only now with her back arched at an impossible angle and her head tipped up to receive his kiss, he forgot the whole silencing business and remembered the feel of her. The taste of her. And, he who’d sworn to never give her anything after everything she’d taken and pledged to leave her as virginal as the day she’d come to him found the taunting convenience of the wide four-poster bed and her the greatest temptation of all others.

He gentled his kiss then slid his tongue inside, swallowing her moan. Sebastian scooped an arm about her waist and edged her deeper into the center of the bed, never breaking contact with her mouth. She fisted her hands in his hair, as if she wanted to hold him in place and never let go. And he was content to let her hold him there forever. He worked his hands down her body, cupping the gentle swell of her breasts and through the fabric of her hideous yellow gown, flicked a nipple to life.

A gasping cry escaped Hermione as her head fell back. His breathing came harsh and fast as he continued to explore her body as he’d longed to since Lord Denley’s office. She stiffened when he lifted her skirts, but the haze of desire in her eyes and the slightly panting breaths she emitted spoke of her willingness.

He leaned down and caressed her lean calves; legs made for riding. “What hold do you have on me?” he whispered, his tone harsh with fury, desire, pain.

She stroked his cheek. “Until this moment, I didn’t know I had any.” Regret tinged her words and with them, reality crept in; the moment of her deception that had led to this moment.

He forcibly thrust it aside. There would be time enough for regret and fury the remainder of their lives. For now, there was at least this that was good between them. “I want you, Hermione.” He’d wanted her since she scribbled those mysterious words upon her dance card in Lord Denley’s ballroom.

The muscles of her long, graceful neck moved. “I lo—” He claimed her mouth, drowning out one more lie, even as he ached for her declaration to be real in every way. She twisted her fingers in his hair, her tongue boldly meeting his in a thrust and parry, and then he drew back.

Ignoring her incoherent protestations, Sebastian angled her leg upward. He tugged off her stockings and then raised her calf close to his mouth. “I thought you didn’t want to share my bed.” He worshiped her silken skin with his lips as he’d longed to since there’d still been propriety and kidskin gloves between them.

“I lied.” The admission tumbled hoarse and desperate from her lips.

He froze at the mocking reminder of every other lie she’d told. She stiffened. Did she realize the implications of those words? Unwilling to let the ugliness surrounding their hasty marriage interfere at least in this moment, he guided her up and worked loose the long row of buttons. “I hate this gown,” he muttered.

She nodded jerkily. “I-I d-do, too.”

They spoke simultaneously. “Too many goddamn buttons.”

“Too yellow.”

Sebastian wrenched the back of her dress. It gave a satisfying tear and sent small pearl buttons spraying the floor. He lifted it over her head and tossed it aside. “I assure you, madam, my loathing for this gown has nothing to do with the color.” Her chemise followed.

“A-are you c-certain?” A breathy gasp escaped her as he drew her chemise off. It landed in a soft whoosh upon the floor. “Because…”

He kissed her into silence. “I’m certain,” he said against her mouth, his voice hoarse with a desire he’d carried for too long. He worked a hand between their bodies and brushed the downy thatch of dark brown curls that concealed her center. Her body’s heat scorched him. It threatened to set him ablaze and he would be content to die by fire just for the pleasure of knowing her warmth.

“O-oh, dear.” Thick brown lashes swept down, concealing the sapphire irises of her eyes. He slipped a finger inside and she bucked against him. “Sebastian,” she rasped.

He continued to work her, to stroke her, until she writhed wildly beneath him, incoherent in her desire. Then he stopped and drew back, needing to feel her body against his without the sinful barrier of clothing between them.

She clenched the fabric of his jacket, pulling him, attempting to drag him close once more. Sebastian shrugged out of his jacket. He tossed it to the floor, and then yanked his shirt over his head. It joined the rapidly growing pile of clothing at the foot of the bed.

Hermione edged herself up onto her elbows. She demonstrated the same bold curiosity she did for life, studying his methodical efforts as he pulled off his boots, and then he divested himself of his breeches. She widened her eyes. “Oh, my.”

Pride swelled and a primitive growl rumbled from deep within his chest at her appreciation of his form. He slowly lowered himself above her. He braced himself upon his elbows, framing her in the shelter of his arms. He found the sensitive point where her neck met her ear, worshiping it with his lips. “Never have I wanted another the way I want you,” he whispered against her lips.

Hermione moaned and folded her arms about him. She scraped her fingers lightly over the span of his back. “And I you.” Her words ended on a moan, as he drew her lobe into his ear and sucked. “Th-that i-is…” Another cry as he lowered his mouth to her breast. “Wh-what I m-meant is that…” He blew air softly onto the puckered tip of her flesh. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”